brettacular

She's ethereal. I reach out to feel her and I pass right through her. I'm not there. She bats her eyes and curves her body but I remain standoffish. She entices me. She laughs and smiles and breathes. I nip at her heels, trying to keep up. She's an actor. We both are. We dance about and play our parts but we both know where this is headed. I am life. I am the party. I enjoy making her fight back. She makes it too easy. We hold each other close. I push her away, fearing the unknown. She comes closer, yet still out of reach, afraid of the same. I disguise the truth with flowery images and overly complicated words. She disguises overly

A large group of my friends and I are sitting at one of our local haunts. The jukebox expels a crooning melody, something that sounds simultaneously uplifting and melancholy. There are several conversations going on, and I find myself glazing over, and unaware of them all. Suddenly, I'm snapped out of my reverie by a stabbing question. "What do you think, Brett?" I have absolutely no idea what I was just asked, and I have to focus to even remember who asked it. "Huh?" I manage. Mike looks at me like I've recently received brain damage. "David and I were just talking about whether a story has a life of it's own, or if a writer has to craft

 Silent Hill by ~brettacular A town filled with nothingness Mist and ash envelop the streets Everything inside covered in rust and grime Sirens blare maniacally Ungodly creatures stalk the night Armless, faceless, boneless, soulless This reality isn't true Something warps this place It belongs in our world and outside of it The past never dies here It repeats, a haunting crescendo The few who escape never come out themselves Only as ghosts never to return to life I know all of this and yet And yet Silent Hill beckons to me And I answer the call

KEVIN She's eying me from across the room. It's the kind of predatory glance a lion would reserve for any number of creatures. That must make her a huntress on the prowl. The thing about this kind of staring contest is that she either really wants to eat my face, or she's trying to look sexy. She's pulling it off, whatever it is she's trying to pull off. Some achy-voiced teenager drones on about an undying love on the CD player. I'm confounded as to why this passes for music, much less popular music. It really just seems like a stalker's theme song. The one friend I had at this party seems to have absconded with all of the fun, because I

I'm a bottle rocket exploding Hurtling towards vastness and everything Emotions coaelesce into stars Burning as bright as the distant sun The sparks shower down Feel my thoughts Let them illuminate your life You should do what I do You should feel what I feel You should love what I love Light me up again I'll soar I'll crash And I'll be happy to do it all again

An unknown creature hammers my brain with a solid left hook. I have no clue what has hit me – figuratively or literally – as I stagger backwards and clutch at my head. My first response is to fight back, swinging forcefully at the last known location of my pain. I feel something connect and crumple, but I know it's not over. No, this fight is just beginning. As I adjust to my surroundings, I see it now. Simultaneously grotesque and beautiful, and it's entire existence confuses me. I go for what I want, and this thing is always hounding me. I know it now. This is what's keeping me from being happy. It clocks me again, and I spit b