DreamGhost's Stories

The Look On Her Face

2007-11-16T00:21:41Z

I thought everything would be magical like in a movie. I thought that this mystery women and i would connect on some level. She would hug me, thank me for making her feel again, and ask to buy me lunch. It wasnt until I was being escorted out of the Chicago Modern Art Museum that I remembered, we dont live in a movie, we live in real life. People dont just walk up to strangers and hug them, or at least not very often.

Maybe I thought she needed somthing from me, maybe I needed somthing from her. Maybe I wanted to add some magic and surrealness to this cold, stale world we live in. A world where when you want to have a connection with another human being they think you’re a rapist or a murderer. I dont see why you cant just smile and touch other people without it being a matter of sexual desire. I thought of her and that look on her face. She was scared. As I was being dragged out into the street, I didnt think of jail or of Clarissa. All I could think of was this world we live in and the look on her face.

Lying On The Floor

2007-11-14T04:06:47Z

The music kept droning on below, I lay on the floor just feeling its vibrations. It wasnt that I liked this song or even that I liked music. Although, I bet I would like music very much if I could hear it. Who am I kidding? I would love music, I do love music! Its that thing you cant have that you always love. For you it may be that fancy sports car or the hottest chick in school, you never will have them which makes you love and want them even more. But for me its more than just fickle things. I never heard him say “I love you.” I never heard the wedding bells. I never heard my baby boy cry. I never heard the car crash. I never heard my own screams, I could feel them though. One of the worst feelings is to scream and never be heard. I never heard anything. I can still feel the aches of my soul. I can still see my life plumeting. I can still smell and taste my own blood.

I feel the bass speed up. God, I wish I could hear the music. You have no idea how much I love music.

The Human Touch

2007-11-14T03:58:13Z

As little kids we are always told, “Don’t Touch, that’s hot!” or “You cant touch that or you’ll break it!”. It is programmed into our brains not to touch. In reality, touching is good. Touching is more important than water, food or sleep. If a puppy is never held, never touched, even if it is fed and nourished it WILL die.

Imagine, never being held, never being kissed, hit, burned or feeling the warmth of another living being. Never loving or being loved in turn. Imagine a world where everyone has a bubble around them, talking, going on with everday life, but never even brushing hands. You cant. For if you could this world would be empty. Without touch, we would not exist.

Sometimes, we have to feel the heat to know that we can burn. We have to break things to know that we can put them back together. We have to touch to know that we can still feel.

A boy named Everest

2007-10-31T05:36:28Z

This is to a boy named Everest.
His head is umong the clouds.
He is so beautiful and strong.
I love his smile.
Somtimes though, I feel his cold.

This is to a boy named Everest.
I want to climb to the top.
And melt all the ice away.
But would you still be so beautiful?
Yes, because your blue eyes will never melt away.

This is to a boy named Everest.
I hope it is enough.
Maybe you will let me love you someday.
Instead of pushing me away.
This is to a boy named Everest.

Lips...

2007-09-18T00:34:22Z

“Tounge get off of me! I am tired of you licking me like that! You have gone to far!”

“Shhhs! Lips, Look Johnny is coming over. Ohh la la. Make me feel like dancing.”

“OMG! When did he get even more georgeus? Wheres my lipgloss? Quick, hands, hurry up!”

“I’m Hurrying! Gosh chill out!”

“Omg! His lips and I should go out somtime I mean real…!”

“Wow. Look at them go. Tounge? Lips? Oh, you guys are a little busy… my bad.”

15 minutes later…

“Doo doo do doo doo… when am I gonna be of any use. His hands are hard at work. HELLOOOO ?!?!?! Hey feet, do us a favor and lets get out of here.”

Dear Diary: Entry One

2007-09-18T00:22:08Z

Dear Diary,
Why are things so hard? Why cant I just… I dont know… why cant I just be? How come it takes all my power just to keep breathing? I want to be beautiful, no not just beautiful, I want to be the most beautiful person ever. I cant handle being second best. I love Danny but I hate it when guys pay more attention to her than me. If my hair was a little longer, my boobs a little bigger, my face just a tad clearer, than I would be perfect. I’m 5’7” so being a cheerleader next year is going to be awkward. All the girls are so short, pretty, and mean. I’m not shirt, mean or particually pretty. Guys say I’m hott and sexy and all that bullshit but only one guy has told me I’m beautiful. I love him. It hurts so badly. Somtime I wish I hadnt met him because then I wouldnt have to know the pain of loving somone so much that you would suffer for eternity for them. Thats much more than just to die for them. Dieing is easy. My brother thought so, my Dad found out so. Now I have to live without them. It hurts.

