Won't Turn Out Right

I no longer have any control. Not over my body, my thoughts, my family, my friends, my... anything

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

I haven't the slightest idea.

There's mayhem in my monologue. Ambiance dripping from my ruby reds. Livid and pale and no better than Manson.

If I put on my mask will you kiss me? Will you love me? Will you find me a home in your arms?

The ringmaster doesn't haunt me anymore. He left when I lost control. He stopped bothering with me. He gave up on me. He's all gone. I no longer have the ringmaster. I miss him. A lot.

I never got to see behind his sunglasses or underneath his hat or beneath his long red jacket and I miss him. Oh, how I do miss him.

The forest was burnt to ground in the shroud of night. Covered in leaves and stars and bunnies and deer. Ashes and smoke and little burnt flowers. Thankfully Mother Nature sent us rain. It rained and the fire was gone and so was everything. Everything was gone. And, in its place was ash and smoke and little burnt flowers. Burnt to a bloody crisp.

Birds are lucky. They can fly away.

What's black and white and "red" all over?

It's in the papers, Charity.

It's the blood. The blood is in the newspapers.

Find it. Katch'em Kill'em. Katch'em Kill'em. Find it.

Never let it go. Here we go.

The door bell rang on a beautiful California summer day. My parents had just left to go take care of my grandma and grandpa in a couple of towns over. They had left about an hour or two ago to help them move into my aunt’s house, and they just refused to take me with them.

I bounced over to the door, quickly checking my hair in the mirror on the wall. I smiled at my reflection. I pulled the door open smoothly to reveal a tall man in black. I tilted my head at him.

"Can I help?" He took off his sunglasses showing off his dark brown eyes, and flashing a crisp, white smile.

"Are you Charity? Charity Fuller?" I nodded, briefly showing my surprise.

"That's me. What can I do for you?" He took one arm out from behind his back, pulling out a box wrapped in shiny silver paper. A golden ribbon was wrapped around each side, tied up into a bow at the very top. "For me?" I pointed in surprise. He nodded with a somber smile.

"For you." I reached out and grabbed it, searching for a tag.

"But who's it from?" His smile widened.

"I can't tell you. It's anonymous, Charity." I shrugged and laughed quietly.

"Do I have to sign something?" He put his sunglasses back on.

"Have a nice day, Charity." He turned and headed back down the driveway to his fancy black car.

"Thank you, bye!" I shouted after him. I closed the door and leaned against it. "I guess I have to open it, right?"

I wandered in the kitchen, tugging at the gold ribbon. It slid off as I sat down at the counter. I opened up the sides quickly, eager to see inside, but I pulled back sharply when I felt something prick my finger.

"Ouch!" I brought my fingertip to my mouth, sucking on the painful paper cut. "Damn it. Stupid." I wiped it on my jeans and kept unwrapping. I threw the paper to the ground and stared at the box. It was wrapped in a second layer of paper- red. I let out a short, high pitched laugh. "Uh, okay." I started unwrapping again, throwing the next layer on top of the first. This revealed another layer- black. "What the hell?" I put the box down on the counter and found a sharp knife. I dug deep into the package and started tearing.

The box split down the middle. There were many many layers of paper moved to the sides- the walls of a canyon. Underneath it all, there was a cardboard box sealed with a bit of clear tape. I pulled all the layers off, digging the knife in again, tearing open the taped edges. I put the knife on the counter, and tried to tug the box open. I saw a small trail of blood on the paled brown cardboard, and noticed my paper cut had grown. The blood was smeared down the length of my finger, pooling messily around my fingernail.

I hopped off my stool, putting the box down quickly. I ran over to the sink and started to wash my hands.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it." What's worse than a paper cut?

I dried off my hands, wrapping a paper towel around my finger, watching the blood slowly seep into the white cloth. I sighed and wrapped it tighter. I went back to my box, tearing at the last bit of tape at the top. I opened it and peered inside. My shoulders dropped.

"You're kidding." It was another box. I sighed and slapped my forehead. "What a douche bag."

It took me another ten minutes to get through the next three boxes- the last layers. I opened the last box- the length and width of a DVD case and about 2 inches deep. Inside was a deck of cards. Tarot cards. Pictures full of symbolism and history with minimal writing. At the bottom or top of each card was a roman numeral and occasionally an Italian title. I recognized a few- the Moon, the Sun, the Devil, the Tower. The Lovers. The Fool.

The Fool was familiar. The man... it was the short man. He was walking blindly to the edge of a cliff, a dopey smile gracing his face. I shook my head at him and put it back on the pile.

You couldn't see the Lovers' faces, but they held each other tightly, almost as if they were afraid to let go. I didn't see very much love in their grasp. On the back of the Lovers card were a couple of sentences scribbled down, nearly taking up the entire surface.

"Love," I said as I strained my eyes to read the messy hand writing. "Is like a good memory. When it's there, and you know it's there, but it's just out of your reach, it can be all you think about. You can focus on it and try to force it, but the more you do, the more you seem to push it away.

"But, if you're patient and you hold still... maybe it'll come to you. Stay where he can find you." I looked up from the card, replacing it on top of the deck. "I have to stay? But... I don't want to."

I threw the cards into the box, and throwing the box into the pile of paper and cardboard.

"Charity?" A voice rang out from behind me. I sighed.

"Now what?" I turned around and it was the green-eyed man. The green-eyed man was was here. Where did he come from? Why is he here?

"Charity... you're doing it again." I let my shoulders drop, staring deep into his eyes with a straight face.

"What am I doing?" He started towards me.

"You're doing that... thing. What do you see?" He waved his hand in front of my face, and I blinked. When I opened my eyes a split second later, I was out of my house. I was back in Matt's room. I was leaning up against the wall behind the bed, clutching the blanket to my stomach. I blushed and covered my naked chest, leaning back down on the bed. I winced as my wounds started to twinge painfully. I hissed and cursed. "You were just staring and muttering. You kept clenching your fists.... What did you see?" I looked back to his eyes and they didn't seem as bright anymore.

"It doesn't matter. I don't remember," I lied. He frowned, somewhat angrily. "Can I see a newspaper?" He seemed startled by my question and his eyes got a little wider, his mouth tightening.

"Uh... no. No, you can't."

"What day is it?"

"I don't know,"

"What time is it?"

"I don't know."

"Where is everybody?"

"...Places."

"I can never tell when you're in a bad mood." He frowned again.

"I'm always in a bad mood." His eyes were still dull, void of emotion.

"No, this is different. You look... oh."

He looked scared.