Secrets Beneath the Bodies It's not finished but this is what I've got so far. My index finger traced the rim of my coffee cup as I watched wisps of steam swirl into the air and vanish. I breathed in the sweet smell of pumpkin, my eyes drifting to my watch for what must've been the hundreth time. It was ten o'clock. He was forty-five minutes late. Wow. I stood up from my booth, pulling on my coat and grabbing my wallet. The door to the café opened. I straightened to see who had entered. It was definitely him. I knew immediately. No one was as tall as him, or had his jet black hair, and I didn't think I'd meet another soul with his beautiful blue eyes. And just standing there, staring up at him, I felt nothing had changed, like he was going to walk over and kiss me or smile his it's-ok-I'm-here smile. But everything's changed. I swallowed, smoothed the wrinkles from my coat, and pushed past him toward the door. "Sara!" I heard him call before it shut. Then he opened it again, and I heard him running after me. "Sara! C'mon! Will you just listen?" I continued walking to my car. "This is stupid, Sara. You need me. I know you need me." I stopped, my back to him. No matter how much I hated him right now. No matter how much I wanted to punch him and scream at him. I did need him. There was still that little part of me that kept saying, "He's your best friend. He knows you better than you know yourself." He took my silence as an invitation to speak. "I'm sorry, Sara. I never meant to..It happened so fast..I couldn't stop it." I turned around slowly. "She's gone. You killed her. And you think a sorry is going to fix it? You think an apology will make everything better?! Will bring her back?!" I sank to the ground, my wallet slipping from my hand to fall to the cement, its contents spilling out. "She's gone. She's dead." I began to shake uncontrollably. "Sara.." And he was there. He was wrapping his arms around me, pulling me to his chest, where I could hear his heart beating steadily. And I let the tears come, I let his soft coat muffle the sound of my sobs, I let him hold me. I wasn't scared anymore. I wasn't scared, because I didn't have anything left to lose.

The Monsters in My Mind Each night I lay with burning eyes, waiting for the creatures of the dark to crawl from their hiding places in the corners of my mind and destroy every grasp I have on reality and sanity until I'm begging them for a dreamless death, clawing at my face with cherry nails and tearing my body with desperation and hatred for the roller coasters and battlefields I call my thoughts.

Insanity I've seen nothing but my body covered in swirly blue ink and pink scars. I done nothing but lay in a room drowning in red roses and white daisies, struggling to swim against the confusing waves of my thoughts which are crushing the air from my lungs, leaving me breathless and shaking on the floor. Scalding water washes the salt from my face as I hug my naked body and try to blink away the whirlwind of ideas, theories, and philosophies on this fucked up excuse for a world and I want to scratch and kick and claw the relentless hands of the people telling me who I can, can't, and should be. I want to scream in the faces of those responsible for the lights, the cameras, and the action and the beautiful women with hourglass bodies that I've starved myself for. Time is flying past me and it's like I can just reach out and grab those precious years of blissful delusion I've let slip so carelessly through my fingers. And I'm beginning to think the light at the end of the tunnel doesn't exist, that I won't ever be able to smile again and mean it. I'm just floating in an oblivion of ignorance with other extinguished flames destined for an empty grave and I'm waiting, hoping against everything I've made myself believe, for someone to grab my hand and bring me back to earth to perform the most amazing and impossible of miracles: accepting me in all my insanity.

