Scarlet

It’s that time of year  again – Halloween.

People are talking about ghosts and

spirits and demons.

I don’t know where I stand on that.

I always said I never

believed in them, but I’m

starting to question my own thinking.

I           just     learned           recently          that     even    Christians       believe in        demons.

                                    Apparently they don’t believe in spirits or ghosts; they don’t believe that a “lost soul” can get stuck here on earth,

                                                or haunt those who have done them wrong.

However, they do believe

in demons – fallen angels – Satan’s sidekicks.

They believe that people can be

infested with demons – that these little, ugly monsters can overtake pieces of your life, if not        all        of             it.                                             They can gain ultimate control,       forcing            your    broken                        soul     to         work for the devil.

Does anyone really want that?

There are a few people

I could think of that

probably provide a home

for demons.

P          e          o          p          l           e

whose lives are completely disturbed.

I never once thought that maybe I’d fall into that category – until now.

            Can you see a demon if you look deep enough into someone’s eyes.

                        Could someone look in my eyes and see the demon of addiction, possibly more?

And tell me, then, just what would they see?

would it be

g          r        o        w      i       n     g?

            or would it be

                                                s    h     r       i       n        k          i           n          g?

                        Would it be getting stronger? Would it be slinking down in defeat?

                                                                                    Would I stand a chance?

                                                                                                            Am I already beat?

Charlotte

Seems as if my façade may not be

quite as see-through as I thought.

They know, people have suspicions.

My mother is talking about sending me off to some kind of

mental institution. I keep telling her that all I need is my

Bible, church, and prayer. I’m lying. What I really mean is

all I need is sex. She doesn’t know that though. At least, I don’t

think she does. As it turns out, I’m not really sure what I know and what I don’t know anymore.

All I can say for sure is that

it feels like I’m falling. I have

no control over my life, no control

over anything anymore. I can’t decide how

I’m going to feel. I can’t choose whether or not I’m

going to be okay. For the first time in my life, I’m losing all

control.

I can’t understand how mother

thinks. It doesn’t make sense to

me that to be “okay,” I need to

go into some facility with a bunch

of crazy people. Besides, everything

would be out then. No longer would

I be the respected-by-society Christian.

I wouldn’t be looked up to. In fact, people

would probably despise me. Who knows

the names I would attain then? I don’t

want that kind of reputation.

I want              God                  back                 in                     my                   life.

Maybe.

I don’t know what I want.

I feel like there are multiple people inside of me,

ripping my soul to shreds.

Maybe I’m not normal.. this is much more than

a head versus heart issue.

This is a battle for my spirit, a battle for my soul.

I’ve read about things like

this. We’ve talked about it in church, but I never

actually thought it would

happen to me. I honestly thought that everything

was just like those scary movies.

I thought to be possessed, your head

has to spin in a complete circle. But maybe, just maybe,                                               I’m housing demons.

Charlie

We’re in the emergency room.

            Mom walked in while I was trying to clean up the blood.                   I just wanted to let it

fall.

I wanted to see the crimson color

flow gently down my thigh. I wanted

to fade into a daze and dream of

peace. I wanted to die.                                                When I initially cut myself, it wasn’t a suicide attempt.

                                                But, of course, that’s how mom took it.

She started screaming and crying – hysterics.

It made me want to punch her.

If I would have had the energy,

I would’ve gotten up off the floor,

pushed mom out, slammed the door

shut in her face. Silence her. But, I

didn’t.

My energy was draining the same as the

color from my face, the liquid from my body.

Now it seems that mom’s color was fading as well.

She scooped me up

and we left. Now she’s

cold. Now that I’m okay,

she seems totally uninterested

in my current state.

In fact, she seems like she could care less.

She seems pissed.

What I don’t understand is how she can go from caring

to not giving a shit in point three seconds.

Seriously.

Either way, she’s trying

to talk the ER doctor into

sending me to a facility – a mental

hospital. She says that I need more

help than what she can give me.

I don’t know that that’s true.

I was only using the blade as a

coping skill, not a murder weapon.

I’m giving up.

They’re talking to me like I’m five.

Here comes Tri-County Crisis.

Here comes placement.

And I’m supposed to find sanity there? Right. 

Scarlet

I can’t think that I’d

ever torture anyone

the way they tortured

me.

But, then again,

revenge is different.

Ever heard of an eye

for an eye? Hmm…

See, I’d love to wipe the smirks

off their pretty, little faces.

I’d love to show them who’s boss.

How can you get

off on torturing

a little girl? You

must be tough to

take control over

a six year old, huh?

Disgusting.

It makes me sick.

                                    I want to prove                                  that I am not the little

girl I was before.                                            I want to                                             prove that

no one can just walk all over me anymore.                       

Then again,

maybe revenge isn’t in order.

Maybe I owe them a thank-you.

Seriously, if it weren’t for all those

low-down,

dirty,

scummy,

bastards,

I wouldn’t be the Scarlet I am today.

I wouldn’t know how to

persevere,

I wouldn’t have a

backbone.

I would be a wimp,

a baby, a

victim.

Well, I have news for you.

I’m a survivor,

a role model, a person.                                             And I will        never  be a victim again.

Charlotte

It’s simple really. There’s nothing

to it. I have a giant picture

window in my room that opens

up, and the screen comes out.

Pull them in,

shut the window,

leave the screen out.

Burn the incense,

strip down,

wait patiently.

You see, I don’t like to make the first move.

Especially not with a new “client.”

I wait, quietly to see just what they expect of me,

just how they like to play.

A quick glance over at

my nightstand reveals

the Bible. Suddenly, I’m

ashamed. This has never

happened before. Usually,

I place my Bible in the top

drawer before they come

over. Tonight I forgot. It

just slipped my mind. Oops.

Now what?

