From Corner Shop #1

So at some point, in my mad state I presume, I thought I could run two blogs. Well, I obviously thought wrong seeing as running one and keeping it functioning is already work as it is. So I have decided to merge the two by transferring my posts from the other blog here. That being said, there is only one of such post, thank God. Here is one:

Hello, Hello....
So I glanced at my regular blog today and figured out, years later, that it looked more like a journal than anything else. Which is cool, except my journals tend to be super dark and gloomy. So I wondered, 'what would it be like to write a happy-go-lucky blog for a change??' I should say I am practically doing this because it is a dare and someone, no need to say who, said I couldn't do it. So, this is like an 'in your face' blog more like it. As for the Kawasaki in the background, trust Mi if I can find a way to make it a slide show of different bikes, I would pay tribute to them all. For now, it would remain as is. lol.


What to write about??
For starters, what the heck goes in a happy-go-lucky blog anyway?? I'll have to do some research into that. 
 I would tell a jolly story about my weekend though, since I have not really thought about anything else to write on here.


This weekend, for the first time, I lost an item while 'under the influence' as the adults say. My very fun randomized weekend quickly went to shit in my head Saturday morning, when I realized I returned home with less items than I left with. 
Basically, I misplaced my keys while I was wasted. I must say, that was a new experience for mi. Though my OCD self did remember where the keys were from the start, I still did not get them until today. So from Friday through Tuesday morning, I spent the time freaking out. But rather than really freaking out about the fact that I had no freaking clue what happened to my keys after I locked the door, I was more concerned about the fact that my OCD and said 'alter ego' no longer held up even when I got wasted.
For some people, this might seem silly, but for mi, it was a major problem. As far back as my drinking history goes, I have always prided myself in the fact that no matter how blacked out I get, I still maintain my usual routines: eg, bed time routines, safety routines, etc. I totally gave all the credit to my OCD nature and my 'alter ego'. Now the fact that neither could help mi with the location of my keys (which is something I always place at a specific spot before the night begins because I have OCD like that), led mi to worry that my friends might finally be right: I just might need an AA meeting. '


But no worries. Disaster was very much averted when I found my keys where I had recalled and even told my brother, in my wasted-ness, that they were located: In one of my girlfriend's car. 


Summary of this story is, I still refuse the title of an alcoholic. Would let you in on the new coined name for my 'condition' whenever I get one....lol

One Night Only

I met this guy,
He was cute, different, funny and not my type.
He loved another and thought I did too.
Which was fine cus I found it funny.
We laughed, we played, we hugged, he kissed,
And with the morning light, he was gone again.


We both said it won't work out.
We both said in a different life it might have been fun.
We both said we were both perfect.
We both knew not for each other.
We both agreed to go our separate ways.


But I did laugh while I was with him.
But I did say my mind with him.
But I did feel like we were on the same plane.
But I did help him with his problems as well.
And I did love him for one night only. 

1012: Remembering....

The Christmas Carol with Tommy singing 'Oh Holy Night'....
Toke crying non-stop, and for no apparent reason, saying she would miss everyone....
Mi giving Toke a kiss before she got on the bus to leave. We both looked at each other oddly....
Mi asking Zikora, for the millionth time, to tell mi what happened....
Nkem asking mi to buy her chicken, saying 'mumie this is the last chicken I'd eat before I go home'....
Mi thinking she was weird for wanting to eat chicken before PH, but getting it for her all the same....
Wale giving mi his number on a piece of paper, and mi doing the same....
Mi getting home and serving myself fried rice for lunch....
My mum's phone ringing....


Hell coming alive....


Mum saying 'the flight Ma'a was meant to take crashed....thank God she missed it'....
Mi asking mum what the flight no was, what the flight time was....
Mum getting irritated I keep asking....
Mi praying she would say a different time....
Mum figuring it out and trying to calm mi down....
Mi getting a call cause my number was in Wale's pocket....
Calling Angela and begging her to tell mi it was something else....
My heart racing because I knew....


The world as we know it now coming alive....


