a lone soul [from U.L.S]

A lone soul opens its eyes to the sound of its own whimpering. It lifts its head off the slightly wet ground and attempts to look around only to find that it can’t see anything clearly because it is to dark. It shivers as it climbs to its feet, its muscles aching and the cold air tickling every strand of its hair. It lets out a cry of “mum!” only to get his own shaky echo as a reply floating through the tree’s that his eyes begin to recognize. He sees them blocking out the stars and knows he is in a valley. It takes him a few minutes to remember why he is in a forest. He’s at school camp. “Anyone!” he calls out but once again only gets his echo as a reply. He rubs his arms shivering in the cold and sits down to wait for dawn to walk back to camp. But as his eyes have now adjusted as he sits he sees a body on the grass next to him. He reaches to hold it but his hand slips through and he sees that it is himself. He has twisted his legs awkwardly and has grazes all over his body. There is a large dent in the head of his body as well as his sitting figure. Seeing this he screams so loud his ears sting. It echo’s through the valley. He only stops screaming when he sees a flash light shine through the trees. When he stops he also hears voices.

“What are you running to? Brendan! Get back here before you fall off a cliff.”

There is a spotlight on him and he looks up to see it coming from his friend Brendan standing atop a steep slope almost above him. “Jeremy!”

Brendan slides down the steep slope, dropping his torch on the way but leaving enough light to see by. He lands near him and walks towards him looking him in the eyes but with an expression of horror.

“Brendan, Thank you, I’m so scared. I mean what’s happening? I’m here but I’m there!” Jeremy says quickly as he points at his body.

“You’re dead.” Brendan said almost crying.

“No. no way. I just want to go home.”

“They won’t be able to see you.”

Spot lights from above light them up. They shout promises of a rescue team, that would do no good, but who could tell them that?

come to know

"Surrender to us", "Give in", "Join us", "You know you don't like it where you are", "We know you can't take much more". The voices call to him. Whispering as though they travel slowly with the light breeze that brushes his face. He knows what they are, although he can never see them clearly. He doubts that he would be able to see anything clearly on such a dark night anyway. The night is completely silent spare the voices and the gentle rustling of leaves in the light breeze. He takes a few slow tentative steps into the breeze, towards the voices, down the road, towards the park. and by the second telegraph poll he sees someone. another boy, not a very old one, a teenage boy, although he can not see him clearly he feels he should know him, or come to know him. although he was not there a second ago his sudden appearance seems somehow natural and normal as though he had been there the whole time and simply stepped from a blind spot. his pants are the colour of the dark night and his shirt plain dark blue, his hair an undistinguishable colour hasn't been brushed in a while. and then he is gone as smoothly and quickly as he had come, seeming to walk into nothingness. intreged he walks towards the poll and as he brushes his fingertips over it he looks left to a small clump of tree's. he follows the air to the middle of the clump where he can no longer find what he was following. he sits leaning against a tree. he closes his eyes and rests his head on his knee hopeing to loose his tourmenting thaughts. unable to do so he looks upwards, and his breath catches in his throught. the light colour of the rope makes the noose contrast greatly with the dark tree's behind it. there is nothing hanging from it but its presence almost above him disturbs him greatly. his breath catches up with him and nomatter how much he wishes to run and forget the night he knows it cant work that way. he climbs the treee and climbs out onto the branch, tears fill his eyes as he thinks of all those lost, victoms to the harshness of life. his hands shake as he unties the tight knot from the tree and watches the noose fall, an d as it hits the ground he feels as though some tiny piece of his heart has been set free. he feels just as alone and confused and upset and exausted as he did before, but he also feels that now he will be able to sleep.

Edwards Diary (page 2) [from U.L.S]

Ok in my session with my fav Doc today and he pulled this line about not having psychotic episodes on my meds and not feeling my anger (note I feel that I just don’t throw things ‘cause they’ll keep me here longer if I do) And them implied that at a rate like this I could be outa here in ‘No Time’ like 10 Yrs. Fucking Forever I think. Oh and in that instant I had a brilliant feeling, almost a vision. I know its not real but it realy braught my heart up. – In That Very office, just me and him and the security camera’s watching helplessly. I had him pinned to the floor, my knee on his chest, a gun, not a pistol but a real gun, pitched on my sholder pushing into his throught, my finger playing the trigger enhouing his fear. His body heated up, his struggled breath changed, I could feel it through the gun, and the fear in his eyes, he was so scared of death, (I don’t even think he knows why he fears it.) that I would kill him, his heart was racing so fast and so hard I could feel it against my knee. I couldn’t give him time to understand, so I pulled the trigger, warm blood leaked from his throught and he gurgled choking on it as he tried to breath, mortally wounded ... and dieing slowly ... under me ...
-Edward G’F

Kitchen Knife

And as he presses the sharp kitchen knife to my throat I force myself not to backhand him.

I take in his appearance, he is a foot taller than me. His unkept hair hangs haphazardly across his face shading the bruises. His face looks somehow gaunt as though his skin is only there to stretch over his bones. He is wearing that big baggy jumper that I know covers scars but also hides how thin he has become, and the baggiest jeans, apparently a fashion trend, they almost make his stick like legs appear normal. The width of his bony shoulders show that his weight is unnatural, and that, with his hazel-green eyes and slightly wavy dark hair show that he could be a handsome young man, if he took care of himself. If that was what he wanted.
I watch as my 17 year old boy throws the tantrum of a three year old:
He screams curses at me, I scream back.

He throws everything at the walls, I strike him.

He holds that knife to my throat, I give him a dark stare.

But I see he is crying, he rarely ever cries, I stare in shock.

He sways slightly and falls to the floor.

He sits curled in a ball, back against the refrigerator and knife held tightly in hand. And it is only then, watching my son rock and cry in our kitchen, listening to his inaudible whispers and dry unrecognisable screams, unable to distinguish his words, that I know what happened. What was happening the whole time, right in front of me.

This new wave of knowledge both sickens and terrifies me. My anger turns to guilt as I realise that I have failed my son. I stood by and watched him fall, without even realising it.

I slowly sat down next to him and hugged him and although he went tense I didn’t let go, and several minutes later I felt him slowly relax. And although I had been there his whole life, watching him, watching him slide, and doing nothing, his first understandable words were “I missed you mum.”