He looks at me;

He can see the

terrified look in

my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

Now I can’t wait to see

how he likes to spend

his time in the bedroom.

I have to act quickly if I

want to get it in, to keep

him entertained.

Grab him by the scruff

of the neck, push him

violently on to the bed.

The Bible will

not be ruining

anymore one night

stands for me.

God, please get out of my life.                          ….wait! 

Charlie

Childhood memories?

We all have them.

Some                           suck.

Some make me smile.

Some make me cringe.

Some make me                         cut,

or at least                                                                                                        give me the urge to.

                        It’s hard when                                                  I think about my

little brothers -                        when  I think about all I left behind.               I can only

pray

that they’ll understand someday.                                             Maybe they’ll remember that I

took care of them,

that I was their mommy,

that I fed them, clothed them,

put them to bed.

I got them up for school,

helped them with their homework,

held them when they were sick.

I kissed away the nightmares

and sang them into a deep state of unconsciousness.

I’m the one who did

that for them.

Yes, it was me!

Not their too wasted parents

that decided they needed a

night on the town – every

single night. Not the

grandparents who

overlooked the abuse that

went on at the house and

justified their actions by

buying our love. No,

it was me.

I hope they remember.

They will,                         I’m sure of it.

I guess I feel

most guilty

about leaving them

in that prison,

that deep, dark dungeon of secrets.

 Quick, get me blade.                                                                           Shit, that was way too deep.

Scarlet

Memories.

                   Why are they called that?

                                                                   The word “memories” makes it seem                                                                   that they are impossible to forget.

Now, I know it’s hard

to forget sometimes.

There are still some

memories that I wish

I didn’t remember.                         But, they’re just the stubborn ones.

                I don’t know what I’d do

          if I actually could forget

          those nasty memories

          that think it so amusing

          to infest my already

          disrupted mind.

                   I’d probably have some sort

                   of celebration. It might

                   even begin to pave the road

                   to healing for me. Haha.

                   Who am I kidding? I’m never

                   going to forget those

                   terrifying nights, never going

                   to be able to place them in my

                   past to die, and, at this rate,

                   I’m never going to be able to

                   forgive the bastards either.

                                       After all,       they’re the one         who    made me

this way.

Hmm, that’s an

interesting

thought. If I can’t

forget, maybe a

little payback is

in order. Anyone

up for sweet, sweet

revenge?

Yes, that sounds terrific.

Murder might be taking it a little too far,

but I can really hurt them if I play

by their own rules.

You know? The ones

they used when they

ruined my life.

Charlotte

I thought I had all my childhood memories tucked away,

somewhere safe in the back of my mind,

compartmentalized.

Shoved in a box, taped shut, stuck on a shelf and

forgotten about.

In fact, they were forgotten so well that I actually

couldn’t recall them when I wanted to.

Now that they’re unwanted guests,

they’ve come bursting through the

doors, tumbling off the shelves.

The tape is worn and tearing.

The box is opening and spewing them

all over my psyche.

They are ruining everything.

For the first time in my life,

and hopefully the only time,

I’m       having             a          complete        mental                        b

                                                                                                 R

                                                                                                   E

                                                                                                     A

                                                                                                       K

                                                                                                         D

                                                                                                            O

                                                                                                                        W

                                                                                                                                    n.

Feels like I’m falling deeper and deeper

into a sea of memories that are waiting

with wide open mouths, monstrous jaws.

Their hands are open and held together;

They’re collecting now.

            Collecting on my soul,

                        Feeding on my fears.

I thought I’d

dealt with these

demons a long

time ago. Turns

out all I did was

delay their feast.

Now it’s time to fight.

There’s no way I can

            let them defeat me.

                        But reliving them is such

                                    a terrifying experience.

Quick, sneak them in.                                                                    Let's play dirty.

Charlie

I’m a virgin.

                   I know, I know, it’s not cool.

                                                                   I don’t really care.

Innocence means

something to me.

And once it’s gone,

you can’t get it back.

I want my first time to be really

special. I can picture it now.

It will be on our honeymoon:

Candles, dim lighting,

romantic music playing,

the love in his eyes.

There won’t be any rough

play – just soft, intimate love.

The kind of love I imagine everyone

dreams of.

No pressure.

No lies.

No “sex.”

Just making love.

Hopefully we’ll conceive.

Nine months later, a precious

baby will enter our lives,

forever altering who we are.

Making us parents.

And we’ll do our best to raise them,

teach them, mold them,

instill the right values.

We’ll be the “fun”

parents – but not too

fun. Our son or daughter

will be happy - happier than

I ever was growing up.

I want to give them

everything I could never have,

          everything that was stolen from me.

I want to have that joyous family,

the one that every other family envies.

What the hell?

I’m beginning to sound like                                      a                  fairy                tale.          

Scarlet

So, I was forced into rehab about two years ago.

I’m finally celebrating one year clean and sober.

One year without

          shooting up,

                   snorting lines,

                             crushing up pills.

                                                          One year without

                                                downing vodka,

                             popping something I pulled out of a large bowl,

                   smoking weed.

          One year without

drugs.

                   So instead,

I’ve placed my concentration

on the baby.

Yes, I’m excited about being clean,

I suppose.

But drugs were my staple, my meaning, where I belonged.

Now I need

a new sense of

value.

And I’m not

going to get it

from anyone

around                    here.

I figure it wasn’t safe to have a baby

on drugs. Some of my friends got

clean once they found out there was a bun in the oven.

But, since I’m already sober,

I might as well.

I’m thinking of girl names:

Dawn,

Amelia,

Wynonna,

Carson,

Virginia.

I’m thinking of boy names:

Waylon,

Elijah,

Isaiah,

Peyton,

Reagan.

I guess the next step is thinking of a “father.”