The last six years and how my feelings towards that day have evolved....
The last six years and wondering where you all would be today....
The last six years and smiling at the memories of the short time we shared....
The last six years and smiling at the silly fights we had....
The last six years and smiling and the things I've come to learn and accomplish cause of you....
The last six years and knowing many years from now, God willing, I'd smile with you and tell you all about the time I spent with you on the other side....


Remembering our angels on this day, December 10th, 2011. 6 years after we mourned, we still shed a tear and think of you everyday....


Kene Abba, Kelechi Adaka, Busayo Adebolu, Leke Adewoga, Boluwarim Adeyemi, Gabriella Aikhiobare, Wole Ajilore, Obongawan Akpan, Agu Akwiwu, Owanari Amachree, Chisom Awaji, Uzoma Awaji, Vivian Baa, Toke Badru, Chinenye Chigbo, Fanye Daniel-Kalio, Helena Edet, Chineonye Egbosimba, Uzo Egwele, Udeme Ekefre, Aniefon Ekereuwem, Amanze Ekwem, Ibra Ellah, Sandra Gbemudu, Nnanna Ibiam, Nnamdi Idabor, Chuka Ilabor, Nkem Ilabor, Buso Ilabor, Silvia Iroghama, Chibuzo Kamanu, Emma Loolo, Chiweoke Mba, Ijeamaka Mba, Augustine Monago, Linda Njoku, Obioma Nkaginieme, Ubani Nkaginieme, Chidera Nnaji, Ebuka Nnebedum, Emma Ntemuse, Hadiza Nwadei, Chioma Nwigwe, Stephanie Nwoko, Chidinma Nzelu, Adachi Nzenwa, Chidinma Okafor, Zikora Okafor, Ibiso Okemini, Onyeka Okereke, Daniel Okpe, Chris Olakpe, Whitney Orbih, Mayowa Oyebode, Jachimike Tony-Okeke, Ifeanyi Ubah, Richard Udeozor, Uzo Ugochukwu, Chigoziri Ukairo and Peter Utuk


Thinking of you yesterday, today and forever. In our hearts always
RIP

New Year Resolution

I woke up this morning feeling like I just woke up from a really bad dream. Problem wasn't the dream I just had. It felt like 'Mi' suddenly woke up to realize someone else had been living my life the past few years. And a close review of that person's actions felt very much like it should be a bad dream. 

HSR: The reincarnation of a life/past you assumed dead but rudely awaken to. 

Thats all am going to say about that. 

I realized recently, well last night, that I am a social/emotional chameleon. Doesn't that mean I have no true identity per say?? Well only around them I believe. I think everywhere else, I am Mi, but once around them, I become....well frankly speaking I still have no clue on that. lol.

Thing is, Idk if I want to be sad about that or what emotional feelings I should have to this new discovery. I normal person would be quite disturbed. I was disturbingly intrigued by how easy it was for mi to change colors at 'need' and I think that fact bothered mi a bit. But the problem is I think I am only a chameleon when I don't feel the need to make an effort to let you see mi. Which, being the case it seems with all of them, makes the situation extra sad.

Idthink I am making much sense. 

As for the title, I was going to say I would try and be 'Mi' with everyone as my New Year's Resolution, but as I went along with the writing, I realized that in itself would be a lie. To get there, I need to trust. Since I haven't found a reason to revisit that chapter, I would keep that little resolution elsewhere. One aspect I would stop' chameleoning' with though is the status change. Quite frankly its tiring, pathetic and down right unlike mi. lol. So I'd be single again. Scratch that, I am single. (sigh of relief). 

Don't worry about understanding all this cause I didn't even try to as I wrote it. lol.

This is Mi.

