The war had just begun and we were on the front lines. We could look through the mist and see the advancing enemy. We were advancing too. My steps were reluctant, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell as the momentum of the marching was keeping me in time with the others. I gripped my rifle tighter, the sharp edges of the cheap metal parts digging into the skin of my hands. I squinted across the field, the soldiers on the other side were getting steadily larger. Sweat was forming on my forehead. I wasn’t sure if it was caused by the ill-fitting hat I was wearing or sheer nerves. It dripped down my face, some getting in my eyes. I blinked it away as best I could and kept on staring at the enemy. Suddenly there was the sound of gunfire. Shots had been fired. They came from the enemy, our guns wouldn’t be able to hit anything at this range, but theirs could. The bullets took down all of the soldiers near me. I saw them fall and stopped dead. I just stood there looking at their bodies. There were voices shouting at me and people behind were pushing me. I didn’t register any of it. I welcomed the bullet that put me to the ground.

-Alice

The air was burning. I doubled up and began coughing out the smoke that was filling my lungs. It was no use. As I expelled poison from my oesophagus, more simply poured down it. I tried to cover my face but it proved ineffective. I fell fully to the ground, curled into a ball, coughing the inside of my lungs up. My eyes were watering, but it’s not like I would have been able to see clearly anyway. Still coughing, I began to crawl. It wasn’t much of a crawl though, more a sort of slither as I lay on the ground, trying to drag myself forwards while my hands remained busy trying to shield my mouth. I stopped, realising that I had no idea where I was crawling to. I had no idea whether I was moving away from the source of the smoke. I had no idea if there even was an “away” for me to move to. I had no idea what to do, so I lay there. I coughed more and more violently, my body convulsing with each expulsion. I eventually lost consciousness. I don’t know how long for. But then, how do you tell the difference between unconsciousness and death?

-Alice

I’ve pushed this poem on you too many times. I’ve tried to manipulate you into this classification that’s unrealistic and idealistic. I’ve tried to twist your attributes into this fiction that I’ve created. I’m deluding myself that this is actually who you are. I’m lying to myself and it feels so good. This is what keeps me going and I don’t want to let go of it. I don’t want to be left here, alone and pining for this fiction, so I tell myself that you’re it and leave it at that. I ignore the nagging voices lurking in the depths of my subconscious, telling me that this isn’t right. Telling me that what I believe isn’t true. You’re what I want and I’ll deny any retort until the day I die. I’ve accepted you and now I must learn to live with it until the day I lay down in my grave. Then I’ll rest. Then I’ll stop lying. Then I’ll accept that it wasn’t you. I’ll leave you alone and I’ll embrace my sweet release. But not yet. For now, I’ll make do with loving my fiction and seducing my poetics. For now I’ll make do with you.

-Alice

I’ve been feeling quite tired in recent days. It doesn’t seem to be because of any kind of lack of sleep, or even too much. I think it’s just because I’m not doing much these days. I’m just sitting around, waiting for things to happen. I’m boring myself senseless and my body’s shutting down because of it. My subconscious has decided that it should just shut everything down and to hell with me if I want to actually feel awake. To hell with actually feeling energetic and motivated. And so I settle into a vicious cycle. I don’t do anything because I feel tired. And then I feel more tired because I’m not doing anything. I sit here, trying hard not to just drift off to sleep. I let my mind wander and I continue to procrastinate. I continue to put things off and get nothing done. I sit here, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Each day I do a little less and I feel myself getting sleepier. I feel myself becoming nothing. More and more each day. This is eating away at me. This is killing me inside. One day I’m going to go to sleep and I’ll never wake up. I’ll be bored to death.

-Alice

The orchestra played a few notes. A brief crescendo as the curtains were pulled apart. They revealed an empty stage. There were no props and even no set. It was even devoid of any lights. Steps were heard approaching the stage. They echoed in the quiet theatre as the small audience remained silent, watching the small figure as he approached the stage. He climbed the steps and stepped onto the stage. He walked slowly to the back of the stage and then to each side, inspecting it as he went. The audience waited for him to finish. All of them wondering what was going on. Wondering what had happened to the show. As they waited, they shuffled and fidgeted uncomfortably. They inspected their nails and looked at their watches. Their eyes wandered about the theatre, inspecting every inch of it, but avoiding the eyes of anyone else. Eventually the small man finished his inspection of the stage and made his way back to the front. He stood there, wringing his hands and looking nervous. Then he cleared his throat to speak. He didn’t say much, just three words. At first we just sat there stunned as we let those words sink in. “They’re all dead”.

-Alice

How about a test? How about a broken limb? How about I put my hand over your mouth before you get a chance to speak? I push you down to the floor. leaning on your chest. You struggle to breathe as I hold you down. I’m crushing your chest. Splintering your ribs. It won’t be long before they puncture your lungs and every breath you take will simply escape. I’ll break more bones. I’ll charge you extra for each second it takes. I’ll charge you less for how much I enjoy it. I’ll tell everyone the story and how I feel no remorse. I’ll tell them how I held your hands and pulled you close. Tell them how it had to end. How it ended with a whisper and a cry. How your loss brought not a single tear to my eye. How I felt your final breath leave your body. How it felt. How it came about. How it affected me. How it was so good to me. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just take you to bed. Kiss your forehead and let you sleep another night. With me there by your side. Watching you and waiting for that perfect moment. You’re a work of art. I’m a vandal.

-Alice