The Visitor in an Age of Innocence

Ofelia

A sweet brush with life, unobtainable, never-ending but equally as brief. The sound of laughter high above, shrill, and ever so sweet. Pretty pink bows, chocolate curls, soft folds of tatted lace: bold blue orbits, a glance, mirth and understanding so innocent, peeping through the verdant foliage. Juliet could neither escape the feelings of the moment glance peering over the cold marble banister, nor the fear of the insipid smile that graced her Romeo's lips.

Look away and sigh as the apparition vanishes without a trace. Small little ball only evidence of the ghoul that stood before. Shadows play as the sun sets lazily beyond the horizon; clouds drift in, angry and yielding. A storm is breaking through.

               Weeks pass, day in, day out: new gifts and old terrors are left behind. Months pass by, then birthdays weave in, until little girls lose their bows, and the lace turns yellow. Saplings become ladders to heaven.

               Lightning flashes, thunder crashes, and tears fall like rain. And he watches. And he waits. The opportunity awakens.

               Self-afflicted death, mourning of a life lost; piece of self has died. Fractured, scattered, and bleeding. Strawberry patches among the beige wood floors. Apple trees plastered all on the door.

               See her, hear her, taste her, feel her; salty copper, oh so sweet.

               Lights flicker low breathing shallow; her love is almost eternal. Returned are the lace, the curls, and the bow, all lost as she loses her glow. The light fades from her eyes.

Tomorrow, he'll see her, her golden curls, bright green eyes, her teddy, and pearls. He'll sit and he'll wait 'til the time is right. And when the day comes, he'll take her love with her life.

Miranda

               Sing sweet symphonic serenade, serendipity slips up so silent.

               Laughter, soft and harmonic, rings clear in the blue cloudless sky. Attentive, she sees him, new ball in hand. Corner caught, he sees her, turns, and walks away. Why so rude not to greet back?

               Blonde bounce she swipes off her face, emeralds searching but not finding.

               Time for tea. Mr. Teddy? Yes, please. Mommy won't know, I'll put back her best before she gets home.

               Mom will never know; she never keeps up with her cash; she's too doped up on pills. Sitting up, balcony on a cool night, he's there. How? Branches sway in the tormenting wind. Lightening cracks, she jumps. Thunderclaps, she screams. No one is the wiser: grizzled old man, no harmless miser. Just like the others. She is just the same. Strawberry gashes, apple tree patches.

Miranda's Mother

               The Devil is in the details. Details are what everyone wants to hear. Hear the screams. Screams of terror. Terror of a mother. Mother that loses her daughter. Daughter as pure as gold. Gold, the color of her hair. Hair all matted with blood. Blood covering the floor. Floor where she once danced. Danced. Danced no more. More terror. Terror behind the bedroom door. Door that leads to nowhere. Nowhere left to run. Run from the pain. Pain caused by the Devil. Devil is in the details…

               Televisions blare with no one hearing. Quick movement, shadows creep stealthy among the stale air. Again, this must happen. Why now? Why me? Why her? Who? What? Already know the where and how. But why? For torture, for revenge? Blessed angel up in heaven, golden harp of God. Why would someone…What devil would curse me so? My angel, my baby, my golden little darling. I pray I see you soon.

Murderer Madness

Annoyance, saturated in disdain and loathing, vile creature feigning innocence and Godliness: Hell holds a special place for you.

               Mock turtle tears overflow your cup. How do you hold your head up high? Piss and moan, piss and moan. You know that inside you're grateful that burden you bore is gone. Gone before you were able to taint her true innocence, her virtue from God. Gone now are her ribbons and curls, tea parties with Mr. Teddy, and borrowing your pearls. She is saved from sin, from sexual displeasure, and shame. Eternally pure angel on high, she is now a saint: forever by God's side.

Bethany

Rush in upon the cold winter breeze the metallic essence of youth spotted across the way. Seen upon that soft flesh a light kiss of innocence unblemished by womanhood: a longing to have what aught never be held until proper. Perfect spirals of golden-brown hue surround an aqua essence and the perfection of Cupid’s bow held so dear like a precious doll, fragile and flawless.

               Sweep past on the sidewalk, catch eye briefly, smile and walk your goodbye. She cannot behold all the misguided thoughts that steer your course. But oh, if you could only hold her for on moment in time, but just one brief second, how complete your life would feel: sweep perfect that delicate skin beneath the callous of your fingertips. But no, it cannot be.

               Eerie darkness peers in as lights flicker on and of with carousel movements of one room to the next. They leave for a break in the evening, watch dog lazy on the couch. They zoom by, dashing off in the distance, leaving but one curtain to rustle in the winded leaves.

               What luck! Time enough to behold a wonderous beauty that God has gifted you. Creep silent, for horrendous would be the bay of the watchdog would give if she were to wake.

               Up the terrace, climb higher. Sweet little beauty sleep deep as the night fades on. Hours tick away like seconds on the clock. Time enough to hold her for a brief second. Warmth of breath, warmth of innocence. No motion, no pain: pressure then release. Bleary eyed as everything cracks out of place. No more sweetness. No more innocence. Fragile perfection falls broken on the floor.

               Out the window, down the side of reality before the bay has sounded. Around the corner and on to obscurity before the watch dog ever needs to know the meaning of failure.