**Authors Note> To read more of these uniquely written works by Kira Sanchez, see her newly published book, ‘Creative Compilations’. This is a collection of her writing (old to new). Such as: Poetry, Literature, Short stories. Some of these are unedited to keep originality.
Available at her store for purchase: www.stores.lulu.com/kirasbooks
Available at her store for purchase: www.stores.lulu.com/kirasbooks
Darkening Misconceptions....
The mansion on the corner street was a favorite place for kids to fear or mischievous kids in my brothers case. One long night after the house had been strangely taken down, my brother told me a different kind of bed time story. This story took place a year ago when he and a friend dared venture into the house. From a small crumple note found within, they made up a story of the past residents that they thought suited the abandoned house.
Looking obligingly out the window, as she always did when he'd get this way, she tried to block out his incoherent bantering. Night was falling and the cold snow represented her indifference to her once beloved. The moons eerie glow cast a shadow on the earth's snowy surface illuminating its sparkles as they dance to the ground. The snow gleamed like powdered sugar as the ground hungrily took them in. The old window pane was large enough to let her steal a long look out its rusty interior. The smell of the nearby hearth blocked out the bitter smell of hate. The warmth of the fire did not touch her as she already felt cold to her surroundings.
She couldn't believe he was still yelling, in fact she stopped listening long ago. It was only when he shook her out of her zombie state by his abruptly that she noticed he was still upset. Turning to face her once beloved she stared stonily back at him, noting that he was drunk and the empty martini glass was to prove on what. He was getting older, and his weary lines on his face mad it harder to believe he was only twenty. The high stone columns that marked the library loomed down on her as she felt the walls close in on her. She realized that fear was no longer an option with this virile man, and pity replaced it instead. He transposed her past, her present, and her future.
Approaching her, he impatiently grabbed her arm the pain reaching her brain in a matter of seconds and to prove its existence she yelped. His slap didn't come as a surprise; she was numb to it by now. Roughly he pulled her away from the window and dragged her through their mansion labyrinth, and aware of his usual tirade she knew the shortcomings. The cold air touched her lungs like her first breath and her skin warmed to the night air as he brought her out into the snow. Throwing her precariously onto the snow, she heard his steel-toed boots crunching against the snowdrift and kicked her hard in the kidney. She hugged the snow in her grasp knowing it promised her a better outcome and promise. His reckless cursing was caught in the wind as he kicked her again, and she felt the warmth of her own blood as it stuck to her skin. She numbly looked down at her bloody, gaping side and was relieved when darkness came.
An hour later that same man stood where she just was and stared out the window. The windows frame seemed to ooze over the edges and come alive with knowledge of what they had seen. He was sober now and fully aware his anger was replaced with undeniable fear. It had taken him only a few moments to realize what he had done and only seconds to sober up. Then on whatever logical instinct he had, he buried his beauty in the deep packed snow. He did this knowing her body would be decomposed and non-existent by the time the season ended. She always loved the snow and he knew she'd be happy there. His heartbeat stopped and waited…what was that he saw flicker from beyond the window? Pensively he surveyed the illusive exterior. No…of course not . . . it couldn’t be, she is dead now, gone forever. Nervously he quickly picked up a pen and scribbled on ancient paper and apprehensively looked back out the window. Breathing a slight sigh of relief he relaxed, but found he still could not look away from the window. Something kept him there, perplexed, and he could not make himself look away from the eerie plateau. Even as he saw the familiar woman float nonchalantly 3 feet above the ground…he still could not look away. His own breath took over him, as the room became thicker. Her appearance seemed under water as her hair floated with an imaginary current. She was beautiful and illuminate as he remembers her and he felt himself becoming enthralled as he once had. She looked at him…having no soul and he felt his bones freeze in place with her empty stare. The temperature around him drastically dropped and the lights gave way to eternal darkness.
* * * * * *
A hundred or so years later two mischievous boys stood in front of the same house as one read from a crumpled newspaper.
“This old house stands both empty and tall, seemingly proud of its well-known tales. Its stony silence and eerie coldness penetrates all that dare to pass . . . and with it stays the stench of death.” The young man read. His face was dirt stained and there was a lack of intelligence about him.
“Eh…? Let me see that.” Said the other boy snatching the paper from the others hands.
The dirty boy wryly commented, “Doesn’t look like much to me…”
The small red head scanned the article and looked up at the omniscient mansion standing before them.
The dirty boy leaned down to the red head and whispered, “No ones been in there for 100 years. They says that it’s haunted. Fancy that! Say…we should go in and check it out….”
