how i wish things have gone differently with smash but it's too late now so

ARIES: I heard that somebody with icicles in their chest once told you that spring was only for people that know how to be wanted but they were lying. Hardly anybody takes care of honesty the way that you do and somehow that’s still a surprise. Take the weight of your insecurities and lay them to rest underneath a gravestone. When wildflowers grow from what you buried don’t bother to pick them. They’ll always be there. Don’t you know what it’s like to come back to things? 

TAURUS: The peach pit on your dresser has been sitting there for years and it’s okay that you can’t throw it out yet. Okay that you can’t put it back into the fruit and unbite all of the soft and the sweet and the “maybe this time it’ll be different” that leaked out onto your fingers on the nights that your teeth feel too used to be desired. Wash your sheets and dry them outside. Lay underneath the clothes line and listen. Unclench your fists. Rewrite the grocery list.

GEMINI: It isn’t your fault that not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges. You’ve been spending too much time forcing yourself down the linen aisle when you should be finding the nearest comic book store. There’s a reason superman is nicknamed “man of steel” and you deserve all of the iron-throated hearts that you can find. Invest in a metal detector. Don’t be ashamed of what you find.

CANCER: The way you bare your chest to the world is terribly brave and I don’t want you to continue feeling responsible for the people you’ve kissed that have taken advantage of that. Skin-deep damage does not make you unlovable, it gives you new perspectives. Don’t apologize for the ways you have tried to survive this. You’re better than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused. Suck on a peppermint until it loses its flavor. Name the taste after your last heartbreak. Now spit it out.

LEO: Your chest caves in whenever you think about the past and nobody’s ever told you that everything is temporary. Well, honey, I have some news for you. Start checking the mailbox again before the neighbors start to worry. People still want to stain paper with your name and martyring yourself over words is something you’ve become too talented at. Take a break, now and again. Burn the television set if that’s what it takes. Air out the smoke and look into a mirror, admire how powerful you seem as you step out of the haze of what’s gone.

VIRGO: Oh, baby, you’ve made mistakes and you’ve drained the bottles but you’re not the only one who’s felt like this. I know that it’s hard to let yourself feel these things but you have to try, you have to let the light in. It’s so dark in the room you’ve been using to store your regrets and your pallor has become a reflection of the ghosts you’ve been taking orders from. You were made for the sun. Let it kiss you without repercussion. Allow yourself to kiss it back.

LIBRA: So maybe you dropped too many pennies down the wishing well and now your wallet is nothing more than negative space. So maybe you forgot who gave you that good advice that one time and you’re still beating yourself up over it. Go ahead, admit to your faults. Set a place for them at the table and scold them for being late. Eat their portion and kick them out. Being familiar with every side to your geometric personality is not something to be ashamed of. Remember the angles, and keep moving. People like you are not meant to stand still.

SCORPIO: I think that your ears were made for listening to things that break. The shattering of a vase. The cracking of a heart. Does it ever get exhausting to be so awfully aware of how things sound when they forget to function? Nobody expects you to take every smashed hope and piece it together on your own. You are not a bottle of glue no matter how much you feel disaster sticks to you. I promise. You don’t have to carry that toolbox around, anymore. It looks heavy. Set it down.

SAGITTARIUS: You have your father’s mouth and consequently have dreams where you’re ripping it from your face. Somebody told you once that you were inadequate and now there’s a bruise on your ego and you can’t seem to stop touching it. Why are you so obsessed with how long it takes to heal? Why are you so afraid of letting people see you cry? Take off your armor and let your skin breathe. There’s still time to be okay with the idea of loss. You’re not too late. You’re not too late.

CAPRICORN: Stop using the word pathetic whenever anybody asks you to describe yourself. The people that hold you accountable for the abuse you’ve endured are the ones that turn away whenever they see it. You don’t need them, you never did. Can you feel that prickling sensation running up your arms? It’s tomorrow knocking and it wants to show you something beautiful. Let it. You’ve handled tragedy, surely you can handle tenderness.

AQUARIUS: You’ve been fucked over so many times it’s hard not to see yourself as a hotel room on the outskirts of town. Dark red bedsheets and rusty doorknobs and a lampshade that hasn’t been touched in a decade or two, this is where you lie and try to erase the memories from your naked body. You don’t want to belong to anybody almost as much as you don’t want people to believe they’ve changed you. They haven’t, you know that right? No matter how many people hike up mount everest it’s still a mountain. It’s still bigger than what’s stepping on it. It still keeps its name.

PISCES: You’ve become so good at sacrificing yourself for the possibility of something worthwhile that your body looks more like an altar than an assortment of bones. If this is your church I hope that your god looks like your nine year old face whenever somebody asked what you wanted to be when you grew up. I hope your prayer sounds like an exhale and that your choir sings in harmony and that every donation tastes like honey. Don’t forget to bow your head every once in a while. Remind yourself of your feet. Of how fast you’re able to run.

