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She looked like she was sleeping; her flesh was warm and held what little color it had. I knelt down to listen for her soft breath, I felt her wrist for a rush of blood, but all I could find was silence and a dead pulse. I had killed her. I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t, but she had upset me. She was trying to control me, so I held tightly onto her neck and didn’t let go: her soft, slender, succulent neck. I admit, I began to miss her, I felt guilty, but I didn’t cry, I couldn’t cry, I didn’t quite feel wrong for killing her, but I felt guilty for taking the life of something I loved.
I glanced over at the dark grandfather clock that stood watchful at the end of the hall. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, the pendulum swung back and forth. The time read half-past nine. My friends would be here in a half an hour. Should I hide the body? Should I leave it on the floor? Should I put her in my bed and tell the others she is simply asleep? I wasn’t quite sure what to do with her now. I picked her up and laid her down on the couch for the time being, I had to vacuum the floor, it was a mess. Hmm… I don’t even remember what she had done or said that upset me, all I know is that I was upset and so I killed her for it; such a shame, really.
I finished cleaning my home around 9:50pm. Alastair, Rune, Aura, and Skye would be coming one-by-one within the next few minutes; they would wonder what was wrong with, Valkari, the girl I had killed. To be honest I felt a bit odd that I had killed her, I mean, I was only sixteen, how often do you hear of sixteen year olds going out and killing other sixteen year olds? And what on earth was I to tell my parents? They were only gone for the weekend. I didn’t worry about it though; I knew I would think of something eventually.
I was right, five minutes later Rune walked through my door. He hung his dark black trench coat on the coat rack I had placed by my door. I heard the shuffle of his pants and the rattling of the chains that drooped from his belt loops as he walked down the hall, through the kitchen, and into my living room where I was sitting in a chair across the room from the couch where I stared at Valkari intensely. I turned my head to look at him; his physiognomy was puzzled. Rune looked at where Valkari lay, looked back at me, again towards Valkari, and finally to me once more. His lips, which were covered in a dark black color, parted as he began to question me.
“What’s wrong with Valkari?” He asked, “She’s so still… she’s too still. What did you do to her, Haldane?” Rune continued. He seemed to be calm, but behind his eyes held terror and confusion.
“I choked her.” I replied to him calmly.
“Ch-choked… her? You choked Valkari?” The terror he held behind his eyes began to show a bit more in his face. His jaw was dropped a little, and the confusion he had was turning into anger as his hand slowly began to make a tight fist.
“Yes, Rune, I choked her. She upset me…. I don’t really remember how, but she upset me, and so I killed her. It was an accident of course, I didn’t really mean to do it, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. I miss her.” By this time Rune was so overwhelmed his legs gave way and he collapsed, he sat on my floor now, shaking ever so slightly. “So, what do I do with her?” I asked him for my own amusement. I highly doubted he would have anything to say to my question, who would? I didn’t even have anything to say to my question.
Rune stayed silent, he just sat on my floor, shaking, trying to soak in everything that had just happened in these last few moments. I heard my door open again; someone else was here. I heard the click-clack of a woman’s shoe and I knew it must be either Skye or Aura. I had no interest in turning my gaze away from the body that was, surely by now, cold. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see Skye’s curly, bright blue pigtails and the vague shape of her little ******[1] dress, I heard her give a small gasp as she was clearly just as surprised as Rune was.
“Yes, Skye, Valkari is dead. I killed her. I miss her.” I said calmly, not once turning my head to look at her, to see the horrid disgust across her face. I had no interest in looking at any other girl at the time; the only girl I wanted to look at right now was dead. I still couldn’t cry, nor did I want to really. Besides my longing for her to come back to life, to wake up from the deep dark desolate sleep she had fallen under, I felt, for the most part, apathetic.
She tried many times to say something to me, but not a sound escaped from her scarlet lips. The next one to come through my door was Aura. She screamed at me, at Valkari, at Skye, at Rune. She had gone in a state of hysteria for a few minutes. My eyes never once left Valkari’s corpse. Aura continued to throw her tantrum; she slapped my face with her ice-cold hand. While her hand was cold, I imagined Valkari’s hand would be ten times colder by now. I still refused to look at Aura, even though her long, raven colored hair dangled in front of my face as she stood, hovering over me, continuing to shout and cry over the death of her dear friend. I continued to ignore her as the profanity escaped from the back of her throat. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone as antagonized as she was right then.
Alastair was surprisingly late. It was now 10:25pm. The roads were probably horrific. He did come eventually. I turned my eyes to see him standing in the entryway of my living room. His bright blue eyes were furious and his fiery red hair had never suited him better. I chuckled to myself and cracked a small smile.
“You monster!” Alastair began to say. What he said after that is a bit foggy in my memory. He held Aura as she cried on him; Skye and Rune were still in a soulless state of panic.
“She upset me. I killed her. I miss her.” I repeated once more. I killed her. I miss her. What pathetic words to have been said, but I suppose back then I was a pathetic being. It’s amazing what a year can do to a person.
I looked back at the body and asked, “What should I do with it?”
Alastair sat Aura down on a chair in the kitchen. He walked back into the living room and began walking closer and closer to Valkari’s body. He bent down to pick her up.
“Don’t touch her!” I shouted as I stood up. I startled Alastair and he jumped a bit.
“Well we have to bury her.” He replied to me calmly as he began to back away from her corpse.
“But where?” I asked. I began to relax again as he stepped further and further away from the couch and closer to me.
He gently wrapped his hand around my neck as he said, “In the cemetery. Where else do you bury a body?” He tightened his grip slightly before he let go. He pulled Rune up to his feet and then went to Skye, tugging her up as well. “Come on guys, we’ve got a funeral to go to.”
Alastair gently grabbed Aura and took her to his van. Rune and Skye followed after him. Slowly I made my way over to the body that lay still on my couch. I touched her cold, dead hand with mine. I laced my fingers with hers. I brushed my other hand across her cheek, wiping away the tears that should have been there, wiping away the tears that would have been there, but most importantly, wiping away the tears that weren’t there. My apathy was quickly replaced with nostalgia. She was so cold; I almost couldn’t bear to hold her hand any longer. I quickly, softly, rested my lips upon hers for a moment. I progressed to carrying her as if she were my bride. My beautiful corpse bride. As I walked outside, the delicate winter breeze blew Valkari’s snow-white hair, it made her seem a bit more life-like. I liked that.
I kept her with me while I sat in the back of Alastair’s van. The ride to the cemetery was silent, too silent. Aura flipped on the radio and turned the volume up as loud as it would go, but it was still too silent. When we finally arrived, everyone piled out of the van and grabbed a shovel, everyone except for me. I climbed out of the van and followed the others to the back of the cemetery. They began to dig a hole right next to a tomb. I don’t know how long it took them, but when they were finally done, I didn’t want to let Valkari go.
“Haldane, please, just put her in the grave…” Skye pleaded to me. I continued to hold her in my arms, not listening to Skye or anyone else for that matter.
“Haldane! If you don’t let go of her yourself I’ll toss you both in!” Rune shrieked at me.
I shook my head for a moment before I sluggishly made my way closer to the grave. I climbed down into the grave itself while I continued to hold Valkari. When we reached the bottom I gently laid her down on the cold dirt. She was colder than ice as I brushed her face with my fingertips one last time, softly tracing her lips with them once more. I climbed back out of the hole with the help of Rune and Alastair. Aura said a few words before they began to bury the corpse of Valkari.
“None of you will tell anyone, will you?” I asked the group.
“Of course not. You might **** us too,” Skye said bitterly.
“You’re right, I just might do that if someone tells…” I answered bluntly.
“Should we make a pact?” Rune asked.
“Yes, a pact under these dark stars.” I heard Alastair answer.
They continued their conversation as they continued to bury Valkari. They seemed to want to turn this series of events into the beginning of some sadistic cult from what I could remember hearing. They talked on and on and on and on! Alastair placed the last shovel full of dirt and snow on top of the grave and began to walk away, continuing the conversation him and the other three were having. Anger began to swell up inside of me. It took over my lungs, my heart, and my soul; every bit of my body was consumed with a deep hatred for every one of them and for myself. I killed her. I miss her. I turned around swiftly and screamed at them, I shouted at them, and I yelled at them. I seemed to be vomiting profanity and vulgarity upon them. I tore the shovel away from Alastair’s hands violently and hit him in the back of the legs with it as I rushed back to Valkari’s grave. Frantically I began to dig up her body. Finally, I too had become hysteric for what I had done to her. Rune and Aura tried to pull me away from the grave, Skye tried to pry the shovel from my hands, clawing and scratching at mine until they bled. Still I refused to let go of the shovel. I refused to stop digging her up.
“I killed her! I miss her!” I shrieked. “VALKARI!”
I wrote this. I realize this is a poetry site, but I really wanted to post this short story I wrote a while ago. Please don't steal this. If you wish to post this elsewhere PLEASE ask me.
Papa Ghost Apr 2014
Kind words
Full mind
Modern Athena
In a Christian arena
Dominated by daddies
Along with other baddies
She's beyond and behind
Her time and her kind

