Tears For Corrin: Part 3: Slivers Of Sunshine

without fail, it will happen again, just as it has every year. Corrin is growing older with me but trapped in the body of a child, she grows older in intellect and knowledge, also, she grows more bitter and jealous of this world that she can only minutely participate in. every time i see her bored expression it sends chills down my spine, i can feel her breaking down and becoming less enthralled with being merely a glimmer in the corner of one's eye.

Corrin haunts the soil steps behind me, following her strongest connection to what she once was and never will be again. misery has set in on her like a plague and i feel it spreading into me and out into the world.

i have become a conduit for her emotional outbursts of rage and disgust, loneliness and longing, her every emotion that she can no longer show on her own.



autumn has settled into the view of the world and that fated day comes closer, and with it, my annual test of her boiling point. "when is this day going to be over?! shouldn't i have been long gone by now?! see, there is no fucking God, i'm all the proof anyone could ever fucking need!" we were once friends and she was amazingly excited about life, as it seemed. now, she is the eternal child who longs for adulthood without ever getting to see it from her own point of view. she watches and scoffs at everything and everyone. spiteful comments spew out of her mouth from every direction: "for the love of fucking Christ, is he seriously taking this long to ring up your shit? does he have Polio?!"


i muster a laugh when she curses the world, with her tiny voice, using profanity and obscenity like a seasoned professional. she comes and goes as she pleases, hidden from my ears and eyes when she's upset with the fact that i'm laughing at her, not with her. mind you, she only still looks like a child, she has aged mentally and emotionally and has no problem letting me know it. "i'm just as capable of explaining these things to you as you are to me. i'm not a goddamn child anymore, so stop laughing you fucking prick!" the more i think about how right she is, the more hilarious it becomes: she is indeed just as capable, for a dead girl.


it wasn't that long ago that i tried, to no avail, to seek her out in her own plane of existence. she stayed in the shadows, or abyss, or whatever it is and would only speak to me as if she were some infinite source of knowledge. she told me, "you should've seen your face, it was priceless! seriously though, what were you thinking?!" she pulled a prank on me in that place beyond this world and i fell for it full force. i sunk into a sense of failure and she, the eternal doll, jumped around and laughed about it for days, often with an out stretched finger pointed at me with a look of mock terror. Corrin is the devil's advocate, i'm almost 100% sure of it after that.


this year will be the 15th time that i will have to endure that wreckage, engulfed in flames, and see how she spent her final minutes in pure agony. i asked her last year if it was "under her control" or if it was just "something that happens" against both our wishes. she stared at me like i was asking her if the sky was blue. "well, i can tell you i didn't exactly get a handbook or an instruction manual. i sure as hell didn't get an orientation. this isn't beetlejuice."


the years have come and gone, she has not. this year, like all the others, she took me by my shivering hand and walked me to what is now "our" demise. the slow, agony that we now share for what i'm sure will be an eternity. Corrin's serrated smile lurks behind me, ahead of me and over me. she is the eternal child, with the mind of a woman, who longs for life even though the one she had was painful and worth ending, or so it would seem to me. the nights grow longer and the shadows and shades extend their arms out toward me, reminding me, that Corrin is there ready to pop into my life and riddle me with tired laughter, the spewing of new found atrocities of speech and her eyes that have grown so old yet still look so young and vibrant.



slivers of sunshine tip-toe through the mist of her skin, the darkness now haunting her eyes like she haunts me. Corrin watches, waits, converses and astounds me. even to this day.

Subtle Shades And Overtones

flourescent, geometric clouds hung low over our heads inside the constricting cell that we devoured within. somewhere, just outside of my sight, i could hear the daily banter of numerous voices singing songs and babbling mad tales of the dangers of teen angst bullshit. oh how the weak fall prey to their own linguistic trappings, their vernacular atrocities, poised like pit vipers ready to strike and suffocate them if only to end the starving feeling from inside.

those tiny hands spread out from across the table, decorated in ink blotches, sweat and lust. i could've died right there, staring into her devious eyes, wanting her skin on my skin.

i had to shake it off, at all cost.


the days progressed in a slow, sickening manner that worked like cancer on the soul. we ran into each other often, sizing each other up and then parting ways, it was our dance that we would never start or finish. the voice came from over my shoulder, in perfect timing with her foot steps, and soke the simple idea to me over and over again: "you must...love her..because...she needs...you to." the subtle shade of her little voice and those pitter patter of sneakers.

my heart was slowing down toward death, my mind was racing toward light speed and my blood boiled in my veins with the heat of my longing and lust for the razor winged angel that giggled and teased me with her tiny hands and devious eyes. it was grudge-fuck at first sight, with a secondary objective of needing to show this creature the bliss of being held like a delicate doll, being protected by steady hands and loved with a heavy heart.