Today, I said no to my fling.
I called him over, drunk as hell, and with all intentions to do all shinanigans with him tonight. But then when he came over and we started talking, I realized a few things. 
One thing I realized was I din't want to be that girl. He is back with his girlfriend, and I realized I didn't want to be that girl who slept with the boyfriend of another girl. I realized I didn't want to be the girl he cheated on his girlfriend with. I know how that feels in a sense, and its not a positive ''I want to feel it too" feeling I can tell you that. 
Another thing I also realized is that I have a princess complex. I want to be treated like a princess. I want to be special. I want to be unique. I don't want a guy to come over to have anything to do with mi just because he is horny and needs to get it down - am not the whore queen, I want a guy to come over because he wants mi for mi. 
While this might be something obvious to most, it is actually a new discovery for mi. I have never really liked myself as most can tell. I live within the realms of "'I aint good enough for a lot of things". But at the same time, I realized I really do think of myself in a more positive sense than I thought I did. Even when I am drunk, which I am trying to recover from now. 
I just sent a guy home tonight, a guy I totally want to do in all manner of ways, and I should have done in my currently intoxicated state without question. The only problems he had were two things: he said he had a girlfriend, and he also said he came to mi tonight cause he felt I wanted/needed something from him.
He was wrong in one aspect.
I do want something from him, but I do not need that thing from him. 
I am happy and sad at the moment. Sad because I did not get to fulfill my wonderful desire to be with him. But happy because I know I would wake up tomorrow, look in the mirror and still be able to say to myself and my reflection "This is Mi".
I am a proud mofo and for the first time, I acknowledge and appreciate that fact.  I am too wonderfully and perfectly made to be some guys jerk off barbie. 


Funny thing is, I am still not sober yet. But I will not be sleeping or doing anything with anyone tonight, and the only guilty feeling I will be waking up with, will be of the reversible kind. 
If I aint special to you, we aint gonna be doing shit.


Case closed.

A New Dawn: A Fundraiser For Kechi Okwuchi....and some

So I realized today that despite the fact that I am one of the organizers for this event, I have not posted anything in relation to it.
Unfortunately, I dont plan on posting anything directly related to the event as I have already done that on our website www.kechiokwuchifundraiser.com.
With regards to the event coming up on saturday:
I cried today for the first time in ages. And no, it wasn't good.

For the same many reasons I don't cry, I cried today. And when I did, there was no one to make mi feel better. As I expected, which is a major reason I don't cry. Then I watched the slide show I made of her and us all for the show, and I remembered why I was doing it. I cried again (which is how I know everyone who sees it would cry), but this time it was for a different reason. I still didn't have anyone to complain to or make mi feel better, but it wasn't as disheartening as earlier.

It is late and I need to sleep, so thats all for now. lol.

Its been ages since I came here. Sigh.

Heartless

So it occurred to mi recently that I had not been here in a while. Since this used to be my escape pane, I wanted my come back to be something flashy and all. Or so I thought. While in the middle of my pondering, I had an encounter that got mi thinking.
He said I was cold hearted, in so many words, and now am quite sad.

So cheers to all the heartless ones out there....the next poem to come is for you.

She

Transfixed between earth and the after life,
The gate way: revered, feared, misunderstood.
She stands there, spread out, without notice.
She demands, she cares and all must fall in.


The whispers of her name ring across the world,
The tales of her powers are as old as God's first.
She can bring a nation to it's knees with one strike,
She can set freedom to the captives with one blow.


Tempting seductress, she entices many,
Taxing master, she terrorizes the rest.
She bleeds fear out from her pores.
She rides the world between her illusive hips.


There is not one who has or can resist her seductive melodies,
There stands one alone to have returned from her unknown.
She stands proud. Ageless, timeless, forever to be till she is undone. 
She is death, cold and divine.

Reservoir Chronicles: Him, Her

Her,
Breathing stops, heart races.
He is here.
Panic attacks, mask slips on.
He spoke.
If you are not mine, why won't the butterflies seize??


Her,
Words flow, amnesia occurs.
He is communicating.
Sarcastic. Unapproachable.
He is listening.
If you are not mine, why won't the butterflies seize??


Him.
Blank, void, unknown.
She knows him not.
Secretive, dubious. 
She never knows whats on his mind.
Trust-less, Ever doubtful.
She stands with a glass wall between them.
If your are not mine, why won't the butterflies seize??


Them.
Caring, smiling, feeling, aching.
I guess their feelings are one.
Nonchalant, hurtful, unresponsive, doubtful
I guess their feelings are split.
If you are not mine, why won't the butterflies seize??