Brain Dead It was 7 a.m. The hospital was awake with hurried footsteps and casual conversation. He could hear the monitors from the other rooms. The constant beeping of their hearts matched the steep mountains and rocky valleys on the monitor before him. It made the same noise. Her chest rose and fell in time with it. He watched her. He tried to picture her washing the dishes, feeding the dog, sleeping, getting dressed. But the scarred woman before him wasn't his wife. She was a brainless incubator with #lifesaving organs that other living people needed. That's what the nurse told him anyway. She was short and grumpy with fat lips and harsh eyes. All he was to her was a man. Perhaps a man that used women for sex and pleasures. He was just another person who couldn't let go of his "loved one," as they called her. He moved from the foot of her bed, ran a hand through his hair, then down his neck. He faced the doorway and watched the nurses type away on computers, smile politely at the elderly patients hobbling by, and flip through piles of paperwork. He crossed his arms. Make a decision, Mr. Daniels. She could save so many lives. He turned back to the breathing corpse lying so comfortably in the bed, her arms at her sides, her eyes gently closed. He could see the blue fingernail polish. He'd watched her paint her nails just last night. "Stop it," she'd said, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and preceded to kiss her neck, then nibble her ear. "Why should I?" he'd whispered against her skin. His eyes flickered open and he saw her steady hands brush over her nails, leaving a trail of inky blue behind. "I'm focusing." He crawled onto the bed next her. She was staring at her fingers but he didn't miss the slight coloring in her cheeks or the gentle tug at her lips. "In a minute," she'd told him. He bit his cheek and put a hand over his mouth. His nose stung and his vision blurred. That minute came, he thought, that minute came and it went, and now what do I have? "Goddammit!" he screamed. The nurses paused in the hallway outside to look at him, but he didn't notice. He shook. Tremors took hold of his body and suddenly he couldn't stand. So he fell. His knees hit the linoleum. His voice tore through the hospital, destroyed the glass panes, sounded the alarms, and still his wife remained motionless, her eyes stayed closed, her chest kept rising, kept falling. "GODDAMMIT!" he cried again. His hand grabbed at his chest, ripped at his shirt, tore at his skin. He wanted to feel pain. He wanted physical pain. "Sir!" The nurse ran into the room. "Sir, are you alright? Charlie! Call Dr. Hamilton!" He looked at her. Make a decision. She's a brainless incubator. She stared down at him. Her eyes were still harsh. He detected some pity in them, in the way they drooped a little. But there was laughter, too. She thought he was a joke. It was her lips that gave her away; the corners curled a little as she stared down at him. Maybe I am a joke, he thought, I'm the man with an incubator for a wife. "Leave me," he breathed. She hesitated. "Leave me!" She ran. He lifted himself from the floor. He held onto the bed for support. He searched his mind for words, for something to say to this woman, this pathetic excuse for a wife. "Why did you do it to me?" he said. His eyes were trained on the street below them, on the skyscrapers in the distance, on the harbor not too far off. "I had nothing till I met you!" he shouted. "No family. No friends. No #life. Nothing, Goddammit! I had nothing to lose!" He breathed, steadied himself. His thumb and index finger held the bridge of his nose and he closed his eyes tightly. "Then you come along, you come along and you make me fall in love with you. You have to give me something to lose." He faced the bed and opened his eyes. "I cared about you! I loved you! And you had to do this to me! They want to cut you up and use your organs! They want me to let them cut you up and send bits of you off to "people who need it!" Goddammit!" He saw her again. She was wearing a red sundress with a strappy back and black gladiator sandals. Her elbows rested on the wooden pier. Her eyes were closed and she let the sound of the waves fill her ears, let the wind blow through her blonde hair. He had to repeat himself. "Will you go to dinner with me Friday night?" Her eyes opened. There was stunning blue. Her lips curled at the corners to reveal a row of pearly white teeth. "Are you asking me out?" He grinned down at her. "Yes, I am." "Shouldn't you know my name first?" "Should I? I like mysteries." "And I like spoiling mysteries," she said with a wink. "I'm sorry, sir." A hand was on his shoulder, and the monitor's obssessive and constant beeping returned. "I'm sorry, sir," Dr. Hamilton said again. She cleared her throat and tapped her clipboard with a pen. "You will have to make a decision now." He glanced over at his wife. She's sleeping, he decided. He took the pen and signed his name. "Save those lives," he whispered to the blonde haired scarred and brainless woman on the bed. His hand held her foot. It was warm beneath the blankets. "I miss you." Her body blurred, the room swirled around him, and he awoke in sterile bedsheets in a dark empty room without a monitor. A nurse touched his shoulder. "They've finished, Mr. Daniels. Come see her."