Corrin was leading me again. she took me by the hand, showed me the devious eyes that needed to be needed and whispered again, "you must...love her...because...she needs...you to." i ignored Corrin's request and wandered off into the land of broken soil, cheerful expressions and simple desires played upon by the demons of the earth.


the overtones of despreation in my voice were lost on deaf ears and new life.

somewhere, just beyond the horizon line, i felt her crying for steady hands and a heavy heart.



Dax.

Blind Date Of Nautical Bliss

"Blind Date Of Nautical Bliss"

those violet color contacts always had a strange way of making my mouth dry and my lips quiver. her eyelids would drop suddenly, like a broadway curtain signaling the end of her performance, while desperately coaxing applause from me, her shocked audience. in tiny moments like that i felt almost alive, like hope was just around the corner and we could chase it down hand in hand.

in those days of quasi-bliss the sun seemed to shine a thousand times brighter, giving me migraines that were well worth weathering just for a single hour of gazing upon the siberian skin that shrouded her insides. a simple pleasure of being near was tested by the thorns of enviromental stimuli from every direction. what can i say, i've always been a little sadistic to myself when it came to affairs of the heart, especially when she was involved.

our hearts sailed the vast seas of dysfunction in search of medicated shores. when those shores were reached, landed upon and claimed by our egos, we were bathed in tones of calm, chalky comfort. we spent days frolicking amongst the numb feeling of dead nerves, auditory and visual hallucinations, and eventually the come down we wished wouldn't catch up to us again. it was when the shores ran red with emotion that the waves of our seas would become a peril worse than the fate of desolation, or even death.

as the salted spray of tidal waves crashed down around us, her driven snow skin would peel down to the sands she stood upon. she began to change into a sort of beast, the kind that was always talked about as being hellbent on the destruction of the world. those violet contacts would soak up her blood and become crimson orbs filled to their brims with unadulterated hatred and loathing. her muscles, now threadbare, turned a shade of black darker than the starless skies. this was her inner demon. as always, me being the first mate, i was left to fight off the beast bare handed. having been in only a handful of battles with this side of her siberian flesh i knew, all too well, the dangers she would be setting loose upon me.

her words became as sharp as assassins' daggers and were held by her serpent tongue, poised for an attack on the nearest body to her's. i charged toward her, not for battle but to gather up her skin. she screamed at me in a voice constructed out of obscenities and lies, spewing the tar of her lungs and the acid of her stomach. i had to make for the sea with her skin bundled up in my now sweating arms, it was my only hope for saving us both. my rubbery legs made a mad dash for the waves that sought out our bones, the same waves that brough us to this poorly supplied island of medication.

just behind me her demon was giving chase, at a sickening pace, with it's eyes boring a hole into me looking for my weakness, hungry for ammunition to use in it's assault of my heart and mind. the demon breath was filling my lungs like oil, thick and torturous oil. my feet carried me with her skin as quickly as possible to those salt waves of salvation, making enough haste to turn sand into glass. thats when it happened: the calming cool of the seas swallowed me up and drug me down into the abyss.

darkness surrounded me. cool, sweet, peaceful darkness was all around me like embryotic fluid. in those first few seconds my eyes scanned for the nearest part of the sea floor, hunting for the left overs of that calm comfort that would shake her demon free from the world above and seal it back up inside of her. to see it surrended to her skin was always a sour victory, but it was a victory none the less. with her skin bundled up in one arm, i used the other to swim closer to the bottom, closer to her temporary cure from the serrated speech of her inner demon.

we sank together to the ocean floor and i spread out her skin on the sand and corral. those empty eye holes lay staring up at me with a haunting expression i can only define as sorrowful. my hands began sifting through the sand and silt, at the bottom of the sea floor, until i pulled up two heart sized clams. i pressed them, one by one, to my lips and gave them a simple kiss in order to open them. without fail the clams awoke from sleep and offered up a pearl, the saving grace of the seas, that would tame the beast above and restore the snow skinned girl below.

i pressed the pearls into the sorrowful eye holes of her discarded skin, leaned down to the skin of her face and placed a small kiss on her lifeless lips. those pearls began to rotate and glow an amazing tone of azure, glowing brighter the faster the pearls spun. her skin slowly sealed itself back into the form of her siberian flesh, becoming whole again and full of life. it was then that i swam back to the surface with her, hand in hand. as our heads broke above the water we saw that the sea was again calm, almost beckoning us further out.

together we walked out of the sea, on to the beach and sat down on the sand, still hand in hand. the beast had been drawn back into her heart with the pearls, the saving graces of the seas, and sealing it up for now. she turned her head to me and spoke these words, "don't you hate it when that happens? sometimes i'm just not myself, thanks for being patient with me." i stared at the sea for a moment more before answering her. "i don't hate it, i just don't like it. we should go now sweetheart, this place has nothing more to offer you."

we stood, facing the sea, and headed for the boat. i asked what direction was next to be sailed, she chose west, so now we sail west in search of more medicated shores and tones of calm, chalky comfort.

when you sail the seas of dysfunction, where do you end up and which direction do you sail?

Dax.