Memoirs of a Overweight Princess

2007-08-19T19:02:08Z

‘Even though I am big, he loves me. Even though he could have her, he has me. Even though they love him, he loves me.’ -A letter to my Sister, Niame.

We got married in a quiant little church. No million dollar cake, no 10 foot long guest list, just me, Greg and our families. My hair wasnt strewn with diamonds and pulled into a uncomfortable up-do. My dress didnt have pearls or a 50 foot train. I didnt wear rubys or sapphires just a white dress with beads on the bust. Its not like I was deprived of my dream wedding, quite the opposite actually. He wanted to give me jewls, and bouqets, and doves. I told him that I wanted was him. He would have gone and got the moon if I had asked for it, god knews he has the will and the money but I said all I needed was him.

You look at me and you see a overweight woman, with no extravagancies, in a tiny church in Manhatten but you know what he sees? He sees me. He sees a beautiful, confident woman who loves him. He sees a princess.

Tell Me A Story

2007-08-09T07:53:39Z

“Mommy, tell me a story.” My son said with those big, grey eyes of his.

“What do you want to hear tonight?” I brush away the soft hair from the pale of his face.

“Tell me a story about you and Daddy.” He always wanted to hear a story about his father and I, like we were all fairy tale characters and we would have a happy ending.

I sigh, “Havent you heard enough of those. Dont you want to hear a story about Brer Rabbit?” His little head shakes and his big eyes start to get even bigger. If he starts with the crying, I’d have no choice but to give in.

“What about a story with Mermaids” He shakes his head again. “Elephants?” He just stares at me with those watering eyes, his father’s eyes. “Alright alright. You win, Damion.”

“Once upon the 90’s in a land called California there lived a stuggleing actress by the name of Sarah…”

He always drifts of to sleep before David dies in a 9-11. I think thats why he thinks its a fairy tale. “And they all lived happily ever after.”

Being A Butterfly

2007-08-01T06:57:58Z

I sit there on the same cold floor that has been chilling my feet, sending shivers through my entire body for almost 5 years now. Boxes tower around me. The masking tape in my hand feels unusualy heavy. Out with the old in with the new. I’m on my way. Within a week, all my old possesions have been sold or donated and the new comes in. I am going to train. Crossbows, swords, various eastern wepons, a boxing bag, other wepons, and a new set of knives roll in and find a place in my condo, and my heart. Especially the knives. I pick up a long skinny gutter but quickly put it down when my eyes rest upon a gold and silver butterfly knife. Beautiful. I have always loved butterflys, even as a child. I have a butterlfy collection. At first I was sad to see such a beautiful creature trapped to a peice of cardboard. Lifeless but yet so ravishing. Lovely. Then it occured to me, I came up with being strong, that seemed like a great plan a week ago. What after that though. After I kill them, what happens. I sigh and smile.

Butterfly

2007-07-31T08:22:04Z

I’ve been thinking. When I was a child I was always afraid of the monster under my bed, the bully down the lane, and everything else. I look around my lifeless, cold, condo and sigh. I cant hide here forever. The phone hasnt rung in a long time. I dont even need this mobile, I think looking down at the foreign device in my palm. I clench it tight. I have no friends or family. No one to shelter me anymore. Rain still drips off my coat onto the smooth, marble floor. I dont see why they should come after me. Oh right, my father’s gambling debt. Lipstick, tissue, a pen, and a glinting butterfly knife rest uneasily next to my purse. I sigh. I’ve thought alot in the past hour since the funeral. I walked along the grave sites and remembered somthing my father told me one hallow’s eve. “Dont worry, Sara. You’r a ghost. Everyone is terribly frightened of ghosts.” Thats its. If you dont want to be scared you have to be frightening. If you dont want to be hurt, somtimes you have to hurt people. I know what I have to do.