Them.
Body united, no regrets.
Hearts separated, no obvious cause.
Minds bared, no answers.
Souls disturbed, no rest.
If you are not mine, why won't the butterflies seize??

Why Can't I Hate You??

Lets describe....short of words.....first time. Lol

Kill Mi quickly cause this slow shit aint cutting it. You won’t shut up, which is the only problem right now you know. Cause everything else I am used to, everything else I can take. But you just won’t Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Its not hard cause it was expected. Being observant is a bitch but hey, gives a girl a warning at least. Lol. So it was clear and accepted long before anything happened. Now we both know that, so why do you insist on going on and on about it?? Why won’t you just let Mi endure my hell in peace?? That’s unfair.

Hell is bad enough as it is, being there with you, now that is just the ultimate punishment.

Do I beg?? But that makes you happy doesn't it?? You get worse and there is nothing I can do about it....life is a lot better when I don't beg. 
Fuck it, who we kidding, I won't beg you even if it would cost my life....I guess we both know it, which is why we also both know I am doomed to this hell you have placed mi. 

Like it or not I may, but there is nothing I can do about it....so God help us both then....
someone needs to.... 

....From The Eyes Of The Beheld....

When you adore something, you watch it.
You don't touch it.
You don't touch it for you fear that then it would be contaminated. No longer pure, no longer the beauty that you behold. You would be contaminating it with the essence of yourself. The essence that makes you thus unworthy, thus impure, thus a simple guardian.
You understand this, you accept this.
But then disaster strikes.
Now that which you adore so is in shambles. You watch as the pieces gather together. Holding on to each other to soothe the ache that they each share. The common ache that you all share, though yours is well masked, well hidden.
You watch the bond and once again, it's painfully clear. Your heart is hurt cause you watch that which you adore stand before you, its pieces holding on together to comfort itself. To become stronger.
Suddenly, it becomes even more painfully obvious, your position. You are merely an observer to them. A visitor, charming nonetheless, but still a visitor. One with a mere interest in what that which you adore are, but not one that can feel or understand like them. You are automatically tagged, along with the rest of the outsiders, as one with sympathy, but incapable of empathy.
Tragic loss.
Now you have two kinds of pain to deal with. The pain of watching your beloved hurt in a way you could never have wished upon your own daemons. The pain of being all but ostracized as an outsider by the same beloved: Kept so close but yet so far, stuck between being one and being none. An empath to your degree, it hurts more.
You close your eyes, and the eery all too familiar echo of silence engulfs you. Not the silence of peace, but that which echos with lonesomeness. That which is plagued by the every living fact that awake or in sleep, remains eternal.
It's sad. Playing the beholder to the beholder to the beheld. The beheld knows not what it does to the other. The beholder cannot help the one between. For as sad as it is to say, the beholder is but one.
So to soothe yourself, you dive into the fantasies. The loves, the hopes, the dreams once held, all fulfilled. For a time, the ache is pacified, the loneliness is sated. And like a drug, the effect soon wears out, leaving you aching till the next dose.

If you understand any of this, then congratulations. You have become a beholder; seeing what no other has been able to do before - see from the eyes of the one in between....

Unwanted....

I wish I was drunk. You would think half a bottle of vodka and about 4 bottles of ice would do the trick but sadly, I am still lacking....I am not pissed. Don't have a right to be. I feel.... more like I feel sick. Sick to the point that I want to throw up. Sick to the point I want to kill myself. Don't feel the need to tell the total reason why, so I would focus on what triggered this post.
Today the feeling came back. I walked beside her and I felt like pushing her into the road every time a car came by. Does that make mi bad?? I think I can say she is the first one I have had a Love/Hate relationship with.... Its not a 100%that I hate her, and its not 100% that I love her....I really am tired. lol.
Oh in case you were wondering, I am in Vegas.
Do I hate her?? No. I have managed to form one of those friendships which is based on 99% lies and 1% truth.... you know the ones restricted to women only....
At this juncture, I do hate myself and am going to bed.... night

Reservoir Chronicles: The Real Mi

"Let me tell you about Mi" she said....