She's an oddity
Of space and time
A pure mind
From an impure kind
She's Athena
Up in the air

Here I am
Name's Crowley, Alastair

I am the beast you ride
Anger, frustration
Society's deviation
I am the body you hide
Bloated and rotten
Tainted by your thoughts
And the rusted knife
That anger that bleeds then rots
I am the monster
What holds the power

She's an oddity
Of space and time
A pure mind
From an impure kind
She's Athena
Up in the air

Freedom within
Under the skin
Ideas ferment
Dry off like cement
She sees so clear
Words of opacity
An animated shadow
Pure tenacity

An angel
Here's a demon
Not even an equal
Just all the freedom
Gone wrong

Here I am
Name's Crowley, Alastair
The Cripple May 2015
Shantaigh siad a bheith
Chomth grámhar is Méidé agus a hIonsáin
Shantaigh siad a bheith chomth cáilúla is Didió agus Aeinéas.
Chomth torthúil is Iocasta agus Éideapús
Bhog siad le chéile

Ach ansin tháinig   na troideanna  
Agus bhi siad chomth trodach is Alastair agus a namhaid Dáirias.
Scar siad.
Agus nil aon chór thart.
Bhuel, sin é an scéal, nach ea?
Oh, classical studies. How f*cked up you are.
Benjamin Adelaar Jun 2010
His wrinkles went somehow deeper

than those of a national will do.



