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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.

Faked

She likes the night because she is free.
All is still at night, all is alone.
Thus the echoes 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 of her heart.
And words to deafen the hallowing echoes from within.

1012 : 5 years future

Once again we are at the cross road,
Standing, staring, on either sides.
Once again here we are,
Yet the date reads 5 years future.


I hear your laughter, I see your tears.
I hear your promises, I see your fears.
I know your wishes, I recall your prayers.
Yet the date reads 5 years future.


It was yesterday we sang carols together,
It was yesterday you promised mi forever,
It was yesterday we made plans for tomorrow.
Yet the date reads 5 years future.


They say time heals all wounds,
They say that to mi and I try to believe.
They wipe my tears as my heart breaks to bits.
I pray soon the time they spoke of would be here.
Yet the date reads 5 years future....and I am still waiting.


In memory of the 60 who departed on 10/12/2005. In my heart you always will be. And till the day we meet once more, continue to smile and bring joy to all where you are, just like you did to us here until 5 years past....

So like Mi

I wish to yell, scream, curse, be blunt and be so....
unladylike.
I wish to jump, smirk, hiss, not give a shit and be so...
unladylike.
I wish to hit, scratch, bite, cause damage and be so....
unladylike.
But then I can't be bothered with the aftermath of fights, speeches and the act of reconciliation....
So like Mi.


I wish to be British polite, without the bashfulness of the Japanese,
and be so....unladylike.
I wish to be rude when necessary and blunt with the devil's smile,
and be so....unladylike..
I wish to tell you all i feel, not caring as tears run down if they do,
and be so....unladylike.
But then I can't be bothered with the aftermath of fights, speeches, letters and the act of reconciliation....
So like Mi.


I wish to show when I care, if ever, and when I don't care plainly,
and be so....unladylike.
I wish to say what I want to whomever as before, accepting that it might be the end,
and be so....unladylike.
I wish to smile at all times, and not discriminate among who I smile with a dagger to,
and be so....unladylike.
But then I can't be bothered with the aftermath of fights, speeches, letters and the act of reconciliation....
So like Mi.

....In the Silence....

Engulfed.
In the cone of silence,
She alone hears him.
Calling.
He is back....
Or maybe he never left.

Louder.
His colors bold as ever,
She alone can see them.
Bleeding.
He cuts her....
Or maybe the old wound reopened.

Mesmerized.
Trapped in his cold embrace,
Silent tears fall from her.
Mirrors.
He loves her....
Or maybe she hallucinates.

You.
Another walks in,
Silent tears like hers.
She hates him; She loves him.
For he is she, she is he.

Help.
She wants to scream,
No sound is heard.
In the still silence,
He alone hears her.
You alone understands her.
Neither of help to her.

She hears it,
She feels it,
She understands it.
That thing that fills the empty core,
Yet still leaves it empty.