Pulse

2007-07-26T01:14:54Z

It has a pulse. You cant ingnore it. You have to obey it. Dance, dance, dance, dance. It calls to you. The pill under your tounge seems to dance too. You cant see. Its alright you just need to hear and feel. Live, live, live, live. It calls to me. Sparks fly across my skin. It dosent burn, it feels sweet. I am alive. A man dances his way over to me. I feel his hand wrap around my waist, his lips press against mine. Our lips open his tounge is alive in my mouth. It passes me another capsule. He leaves. Soon i feel much more aware of my surrounding. I stop dancing. Another pulse sounds through the room. Kill, kill, kill, kill. My eyes burst open. I can see. I can see everything. My body feels strong. All my bones in my body are cracking. My spine arches. my hands extended and my nails grow more like claws. I can hear my jaw cracking. I am in so much pain. I like it. I turn toward a beautiful youth convulsing close to me. I embrace him in my arms. My hands wrap around his head. I pull him in close. Crack.

I'm Afraid

2007-07-25T23:10:21Z

He sits next to me in the blan, white room. He softly squeezes my hand. He dosent read or take a nap. He just sits there holding my hand. A nurse dressed in pink and blue enters in the room. “Kiera Konikeis?” They always get it wrong. “Kyarra Konakis.” Drew corrects her even before I can open my mouth.I love him. A squeeze on the hand. I follow the nurse down a plain hall. I pear into rooms as I go. White rooms. I stop at one, a mother holds her daughter’s hand. They must be waiting for the doctor. I hope shes okay. We come to a room with an open door. “The doctor will be with you soon.” I slide up onto the cold examining table. So cold, so white. I dont mind. I think about Drew and Will. Will dosent know about Drew and I. Its alright. Drew and I arent a couple or anything. We just are. We make love, we watch movies, we talk. We are. I got so lost in my own thoughts I didnt hear the door open. “Hello there. I’m Dr. Hein.” I look up. I cant breath. The monsters found me. I’m afraid. Help.

Monsters in the Dark

2007-07-25T22:52:16Z

I can never fall asleep. I’m too afraid. I’m afraid of the monsters. “I’m too old for this.” I groan to myself as I cower in the dark. I reach for my phone and press speed dial # 2. Will, my boyfriend answers. “Hey Baby! Wat cha doing?” He is too stoned to console me but I continue talking to him for a couple minutes. He has to go. The panic attack worsens as I hang up the phone. I know they are in the room, they are taunting me with their pressense. Speed dial # 1. A tired hello squeeks over the line. “Drew? I’m going crazy.” “Calm down. Tell me what happened.” I continue talking to him, he always calms me down. I love him. After I get off the phone I talk to Drew for hours on AIM . WebMD. I enter my symptoms.
Schizophrenia, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Insomnia, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Fuck. How do I talk to my Mom about this? Drew will understand. He holds me as I softly cry. I’m not afraid. For once I feel safe.

Happyness

2007-07-25T09:39:59Z

Maybe if I didnt write at night or in a creepy setting all the time, my stories would be happier. This thought occurs to me as I’m sitting here in my old dusty library, very creepy. The clock reads 2:24, very late. But this story won’t be like my other ones. This wont be a reflection of my miserable life. Here I go.

Kayla is 15 and her life couldnt be better. She has lots of friends and suceeds in all she does. Her father is alive and will never be forced to face any serious deseises. Her mother is at the top of her career and would never fall in love with another man besides Ken. Truth be told the whole family is very happy. Kayla’s brother Paul is very much alive and thriving. Dan, her other Brother is enjoying life at college NOT in the army. Her sister Tara, is pregnant with a beautiful baby girl. Everyone is happy and together. Her aunt isnt insane. All of her grandparents are still together and enjoying retirement very much. Happyness. Pure happyness.

Oh well. I tried my best.

The Perfect Woman

2007-07-25T02:25:20Z

She was perfect. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own. Her face smooth and clear. Her figure was magnificent. Breasts so firm and volumtious. I fell in love with Jezabelle. She sat outside her house. Wearing a red riding dress and holding her yellow umbrella. She sat there for more than a hundred years. Never ageing, never moving, never living. Jezebelle is the perfect woman and she isnt real. Now many people gaze upon her beautiful face. I am sorry she isnt real. I am sorry we cant be together. I am sorry I ever painted the perfect woman.