Desire of the Devil

   The ride was joyous. She sat in her plus seat, gazing at the clouds through the window. Her mind finally ceased of crazy thoughts of crashing. Her ear buds were in her ear as a distraction... fail. She was only successful with the thoughts of the boy sitting in front of her. She hoped he would somehow notice her sitting behind him and speak to her. The thought of speaking to him first was very abortive. There's no telling how he would react. She felt gullible to her own defeat. Time was wasted, sitting back in her chair, staring at the clouds, and listening to music.
   His magenta sweater sleeve held a sweet scent of fresh washing liquid. She'd known that because his phone fell and slid underneath his chair; in front of her. Her mind went hysterical as he turned to face her, asking for his phone. His smile was as warm as the sun that day. She handed him his phone and her mind went taboo. What should I say? What should I do? The answer to her questions were solid as he spoke, "Hi, my name is Armand." He caught her by surprise. She made her voice sound lively as she spoke, "Julie," with a smile. He glances over at the empty seat next to her. Then, looks next to him at a hideous, smelly man. She could smell him from her seat the whole time, just didn't confront him. The slowness of her breathing was maddening as he sat next to her. He held up his phone and said, "I have been stuck on this level for a while now and I'm getting aggravated. Could you help me?" 4 Pics One Word, a game that will cause you to break your phone against a wall. She would know. She looked at the screen. Freezing penguins, ice, winter, and a girl in a coat. She tapped the word onto the screen, fingers slightly trembling. "Cold," she said, the success sounds chiming afterwards. His fingers were obese compared to hers as he gripped his phone. "Oh! Thank you!" He exclaimed.
   Her mother was an ambitious woman. The reason they were on the plane in the first place. With her job in the political field, trips across the world was held often. Julie loved it though. She got to travel and meet new people. As lovely as her mother was, she often forgot Julie was with her at time. She was always so into her work. She strutted around in her well-made business attire, proud of her place in the world. Across the way Julie could see her mother blushing among her conversation with some guy she sat next to. He was a tall, muscular guy, complete opposite of her deceased father. It was astonishing that they were both on different sides of the plane, crushing so hard. 
   Julie noticed Armand watching her. His gaze was stimulating as he said, "Is that your mother?" "Yes. You can see she's very caked up," Julie replied, taking her eyes off of her mother. His look became sulky. "What happened to your father?" Before she could speak he said, "Too much? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." "He died in a plane accident," Julie said. "I'm so sorry," he said. It was silent for a while.
   Her mother made her way over and as soon as she seen Armand she stopped, staring at him as if he was a ghost. Julie watched for a moment. Armand didn't seem to realize her staring. "Mom, what's wrong?" Julie asked, concerned. She spoke, but was voiceless. She quickly reached into her purse and went through her wallet. Her fresh leather wallet was being tormented by how roughly she handled it. She pulled out an old picture of Julie's father. Her father sat on a rosy couch, with an upset face. Julie looked, in a daze. His well-groomed appearance... looked exactly like Armand! Julie looked over at Armand who was smiling, looking at his phone. An excited amount of fear rushed through both Julie and her mother.
   Instantly, a macho looking man stood up, luring the eyes of everyone. Around his white T-shirt was a black vest with a bomb attached to the front for all eyes to see. Once a loving moment was quickly tormented by fear. Three gun shots were heard from the pilot's area. With an elastic heart, Julie watched as her mother immediately sat down next to the same guy she was flirting with. All was quiet and seated. Everything was silent until a woman with a spicy brown dress began screaming from her seat. She began the ruckus of everyone running and screaming for their lives. Julie felt noxious as she ran and sat in her mother's lap, hugging her, for it was their last hug. Another pair of arms wrapped around them. With his fancy white, polo shirt, Armand was in tears. "I've been waiting for you," he said, softly, but enough for us to hear. A rude interruption involved the macho man as he yelled, for every voice to hear, "FOR HIM I SERVED AND SOLD MY SOUL."
   It was the desire of the Devil.

Deserted Memories

As I dream I try to think of happiness, but happiness turns to sorrow. Sorrow turns into pain and agony. I can't take it anymore, I want to be able to step out of the box and reveal to the world that I am here. I want to reach heights unseen, but my life is like a sad tune played over and over again on a record. It's insanity. Life was not meant to be this dull, but if I'm scene I can't be seen drenched in a red lake. Allowing myself to be seen is a death wish to my heart, even though YOLO might be true. Living your life to the fullest is a choice, and a choice that can kill you. I am not timid nor am I meek, but emotional. Do not advance to me like a sap even though I'm fully aware that's what I am. You can call me outgoing, but truthfully I'm shy. The sorrowful tune is manifested in my life. It is a part of me and I accept it. I dream of a place where I am no longer separated, where I am seen as a jewel rather than the rust on a blade drenched in the tears of my heart and the streams of my veins. I tried to escape this world, but I'm drawn back by a family that's not mine. Why couldn't they let me fade away? I only needed a few more minutes. I try to look onto their faces and glimpse. My family view of my exit option, but instead of seeing their faces I begin to see my eyes shut as I pass out. My mind is taken back within the dreamland I can't take it anymore. I try to scream, but words turn into silence as I am surrounded by the memories of my past. I decide to sit and view my sad and happy memories and as I sit there in silence, watching my memories as they pass, I notice my happiest memory is when I was sitting with my family, playing games with my younger sister. Then my worst memories start to come before my eyes and I break down, tears begin to stream down my eyes. I saw one of my worst memories from when I was five years old. My mother and father had taken me outside to the park and we had sat down on the swings. They asked me if I loved them. I said, "yes," and they told me I was not their son. My shock led to my tears then they said that I was going into def-ax custody like I knew what that was. Then they told me that I was not allowed to see or contact my sister or them anymore. A piece of me had died in that moment and just as my next memory was about to show I felt a pulse and heard my sisters voice. I called back and I had awaken to see myself in a hospital bed surrounded by everyone. I knew, except that family, my despair continues. Why me? I look unto the worried faces and I see how I'm still loved, but my mind is still made up from that day. I never want to see those memories again. So I shroud them with my insecurities and Id rather live than die and remember those memories.

Broken To Pieces

Her wary notions became vile. She threw the furry, blue pillow at the ceiling fan. The chilly breeze sent multiple feathers down with it. She had joy in her juvenile ways. She wasn’t one too finicky about getting into trouble. Her eyes lay upon the vase, sitting on its throne so nonchalant. With damp eyes she pushed her worries to the back of her mind. The pixel, framed picture of Daffy sat on the wall behind. The floor was bloody from the drippings of her wrist. The carpet lay disgusted as the sheer color of red took over. The once rapid spinning fan hung still. All noise was shut silent. The vase sat cooperative as of not running. The colors of the flowery flowers were the brightest things in the room. The curvy vase was as fine as a dime. Her arm abandoned her mind as it slowly reached out. It was warm. By an index finger it slid across. The wonderful height was enough to send it crashing down. The vase. It was lying on the ground in pieces. Her wary notions wasn’t fair. It was fine. Her revenge was enough. She wanted them to feel the way she felt.