Self Destruct in 3,2,1...

Miss Selfridge at ShopStyle

I stood there starring the at the reflection of his face yelling at me. I took another drag of cigarette and exhaled slowly. 

"This is it, never thought this is how my fairytale ends," My heart whispered. 
"So here goes nothing to my everything,"

I have nothing left to lose, so I opt for the little white lie. As I lied on everything he's been wanting to hear, every accusation that he has thrown to me, I could feel the hatred of how much he despised me growing. 

He cried and cursed. I stare blankly, without expression. It’s not that it wasn’t killing me. But one knows when it’s a lost cause. How much further can we go anyway?

“Might as well I play along with his delusion,” my thoughts whispered softly consoling myself of the decision I made. 

Although my heart was breaking, I kept reasoning to myself.

“If I don’t end this, it will keep doing this to him. He will keep coming up with more appalling accusations. This is better, he’ll be happier.”

I watched him walk away from my life. I could see him moving further away, till he is no longer in my vision. That was the last time we saw each other. 

I sat there on that stoop, pretending to be strong. Inhaling one cigarette and then another. The floodgate opens, but nothing comes out. It was getting colder and darker but I felt the warmness stealing me over.

I stared out into the street, the image of him leaving me playing in my head over and over again. Like a reminder to myself that it is over. As that is the end to my love story,  it was the beginning of my path to self destruction.

Fairytales Are For The Meek Fools

Jimmy Choo at ShopStyle


See, everyone has their story to tell. I can't bear to listen to your broken heart, because I was busy mending my own. So if you shut up and listen, this is mine to tell.

Once, upon a time there was a girl....

She was just a f***ed up girl looking for her own piece of mind, she’s not perfect. She had years of people telling her that.

He was everything that she never knew she wanted. They never planned to be where they were, but it happened. Fate dealt them a card they weren’t ready to play. Both of them plunged it whole-heartedly; it was beautiful how they started. To be in love, to be in that perpetual state of anesthesia.

The commonality that they have is that they both recognize reality of their situation that it could never be. But the fact they are both as self absorbed as one another, helps keeping them together. It wasn’t that they were right for each other, they were just not right for anyone else. Therefore, no one but them could comprehend what they feel.
He drags her kicking and screaming, through fast dreams and knows exactly what she means. She feeds him with rubber bands for him to stretch till she can see his frustrations on the boils, and yet she doesn’t know when to quit. Soon enough, her reflections through his eyes were not something she dared to look. She knows she had broke whatever it is she thought she had.

Their battles become repetitious, and soon enough she realized that she was apologizing for what was no longer her mistake, her past choices that she was never sorry for. It was a broken poetry, a chapter she once played.

She said, “I fell in love. Not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you would call it. You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. I love you, very simple, very truly. I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t care. I do not doubt that I am in love with you. I’m not with you because of what family, society, life tried to instill in me from day one. I grew up never having any f**king example of male- female relationship and I got hurt in past so many times until one cut herself from finding anyone. So I’ve been around – and I don’t fucking regret it, some were good and some were bad – and then I come across you. How seldom it is that you meet that one person who just gets you- its so rare. So here we are. I was thorough when I looked for you. And I feel justified lying in your arms, 'cause I got here on my own terms, and I have no question there was some place I didn't look – because I’ve been in different arms- and I choose you. And for me that makes all the difference. “ She said it all, although it was too late, although he wasn’t even listening to a single word she said. To him none of this makes sense. He felt small, insignificant and emasculated. He thinks he’ll never be on her level – never be enough for her or something. What he didn’t get was that she didn’t care. She wasn’t looking for “THAT GUY”; he was all that she was looking for.

He kept digging, and soon created fictional stories and characters that seem so real.

He found the reason to justify everything; he found the perfect story that would be worse than anything anyone could ever do. He kept himself blinded to hide all that he fears, all that he has done. He disillusioned himself with things beyond belief. He jumped on conclusions and landed on her chest as he yelled out obscenities to her.

She gave all to him without question, and yet he still wanted to steal every bit of it. She has been misjudged and misinterpreted her whole life, so this shouldn’t really hurt. All that he wanted to say has been said before. All he ever wanted to do has been done before, maybe even worse. It shouldn’t have wounded her, but it did.

She had nothing left to lose. And all that he had to show was some foolish pride that gave way to regret.

And so ends her fairytale.

February 2007

Rollo T.

Angel of The Night by Logan Tanner

Midwest at ShopStyle

Angel of the Night
By Logan Tanner

As I passed the ally, I saw a glint of light out of the corner of my eye that caught my attention. It had stopped raining hours ago but the ground and surrounding buildings still had a murky wet glow in the evening light. This glint of light though was different. It was slow and organic. Not like a wet plastic bag being drug by the wind or a rusty ally door swinging open to take the trash out. It was slow and almost human.

As I stopped and peered down the dimly lit alley, I caught the reflection of what seemed like one and a half eyes looking back at me. I should have been scared, petrified even, but for some reason I wasn’t. I turned and started walking down the alley, loudly and boldly asking hello as I approached.
It wasn’t long before I was staring down at what appeared to be a woman. I crouched slightly in surprise and asked if she was alright.
“Hello? Are you OK,” I asked. “Can you hear me?”
I could tell by the way her face turned towards me that she had, but when she opened her mouth, a gurgle of blood trickled out and ran down her face and into her ear. It didn’t seem to me that she was attempting to talk, but simply purging her mouth of the blood that had apparently been building up.
I looked around nervously, wondering if someone else had seen this, or possibly, if someone else was seeing me see this. I looked down the alley fruitlessly, half wanting to see who did this and half not. Being an avid fan of the cinema and made-for-TV dramas, I also had a slight worry that I would be mistaken as the perpetrator of this vicious act. It happens all the time on TV.
She was splayed out, half buried in a manger of wet, black garbage bags and reams of old newspaper. Her head was cocked back, resting on the pavement and a halo of blood had formed around her head in a near perfect circle. I paused for a moment and thought of her as some kind of saint. An angel fallen from heaven who’d missed her mark. As I peeled back the bags and paper though, my misjudgment became clear: fishnet stockings, a purple-mini skirt, one clear-heeled stiletto and a fake Coach purse with it's faux gold-chained strap wrapped firmly around her neck. I could see the impression of the links in her skin as I cleared some room around her head, causing the chain to slacken a bit.
“Ma’am,” I told her as if she comprehended, “I’m calling the police and we’ll get you out of her as soon as we can.”
I hadn’t referred to someone as a ma’am since I was a Boy Scout. I found it odd that I had just used it now to address what appeared to be a half-dead prostitute, lying broken, bloody and speechless in a wet back alley.
“I’ll stay with you until they get here,” I said, pushing my tangential thoughts aside and pulling out my cell phone. This was weird and probably a little dangerous. But for me, I felt some kind of safety being here with her. I felt needed for the first time in a long time. And for that, I’d stay with her for as long as it took.