There he goes, not even noticing how I look at him. He doesn’t notice the look in my eye. He doesn’t see that he owns my heart and soul. He doesn’t know how much I need him. It is wrong I know. But I can’t help but love him. I try to stay away. I try to remember he isn’t mine. I try. I try so hard. Sometimes I slip. But only when I am drunk, which is often, as I love him so. I love him. How could I not? It really is a sight to behold, that man. But I am nothing but a dirty secret, for when he has had too much to drink, when the job gets to tough, and when he just needs someone other than his wife. He comes seeking a comfort only I can give. But then he leaves again; the clock mocks me as it flashes two in the morning. Four hours. For four hours he was mine. And now he will go back to her. His love. His soul. The one that doesn’t have to be the dirty little secret. The one that gets to tell the world he is hers. The one that gets to tell the world that he belongs to her. That the world knows has his heart. Even if I have his body for hours at a time. I get up and look in my cabinet. The gun he gave me is there. For my protection, he had told me. He had a lot of enemies. The pills the doctor gave me are there. For my depression. My anxiety. My seizures. All there. I am sick of being someone’s dirty little secret. I look at them, but I slide down to the floor and sigh. I don’t know how long I am there. But suddenly I hear my door open; only he can get in to my apartment. I wait for something, but nothing is coming. I hear the bathroom door open. He is standing there above me. He has a gun. I look up at him. “You can’t be my dirty little secret anymore.” He pointed the gun at me and shot twice, into my chest. As I lay there, the pain of the bullets in my chest, I was gasping for air. I hear another shot; he had turned the gun upoin himself and shot himself in the head. I struggle to get up. I make my way to the phone… I dial emergency services. “He killed himself…” I gasped out, and then my world went black… I was no longer his dirty little secret.
In the land of nightmares nothing has to make sense. We after all are just that, nightmares, creatures of imagination, given life. It is why when I retired from traveling through dreams, I opened a bar. A bar made of glass, with the magic of dreams it is easy to fix after a fight. The bar of glass allows all to watch the dreams of their humans, and know when they have to join the dream. It gives me and the other creatures of the night our entertainment and the social interaction that we now crave as we were created by the humans we torture. After all, in the land of nightmares the only light we have are from the dreams of our humans.
The man I was forced to marry was toxic. Of this when the fallen found no dissent. I held high the knife. The silver glint caught the fire. I took a breath. I could not live this life. The knife came down. Two days later I stood at a grave. He was dead. I knew that one day the cost would be my soul. Now my body rots in the cemetery. I stood in front of the Seraphims for judgment. I snorted at them. Lucifer looked at me; he smirked “I adore a challenge, HELL.” He gave his vote on my eternity and sealed my fate.
I watched the lifeless body burn. There was a satisfaction to the sight. I had been trained for this. To be a warrior. I never felt the knife enter the base of my skull. Murdered by the woman I left for dead. I was looking St. Peter in the eye before I knew I was dead.
They tell their stories. Someone stops & listens they light up. How lonely they must be. A lifetime of stories. Lost on the young minds they tell. A lifetime of hopes, dreams, loves, & loss. Stories that make their life; told to strangers. How lonely they must be.