....I chase after something that I myself do not know....

....I have the ability to kill, and I know it....

....Everything about life is a game to me, you loose some, you win some....

....I like good boys because its a puzzle finding whats bad about them....

....I hate self sacrifice....

....I smile as a reaction to all things, no emotional change....

"Let me tell you about Mi" she said....

....There is someplace I want to be, though I don't know where....

....I hate it when people make a completely false image about me to me....

....I love boys because they are more complicated and fun to pick apart....

....I would go with you to any length, simply to see how far you would go....

....I don't like girls partly because I am one....

...I want someone to understand me, yet I don't want to tell anyone about me....

....I love fast things....

....I love 'happily-ever-afters' in others...

....I want someone to tell us apart, yet I don't want to give any hints....

....And as I stared and listened to her, I wanted to say....

There is a fire in your eyes,

and it flashes through your smile.

There is a radiance that i know only comes with my glow.

There is a reason that I'm here,

And its something that I fear,

We refuse to release the other,

And there in lies the problem.

The Illusion before you,

Is a mere shadow of what lies beneath.

The face you see,

Is a mere representation of what side it holds.

The voice you hear,

Is a mere cover for the true tales it tells.

The smile you behold,

is never loyal to one emotion.

Would you like to see the real Mi??

As would I.

Diabolical lover

In the wake of the night,
I saw.
The shadows illuminated my room’s sky,
Forcing my unwavering attention.
The soft fiery glow warmed my cheeks,
Yet I knew for a fact one touch would scourge.
Like the ever living fires of Hades.


He came to me.
In sleep or dream I do not know,
But he came.
The skies became the baby blue of dawn,
Yet he glowed and smelt as the twilight.


Gentle kisses he placed,
And I felt them like rain droplets.
Yet I did not touch him.
Plead and cajole he tried, Immortal none the less; I refused.
Relishing the power.


His eyes now grey,
I fear a storm cometh.
He placed a hand on my chest.
I shivered.
His hands burned and cooled as they moved.
A sensation I did not know to scream from or weep with joy.


He kissed me,
I tasted his lips.
He tasted of the sea, the dead sea.
My eyes flew open, the cock crowed.
It was morning on earth.


Night and day he torments me.
Leading mi up the torturous pleasures of ecstasy,
Only to leave me hanging at death's door.


Yet day and night I long for him.
Like the sex craved drug addict he turned me into.
Sodom and Gomorrah had the right idea I wish to say,
For he alone would drive me insane.

The Art of Boredom

The definition of boredom would be Mi, at this moment, sitting in an office space by myself with nothing to do. This is not meant to be the case though. And while I sit here pondering if I should be joyful or sad that my participants did not show up, I am also plagued with the ever living nightmare that this is just a glimpse into the everyday cycle of some people, i.e. 9-5ers, and I'm further reminded that there is no way in hell I would survive in their world. At least retaining my sanity.

Sometime soon, I am going to need to find a permanent solution to this seemingly life halting problem that plagues my 'daymeres' ever so often. But for now, my next participant is here, Thankest God, so I have to go work.

Bizarre Circle

There is a man down the street. He sees you all the time, but you don't see him. He watches you as you leave the house in the morning on Friday at 10am.


You always open that door at 10am.


Then like clock work, you pick up the news paper, check the mail for the day then walk back into the house. A few minutes later, you walk out again, lock the door and walk to your car. You get in and drive down the street in the opposite direction from him.


You never see him, but he swears he sees you everyday.


Three houses down are the McClauds. The little girl, Ami, is six and wants to be a ballerina. Her seventh birthday is around the corner, and you promised to get her tickets for her first big life show.


You pass by the house as you drive on your way, and remember your promise.


Across the street from the McClauds is old Mrs. Harper. The woman slimes at you all the time as you drive by and you smile back. She always yells for the kids to go back in the house saying it's dangerous to be out at this time.
You smile and shake your head. The same old story everyday.
All would be as it was when you return Sunday night at 7 as you do every weekend.


But this Sunday is different.