The red head impulsively shook his head.
“Awww…you scared Putnam?”
“No...” he swallowed and dirty boy shoved him forward.
They slowly walked up to the old stone walls and pushed open the cracked window, a gust of fowl air rushed past them.
“Did you smell that Put?” the dirty one asked feeling slightly queasy.
They clambered inside into what seemed to be a library full old forgotten books that hung musty on their shelves. The only light from outside the window hindered any other site except a lone candle upon the oversized oak desk. Dirty boy lighted the candle while the red head looked dazedly around the room as it came alive with long dead color. Dust covered every inch of the room and the musty scent seemed to overpower the rooms’ stuffiness. The smell of the dirty powder tickled Putnam’s nose and he ran a grimy finger to scratch it. His eyes began to puff as the dusty air annoyed his senses. A sneeze was uncontrollably provoked from him startling dirty boy and the bleak looking candle. Glaring at Putnam, Dirty boy shivered and noticed the change from the outside 80-degree warmth to the interior below freezing.
“You feel that Put? It’s so amazingly cold in here.” Put nodded in agreement as he rubbed his arms for warmth. Looking down at the desk, dirty boy noticed a small note scribbled on an ancient piece of paper.
“HEY!! Putnam…look…a note!” He carefully picked up the weak parchment paper and held it near the candle and began to read:
“I heard a fly buzz- when I died-
The stillness in the room
Was like the stillness in the air-
Between the heaves of storm
The eyes around-had wrung them dry- And breaths were gathering firm
For that last onset-when the king
Be witnessed-in the room
I willed my keepsake- signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable-and then it was
There interposed a fly-
With blue-uncertain stumbling buzz-
Between the light-and me-
And then the windows failed-and then I could not see to see.”
The two young boys lingered for a moment taking the story in and finally one spoke.
“ Say…do you know who that is? What do you suppose it all means Putnam?” The candle flickered slightly and both boys froze staring intently at it’s dancing light as it blew out. The heat of their breath white in the dark.
This old house stands both empty and tall, seemingly proud of its well-known tales. Its stony silence and eerie coldness penetrates all that dare to pass…and with it stays the stench of death.
*** Authors note> This was written in 1999 for a class at University of Southern Colorado- Pueblo. It was published in that months journal. The Poem here is by Edgar Allen Poe.
Looking obligingly out the window, as she always did when he'd get this way, she tried to block out his incoherent bantering. Night was falling and the cold snow represented her indifference to her once beloved. The moons eerie glow cast a shadow on the earth's snowy surface illuminating its sparkles as they dance to the ground. The snow gleamed like powdered sugar as the ground hungrily took them in. The old window pane was large enough to let her steal a long look out its rusty interior. The smell of the nearby hearth blocked out the bitter smell of hate. The warmth of the fire did not touch her as she already felt cold to her surroundings.
She couldn't believe he was still yelling, in fact she stopped listening long ago. It was only when he shook her out of her zombie state by his abruptly that she noticed he was still upset. Turning to face her once beloved she stared stonily back at him, noting that he was drunk and the empty martini glass was to prove on what. He was getting older, and his weary lines on his face mad it harder to believe he was only twenty. The high stone columns that marked the library loomed down on her as she felt the walls close in on her. She realized that fear was no longer an option with this virile man, and pity replaced it instead. He transposed her past, her present, and her future.
Approaching her, he impatiently grabbed her arm the pain reaching her brain in a matter of seconds and to prove its existence she yelped. His slap didn't come as a surprise; she was numb to it by now. Roughly he pulled her away from the window and dragged her through their mansion labyrinth, and aware of his usual tirade she knew the shortcomings. The cold air touched her lungs like her first breath and her skin warmed to the night air as he brought her out into the snow. Throwing her precariously onto the snow, she heard his steel-toed boots crunching against the snowdrift and kicked her hard in the kidney. She hugged the snow in her grasp knowing it promised her a better outcome and promise. His reckless cursing was caught in the wind as he kicked her again, and she felt the warmth of her own blood as it stuck to her skin. She numbly looked down at her bloody, gaping side and was relieved when darkness came.
