HaikuRequiem

That morning I opened my door to find a hundred tiny purple flowers peeking out from under the uncut grass, almost as if a hundred little eyes were fixed on mine. Some kind of crocuses, I was pretty sure. I always knew their overnight arrival heralded the imminent coming of spring; this year, I feared it. At least, on some level. I feared the affirmation of time's passage independently of myself. I feared the loneliness. I feared my own darkness. But I was actually very fond of the crocuses. I liked flowers and trees and dirt and those sorts of things – in fact, when I went to Massachusetts in the fall the first thing I noticed was the r

Your fairisle cap wags up and down, swings left and right as you dance, leap, and pirouette around lean maples and willowy oaks. Roses bloom across your cheeks, dusted with sugar; honey hair almost held captive under the cap. A steam engine jounces the tall, lonely forest; its high wail pierces and echoes through the silent woods. The wintry breeze breathes glitter onto your cap, and sadness into your blue eyes.

It's Christmas eve and I am crying. I don't know what else to do. For now, there is nothing. As I struggle to breathe, my notebook is clutched tight to my chest, "I miss you" scribbled in every margin. For the first time in my life, the thought crossed my mind: I hate her, I hate her! I hate her for leaving me so alone. I want to believe that I will ever see her again, even though I know I will not. And I don't hate her. I love her, I love her so much, it hurts. Every sound I hear I think might be my phone ringing, but I know it will never be. Maybe it will never ring again. And if it does, it will never be from her. I will never, ever get

I've wanted to be a writer for a very long time. I remember the day I decided it for sure. June 20th, 2005. It was the day I graduated the fourth grade. It was also that teacher's last year teaching. We had an award ceremony, where every student was given an award praising their talents. Most of them were the same; not unexpectedly, many kids got the same awards. But I got one that was different. For the student who wrote some very creative stories that were action-packed and full of vivid imagination. A future writer. It was unique, an award written specifically for me. At first, I was mystified; then, that night, I decided I would do it f

"Goodbye," I said to her. I'd wanted to be together forever. I'd wanted share everything. I'd wanted us to be a part of each other. Slowly, I started to accept some things. Things that I'd always known, really, but never accepted; things I'd stuffed away into a dark corner of my mind to never be seen again. Now I was seeing them. I had been lied to, many times, and given many false promises. I'd fostered many false hopes. I believed, right up until the end, that one day I would meet her. The words "I don't want to meet you" stabbed right through my heart. Once she'd told me that she would come up to play manhunt with me, maybe to one of my

Remember when I told you that if you turn off the lights at night, you can see the stars? I think what I meant was this: Don't be afraid of the dark.

Cold steel was pressed against his throat. Now, he could end it all. The blade hovered there, threatening to sever his jugular at any moment. Back to the wall, there was nowhere for the ancient—already fatally wounded, he knew—to escape. Streaks of crimson dripped down his back, pooling in the cracks of the rocky surface beneath his feet. "Tell me, Shikoku-dono," insisted the sword's owner, his sticky-sweet politeness seeping with venom, "Tell me what I want to know, please." Between shallow breaths, the fading man answered. "It was me… Yes, Yoshin, it was me." His train of thought was broken by a rattling cough. "I killed h