You slow down as you get closer to the house. There are too many people outside, including the cops. Something is not right.


You stop the car and walk out, standing next to it for a second.


The man is there. He sees you, and you see him.


Suddenly he starts yelling. He is yelling something along the lines of "It was meant to be you" but you don't really know.


You walk up to the house and you know. Before the police get to you, you know and you feel it. The dread in your stomach, the realization in your head, and finally the calming and acceptance in your heart.


"Ma'am, is this your apartment?" The officer asks.


"She lives here but she is not meant to!" The man screams. You turn to him, a look of confusion on your face. What was he talking about?


You turn back to the officers and respond. "No sir, I don't live here. My friend does though. I only come to visit on the weekends. What happened?"


The officer begins his "I'm sorry" speech. There was a shooting, your friends have been rushed to the E.R. and you would need to come with them for more questioning. You hear the 's' after 'friend' and fight off a dread. You nod and follow the officer out.


The man was taken out before you stepped out. He is in hand cuffs now. Apparently he was the shooter. But why did he shoot and who is he? They can't figure it out.


He still continues to yell things about lies and how it was meant to be you. Did he think you lived with them though you were not meant to? Was that why he had shot them?


Your head hurts.


You try to tell yourself it is because of all the shouting, but you know it is not. It had been hurting even before you got to the house.


You look up and the sun is suddenly too bright. Everyone is shouting. You want to tell them to be quiet, but then you suddenly feel light and weak.


There is a shot. There is a scream.


You really want them to be quiet but it's all white now. Slowly you let yourself rest for a while.


You wake up in the hospital. Devan's with you. Your boyfriend.


"What's going on?" you ask, and his face is suddenly looming in your view. You want to tell him to move, but he is blocking the light so you let him be. He is fussing about something and you figure telling him to move would make him even noisier.


The doctors come in. They move your body around, probe you some and then smile at you.


"You had a blood clot in your brain, but we got it out now. You were lucky to have come in at the time you did." One doctor says. He continues talking about rest and other things, but you tune out.


Blood clot? Was that what the headache was about? But what about the shot and the screams?


Just when you decide you had imagined the entire affair, the officer comes in. He looks solemn.


"How do you feel ma'am?" he asks. You try to smile but it hurts too much. So you mumble an "Okay, considering", and he smiles.


"What happened?" you ask, knowing he was not going to begin talking otherwise.


He sighs for a minute, as though carrying a heavy burden. "Do you know Mr. Trover?" he asks, looking at me for a reaction.


Trover? Was he meant to be familiar? "No." You reply, hoping it was not going to lead to a session of brain checks to see if your memory was intact.


He nods and you are relieved. Then he tells you "Well Mr. Trover seemed to know you. He was the man at your friend's house when you walked in. We interviewed him. Apparently he was the landlord of the place and thought you lived with your friends. Did you?"


You shake your head.


"She spends the night on the weekends." You hear Devan say. You smile as he squeezes your hand. And to think you had planned on breaking it off the night before.


The officer goes on. "Well he went in to kill you in order to get you to stop living with them. He didn't see who he shot, but there were two victims. A man and a woman. He assumed the woman was you." The officer paused.


You close your eyes. If the woman was not you, then it had to be Trish.
"What happened to them?" You manage to ask. You open your eyes and turn to the officer.


He shrugs. "The man had a surface wound, his left arm, and was out of the hospital before the end of the day. The woman is in a coma. Her face is almost unrecognizable, and there doesn't seem to be any available ID to identify her. The doctor says its up to her now. It is a small town and the weekend, so getting her finger prints results would probably not happen until Monday. But you know her and we have the culprit so there is no rush."


You nod.
Devan's grip on your hand is a little too tight. You want to tell him to let go but you can't find the strength. Then you remember.


"I heard a shot before I passed out." you say, and see the real reason for the initial sigh. Ah, here it comes.


"He grabbed the gun of the officer closet to him when he saw you outside and aimed to shot you. You fell before he hit you. The McClaud's little girl was behind you. It was a clean sot to the heart. She was dead before the medics arrived." He falls silent for a second, then says a few things about getting your report when you get out and hoping you get better soon.