An hour later that same man stood where she just was and stared out the window. The windows frame seemed to ooze over the edges and come alive with knowledge of what they had seen. He was sober now and fully aware his anger was replaced with undeniable fear. It had taken him only a few moments to realize what he had done and only seconds to sober up. Then on whatever logical instinct he had, he buried his beauty in the deep packed snow. He did this knowing her body would be decomposed and non-existent by the time the season ended. She always loved the snow and he knew she'd be happy there. His heartbeat stopped and waited…what was that he saw flicker from beyond the window? Pensively he surveyed the illusive exterior. No…of course not . . . it couldn’t be, she is dead now, gone forever. Nervously he quickly picked up a pen and scribbled on ancient paper and apprehensively looked back out the window. Breathing a slight sigh of relief he relaxed, but found he still could not look away from the window. Something kept him there, perplexed, and he could not make himself look away from the eerie plateau. Even as he saw the familiar woman float nonchalantly 3 feet above the ground…he still could not look away. His own breath took over him, as the room became thicker. Her appearance seemed under water as her hair floated with an imaginary current. She was beautiful and illuminate as he remembers her and he felt himself becoming enthralled as he once had. She looked at him…having no soul and he felt his bones freeze in place with her empty stare. The temperature around him drastically dropped and the lights gave way to eternal darkness.
* * * * * *
A hundred or so years later two mischievous boys stood in front of the same house as one read from a crumpled newspaper.
“This old house stands both empty and tall, seemingly proud of its well-known tales. Its stony silence and eerie coldness penetrates all that dare to pass . . . and with it stays the stench of death.” The young man read. His face was dirt stained and there was a lack of intelligence about him.
“Eh…? Let me see that.” Said the other boy snatching the paper from the others hands.
The dirty boy wryly commented, “Doesn’t look like much to me…”
The small red head scanned the article and looked up at the omniscient mansion standing before them.
The dirty boy leaned down to the red head and whispered, “No ones been in there for 100 years. They says that it’s haunted. Fancy that! Say…we should go in and check it out….”
The red head impulsively shook his head.
“Awww…you scared Putnam?”
“No...” he swallowed and dirty boy shoved him forward.
They slowly walked up to the old stone walls and pushed open the cracked window, a gust of fowl air rushed past them.
“Did you smell that Put?” the dirty one asked feeling slightly queasy.
They clambered inside into what seemed to be a library full old forgotten books that hung musty on their shelves. The only light from outside the window hindered any other site except a lone candle upon the oversized oak desk. Dirty boy lighted the candle while the red head looked dazedly around the room as it came alive with long dead color. Dust covered every inch of the room and the musty scent seemed to overpower the rooms’ stuffiness. The smell of the dirty powder tickled Putnam’s nose and he ran a grimy finger to scratch it. His eyes began to puff as the dusty air annoyed his senses. A sneeze was uncontrollably provoked from him startling dirty boy and the bleak looking candle. Glaring at Putnam, Dirty boy shivered and noticed the change from the outside 80-degree warmth to the interior below freezing.
“You feel that Put? It’s so amazingly cold in here.” Put nodded in agreement as he rubbed his arms for warmth. Looking down at the desk, dirty boy noticed a small note scribbled on an ancient piece of paper.
“HEY!! Putnam…look…a note!” He carefully picked up the weak parchment paper and held it near the candle and began to read:
“I heard a fly buzz- when I died-
The stillness in the room
Was like the stillness in the air-
Between the heaves of storm
The eyes around-had wrung them dry- And breaths were gathering firm
For that last onset-when the king
Be witnessed-in the room
I willed my keepsake- signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable-and then it was
There interposed a fly-
With blue-uncertain stumbling buzz-
Between the light-and me-
And then the windows failed-and then I could not see to see.”
The two young boys lingered for a moment taking the story in and finally one spoke.
“ Say…do you know who that is? What do you suppose it all means Putnam?” The candle flickered slightly and both boys froze staring intently at it’s dancing light as it blew out. The heat of their breath white in the dark.
This old house stands both empty and tall, seemingly proud of its well-known tales. Its stony silence and eerie coldness penetrates all that dare to pass…and with it stays the stench of death.
*** Authors note> This was written in 1999 for a class at University of Southern Colorado- Pueblo. It was published in that months journal. The Poem here is by Edgar Allen Poe.
Skelatorial...
Quietly she slipped out of the door and into the desolate alley. The smell of garbage and of inhuman death reached out at her through the darkness. Scrunching her nose in distaste she pulled up the cloak hood and tightened it around her body. It still was bone-freezing cold no matter what thickness she wore...and that troubled her. She picked up her pace conscious of the alley’s eerie stillness and harboring murkiness. She shouldn’t have left, she thought, knowing he’d notice her disappearance soon. A cloaked figure slowly appeared in front of her through the slight fog, and she stopped in her tracks. The huge cloaked figure approached her quickly; fear holding her in place. An overwhelming heat and smell of rotting decay reached her as it closed the distance between them. It loomed frighteningly in front of her and calmly stood there as if waiting. Instinct kicked in and she tensed to run, but was stopped by a huge figure from behind. It wrapped its arms around her and only when she looked down saw that it was made of all bones..like a skeleton. It wrapped its cold, harsh, long bones around her mouth before she could scream, and the other leered down at her…its red eyes penetrating.