And his eyes were somehow darker -

not without a brightness in them -

intelligence behind a film, foreign repose.



I saw from the hood on his red coat

that he was passing through the land

not that the coat was novel or strange

his hood was tighter, more practically donned.



His whiskers were somehow thicker

scratching the surface of the Great Land
a beard from three days’ unshaven growth

the stubble, wisdom of an Englishman.



Far different than I, not better, but old

emotions just a hair deeper hidden

than mine were: shivering in the cold.



I knew from his voice, his language: 

mine was his, mine the younger.



A shaman with a home on the Eire

though not from that verdant spot

souls are all equal, nation matters not.



An infusion of Alastair’s yarrow root 

diluted in cold, sprayed sea water

coaxed home to the waves the sunlight

our trust and a handshake.
Marius Masalar Aug 2010
Upon a crest of ruby flames,
  Was writ a list of seven names:
Of gods and goddesses untold
  Whose quiet tenets never sold.

Mavis was the nymph of pallor,
  Patron saint of putrid squalor.
Watching, with a tender eye,
  The lives of those resigned to die.

Beatrice, with hair of scarlet,
  Took the throne of seething harlot.
Harbinger of crippling sadness;
  Queen of darkness, death, and madness.

Paul, whose eyes had never wept,
  Ensured that secrets would be kept.
Cursed with blindness, deafness, dumbness,
  A walking vault of tortured numbness.

Talim broke her mother's heart,
  And many others from the start.
She, the deity of glee,
  Knew ignorance and apathy.

Alastair, the golden thief,
  Toed the boundaries of grief,
He sang to people with his flute
  That there was more to life than loot.

Tess won't look you in the eyes;
  Mistress of the compromise;
Smiling, even as she hums,
  That "maybe next time" never comes.

Alex comes to break the silence,
  God of wishes, drugs, and violence.
Crashing through with mighty clamour;
  Hope the nail, and he the hammer.

Of all the deities we cherish,
  Even those whose memories perish,
None are sad as those who don't
  Beget belief. Or can't. Or won't.

And on a crest of ruby flames,
  Another list of seven names,
Whose carvings have been long forgot,
  Will sit amidst our trash and rot.
© Copyright Marius Masalar 2010 — All Rights Reserved

www.mariusmasalar.com
brooke Mar 2014
the thing about
Alastair is that
there are so many
things about him
that you will never
understand, growth
you will never witness
and a simple text saying
he's thinking about me
hope you're well
made me realize
that a lot of people
probably think
about me
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
Steve Page Aug 2022
I remember dad sitting and reading
each evening after dinner
once he and me had washed up in the galley kitchen.

After, I remember him stripping down to the waist
and body washing at the sink, then completing
his evening shave.

I remember his big old badger shaving brush
and a shaving mug refilled with Old Spice.

I remember the odour, filling the kitchen
and sticking to him.

But mostly I remember him in his white vest
in the brown armchair under the warm standard lamp,
feet up by the fire, reading his books.

Wilbur Smith.
Alastair MacLean.
Jack Higgins.

The Sound of Thunder.
Ice Station Zebra.
Wrath Of The Lion.

Always a hardback. Always a loaner
from the regular family trips
to the woods and the library.

Always sitting in his heady mix
of Old Spice, Brylcreem and St Bruno,
reading and relishing the opportunity
to pass the book on to me
telling me of his envy of my first read
of the adventure he’d just finished.
My dad was a reader
itsall iwrite Aug 2018
trolley for village deal  03.08.18

do you remember school
home work dreaded
easy for those with brain calculator tool
now arrogant flash and big headed.
home work was studied
not like mine on the never never
it prevents the truth being muddied
get a well paid job like john, alastair or trevor.
dedicated to profession
doing the mile that's extra
if some ones got a confession
teeth chattering like hannibal lecter.
who will investigate
even if me and bill cancelled engagement
just like the leveson calculate
can i strike a village arrangement.
don't want to highlight corruption
won't do no advert on instagram
from pgang and my village was abruption
its my life not a london programme.
can i please  have permission
you all no i read the lego trace
the love of my life to destroy was  phillips mission
if yes the trolley incident gone with no trace.
I may be knocked by trolley or even off it but I am not explaining poetry. you suckers have to work it out.
Inspector Hornleigh
came to tea
with
Alastair Sim in tow
but
in Brighthaven you know
there's nothing else to do
and nowhere else to go.
Fan of old movies

— The End —