You did not hear him leave though. Little Ami was dead. Was it odd that you remembered her rosy cheeks go crimson when Mrs. Harper had yelled for her to go back in and called her a vile word? You remember you still had not bought the tickets you promised her.


Mrs. Harper....the old bat had been right in the end.


You look at Devan. He had remained quiet since the officer left. You glanced at the table behind him. There are white roses on the table. He follows your gaze then smiles at you. "Roses. I got them on my way in. I remembered they were your favorites."


You look at him then and smile. You hated flowers. Trish died for roses.


"You are holding on too tight." You say at last, and smile and close your eyes when he releases his grip.


You hear the door open and do not need to open your eyes to know he is here. You smile as his scent hits you.


You seem to be smiling a lot for someone in the hospital you think.


"Oh Dimitri," Devan says, getting up to shake the man's hand. "Trish's room is down the hall. I am sorry. Funny they both got hurt at her apartment." he says.


You open your eyes then. Ah, that's right. He would think that.


You look at Dimitri. He has a single plastic blue rose, and you could tell he had dipped it in your favorite perfume. You stretch out your hand and he hands it to you. You notice he is favoring his left side.


You smile then turn back to Devan. Poor thing, he looks baffled.


The doctor comes in then. "Ms. Gardner is asking for you." he says, then waits.


Devan looks at Dimitri, but he continues standing. "The doctor's talking to you right?" he asks with a smile, but loses his smile when he turns to you.


You think he realizes then that the roses were not meant for you. He recalls that you hate live roses.


There is an awkward silence then he gets up. He turns to apologize to you but you shake your head and tell him "She told me she was pregnant two months ago. The same day we bought the Teaser perfume together, me and her. The same day you came home smelling of teaser."


He looks at you in shock for a second. He wants to respond, but the doctor coughs to remind all of his presence. He walks out with the doctor and doesn't say a word.


The door shuts.


You glance at Dimitri. He sits on the bed, leans in and gives you a kiss.


Well laid out plans.


Two months ago after you and Trish went perfume shopping, and Devan came home smelling of the perfume you hadn't yet used, you bought the apartment in Trish's name yet she only found out about it last night.


You knew Trevor hated you. You knew he was going to try to kill you on that day. It was only a matter of setting the right time. But to think that he shot her up to the point of nonrecognition? You did not know he hated you that much.


He watched you, as you watched him. you knew he had come in the house at noon to see if he could get you unawares several times before. So having Trish come over at noon that day gave him the once in a life time chance he had been searching for. No one was going to stop you if he didn't. The house owner did not believe him, the police thought he was crazy.


And why wouldn't they?


Though he claimed you lived there, he only saw you at 10am on Fridays and 7pm on Sundays. Yet there was no trace of you in the house at noon when he went in, and no sign of you coming in and out of the apartment even on the weekends. You simply went out at 10am on Friday, and came in at 7pm on Sunday. What happened in between was a mystery.


Poor thing.
He could not have guessed the tunnel beneath the closet door in Dimitri's room. Who could have? It had been built in the 80s, when the Viscoff family smuggled all sorts into the country. It was the family trade.
Dimitri was heir.


And he screamed on and on about how it was meant to be you, you almost felt bad for him, had it not been for the clot in your brain. But his mistake was as good as any other persons. It was impossible to tell Trish and you apart.
You are twins.


Dimitri kisses the crease off your brow. "It was not your fault." he says, and makes you smile.
The plans would have been perfect, but little Ami, for the first time, broke the rules. The little child always listened when Mrs. Harper said go in, but not last night.
Last night she stayed out cause you had promised.
It was her birthday last night, and you still did not buy the tickets she waited outside so eagerly for.
What a bizarre Sunday it had been.

Her darkness

She likes the night because she is free.
All is still at night and all is alone.
Thus the echos of her loneliness blend right in.
The missing pieces in her smile go unnoticed.

She hates the day for she is bound.
The brightness shows it all, so she needs a mask.
To hide the tears and the emptiness within.
And words to deafen the hallowing echos from within.