Darkness prevailed as my scream echoed in my ears.
(Written 1996)
Darkness prevailed as my scream echoed in my ears.
(Written 1996)
Shadow...
I drifted in the shadows of the burning fireplace staring into its crimson glow. I placed my empty wineglass on the mantel piece and my thoughts drifted to my past and the bringing of the present, wondering what was to become of it all. There where ghosts at the back door and at the front. What was I suppose to do? To run? To hide? Such nonsense answers with no solutions.
I would open the front door to find strange myths and illusions of what lay beyond. Turning I’s slip to the back door to look behind, Christmas tree with kids running around the presents, mistletoes with secret kisses, thunderstorms in the dark, puppet shows and fantasy-filled dreams. What once was there beyond the door of dreams and happy memories cleared into white gusts of winds changing into turrets and throwing of things? Angry gusts and horrid winds changed the setting behind the door- tree no longer crowded with children instead with the old, strangers lurking in corners, mistletoes gone, the lightening gone in a whisper, no more myths and illusions only disruptions.
Closing the door, I leaned up against is hard wooden surface and felt the tears flood down my cheeks tasting its saltiness on my lips. There is nothing left, I thought, and nowhere to turn or to run to. The front door is foreboding and the back is corrupt. Then, I remembered the side doors, long forgotten on their rusty hinges and locked latches. I needed the key. I came upon the small cramped door and scrutinized the small keyhole. The door seemed to move with an elusive eerily glowing current, bright colors, then dark, red and then pink, blue, orange black. Like a swirling mist, an ongoing sea fighting battle against its own ancient evil current. I began to back away frightened of what my own eyes brought to me, then something caught my eye, like a sparkle in a bright blue sky, then fairies materialized out of the bluish hues. Dancing, dancing, all about spreading dust and things.
“What game is this?” I did shout.
They stopped and looked at me saying “You- and you are on a quest to get out!”
“Yes,” I said. The odd fairies just turned and left me all alone, taking their blue with them.
I looked again at the door that once had evil and was no more. I found I was no longer afraid, but still needed the key to help this escape. Where shall a key be to such a small strange door? I looked and looked to no avail until I found myself at the front door. I tried the knob, it did not budge, so I knocked three times and it opened to a mirror. I looked upon my reflection, I found beauty there, and in that beauty laid the key; of strength, courage and integrity.
(Written 1999)
Oblivion...
Sullenly, I walked onto the snow filled night, I could feel the snow upon my naked feet. I looked up at the glowing moon to see is shining brightly over the earth’s frosty surface. Tears began to fall…but I didn’t notice, all I could…would allow myself to feel was the penetrating cold and my feet becoming numb as Fiona Apple’s song went through my head, “And it’s calm under the waves in the blue of my oblivion…”
Slowly, I began my walk, wearing only my nightgown and a blanket. I felt so empty, it wouldn’t matter if I died out in the freezing night air. Death would be better then remembering or thinking. All I could hear was the utter hurtful silence that seemed to penetrate my existence. Shivering, tears froze down my illuminated cheeks and I uncontrollably fell to my knees. Staring blankly at the moons eerie glow I could feel the snows wetness numbing my legs. My whole body screamed at me to get up and go back inside where it was safe and warm, but I dared not move, breathe or think. I quietly sang the words of the song again, “There’s too much going on, but it’s calm under the waves in the blue of my oblivion, is that why they call me a sullen girl, they don’t know that I use to sail the tranquil sea, but he washed me ashore and took my pearl- and left and empty shell of me.”
I lifted my hand to my face, covering my fresh tears, my sobs muffling my voice as I painfully persisted singing, “Oh your gaze is dangerous, and you fill your space so sweet, if I let you get too close you’ll set your spell on me. But, oh, it’s so evil my love, the way you’ve no reverence to my concern. So I’ll be sure to stay wary of you, love, to save the pain of once my pain and twice my burn…”
Kneeling and getting light-headed I laid myself down upon the comfort of the frosty snow. It seemed I could no longer move, my body was weightless. I opened the warmth of deaths breath upon me and my body felt like it was being lifted higher and higher until darkness washed caressingly over me.
( Written 1996)
Slowly, I began my walk, wearing only my nightgown and a blanket. I felt so empty, it wouldn’t matter if I died out in the freezing night air. Death would be better then remembering or thinking. All I could hear was the utter hurtful silence that seemed to penetrate my existence. Shivering, tears froze down my illuminated cheeks and I uncontrollably fell to my knees. Staring blankly at the moons eerie glow I could feel the snows wetness numbing my legs. My whole body screamed at me to get up and go back inside where it was safe and warm, but I dared not move, breathe or think. I quietly sang the words of the song again, “There’s too much going on, but it’s calm under the waves in the blue of my oblivion, is that why they call me a sullen girl, they don’t know that I use to sail the tranquil sea, but he washed me ashore and took my pearl- and left and empty shell of me.”
I lifted my hand to my face, covering my fresh tears, my sobs muffling my voice as I painfully persisted singing, “Oh your gaze is dangerous, and you fill your space so sweet, if I let you get too close you’ll set your spell on me. But, oh, it’s so evil my love, the way you’ve no reverence to my concern. So I’ll be sure to stay wary of you, love, to save the pain of once my pain and twice my burn…”
Kneeling and getting light-headed I laid myself down upon the comfort of the frosty snow. It seemed I could no longer move, my body was weightless. I opened the warmth of deaths breath upon me and my body felt like it was being lifted higher and higher until darkness washed caressingly over me.
( Written 1996)
Day Dream...
I feel so lost as in some kind of dream of unknown things…will you help me? Will you take me out of darkness’ wrath and unfold me in your arms…steal me away…as if there was no tomorrow and as if the night was the greatest spot on earth. Treasure our past, think of our future, live in the now and feel me encompass you my strength, my love, my harmony with the inner souls of light. Love me…for the now, feel no regret and long for our next day to come. Bring out all your animosity and let life love life itself. Take me to a new place, where no one shall ever pass…where our only light is from the moons soft glow and our warmth from the water that flows near us. Hold me in your arms and feel me…welcome me… to open your heart. Do you feel it? The light that shines upon me now holds you within its grasp too…for we are eternity and the water is our sole existence. Smile upon me as you have done and will none other. Hold me close and promise there are no others, make love to me and show me your world. Caress my skin and feel it burn…take me away into your fantasies and fill me with your greatest desires…dream of flawlessness in ones eyes. Do you feel the heat? I feel the earth’s beat dancing underneath my toes and within my every curve. I would close my eyes only to hear its sweet praises of passionate fire and unforgettable stories. Feel me now…forevermore.
(Written 2000)
(Written 2000)
Dark Celler...
Once I had hoped for a good to overtake my evil. I’m not the every day evil who goes out and murders someone…no way…it’s something way more ritualistic than that...something that is kept deepen the dungeons of wet slimy walls and dead carcasses of overotted rats. I go there…in fact I go there often, sometimes in my sleep. This place knows no evil, it knows nothing else but the smell of stained blood and rotted guts. Have you been there? It’s even better in the summer…where the heat touches its darkest corners and brings out its smelly secrets. This place was once my home… and home to many of its kind. We were thrown out of society willingly and pranced the dark tunnel 60-100 feet below the cities cursed people. Those people were ignorant evil and deep down they hold a million or so grudges against the next coming day. They hope to never see the light of day again and praying to their insolent gods. Nevertheless, we all know there is no such things in this realm of life…there are only those who wish upon such silly notions. They have yet to see what I always long to see, smell, and what I wake up to in my dark deep dungeons of hell. Hell…hmm, yes, I guess that’s what you can call this once deserted place. It resides in darkness except for the few tourist bums that make a fire against the torrent cold. Once I did think that all would be perfect in this wonderful and gracious place. WE have our own system and only one rule. The system is martyr and the rule is to stay away from the outer living. We walk solely in the darkness of night; our clothes made only of black so we can further hide. The sun made us quiver with anticipation of the following morbid things to come. No one knows about the death of this place…save you. Come…join us in our realm of forgiven sins and non-existent evil, for we know no evil and bear a path of blood…the blood of faith and belief. Some believe that we are ‘Satan’ and that those above us are ‘gods’, but what they don’t know is that our goal every night, is to poke at them a little deeper, until they all enshroud in darkness and the vague memories are plastered to our walls of fame. Even now…I long to feel their evils caress my tainted skin and let it crawl into my undead soul.
Yes, evil is only a figment of our imagination…what imagination do you hold?
(Written 1996)
Yes, evil is only a figment of our imagination…what imagination do you hold?
(Written 1996)