—  APRIL HOROSCOPES, 2/30, Caitlin Conlon
A Monster Approaches

My family has never been what you might call a conventional one. For generations we’ve lived out in the middle of nowhere, mainly living off the land and cut off from modern technology for the most part. The only times we interact with other people is if we make runs to the town five miles away whether to get things we can’t make ourselves or to go to school. These little trips are expected to be enough for us to meet somebody and settle down and have kids. It somehow always works out. Most recently for my older sister, Sara, though it didn’t last long.

She thought marriage was a way out, that she could leave the home and not be followed. She thought they’d be safe. Sara was gone a week after her wedding before she came back, tear tracks staining her cheeks. Mom held her while Dad grumbled to me.

“Sara did a stupid thing,” he had said. “Don’t ever make the same mistake, Annabeth.”

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Drabble 20: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“Momma! Momma!” Patting the side of my leg in order to get my attention. She gripped at my jeans trying to stay standing.

“Just a minute baby,” But Lily wasn’t having it. She continued to pat my leg yelling and whining: “Momma! Daddy?” Picking her up I continued to stir the stew in the stove before shutting it off Esther and Phil now begging for a treat. 

“Daddy is at work Lils, he should be home soon okay?” Justin had texted not long ago to let me know that he would be home in time for dinner. Pulling out two treats from the pantry I handed one to each of the puppies watching them run off into their beds.

He has been working morning to night but has been trying to make it for dinner at least twice a week. Even if it isn’t much those two evenings where he takes over are such a blessing. Lily and the puppies can be a handful at times and it can get a bit overwhelming.

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Creepypasta #477: Police Aware

‘Police Aware’, the fluorescent yellow sticker said.

The first time I saw one I thought nothing of it. Neither would you. It was just an overturned car sticking out of the bushes at the side of the road. It was a silver people carrier that was popular amongst school-runners. Practical. Sensible. Good mileage. Advertised by the flexibility of storage arrangements in the boot rather than speeding around city streets at night with a stubbly young professional smirking at the wheel. You know the type.

Still, a car is a car. A blown tyre is a blown tyre. No amount of ‘Baby on Board’ signs will prevent a swerve and a flip if mum is too busy texting home to get there safely. Now, all that flexible storage space rested upside down and half buried in the bushes of the embankment. I’d only noticed it because it was a new route home. An accident somewhere had deadlocked my normal route and I didn’t want to spend my evening in 1st gear, so I struck out on towards the backroads. I could still hear dear ol’ Dad’s voice in my ears; “Maps are for cowards and women. Just make sure you know what side the sun is meant to be on”. He… meant well.

With the sun firmly in the right part of the sky, I started winding my way through the back lanes and country roads that snaked and slithered amongst the industrial estates between me and home. I stumbled across ‘The Big Waitrose’ I’d heard so much about from the posh girl at work, and a McDonalds with a 24hr drive-thru (unsurprisingly absent from posh girl’s guide to local attractions).

In the joy of finding my own little path I hadn’t noticed my speed creeping up and a sharp corner took me by surprise. It was nothing a little heavy braking didn’t sort out. Then I saw the car half sticking out of the bushes opposite. Rear windscreen smashed in. ‘Police aware’ sticker half peeled and flapping in the summer breeze. Mud and mess smeared across the silver paintwork. Must have been going faster than I was.

As I said, I thought nothing of it. Neither would you.

The next day, the traffic was clear.

A few weeks later, after a long day to tail off a longer week I found the urge to treat myself to a fancy ready meal and decided to see whether I could retrace the route to The Big Waitrose. I came to the same sharp bend in the road.

A new car.

Same accident, same spot, different car.

This one was red. Slimmer. Faster looking. I’ll admit my knowledge of cars is lacking at best but I very much doubted that this one was sold on its safety rating. Stuck across the back was another fluorescent yellow ‘Police Aware’ sign. What are the odds? He must have been going too fast and missed the bend, I thought, amazing myself at how readily I assigned fault, method and gender to the driver based on nothing more than having a faster car than me. Dear ol’ dad in my ear again, describing my car’s 0-60 time as ‘eventually’.

A few more weeks passed.

By now we were firmly into Autumn. A wet afternoon had brought down a thin blanket of leaves and the evening air had a distinct chill to it. I’d been kept at work late for reasons that are still fuzzy to me. I think there had been a meeting. Or was I preparing for a meeting? I can’t remember. But I remember the leaves. And I remember the chill. I remember the chill especially because I remember the plunging ache in my jaws as it blew over my broken teeth.

When I left work it was dark. It must have been because I remember the way my headlights flashed against the yellow diversion sign that blocked my normal route home. Here is where I wish I could tell you in detail what happened but I can’t. I wish I could tell you more about the…thing. The thing from the bushes. But I can’t. My head injury smashed most of my memories along with my teeth.

All I have left are flashes. Something on the bonnet of the car. The sound of screeching brakes. The smell of burning rubber. The gritty, metallic crunchiness of a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth. The skipping CD playing the same three notes of that Biffy Clyro track. The pounding throb in my ear as I was held upside down by my seatbelt. Dear ol’ Dad’s voice in my head again- “Make sure you always wear a seatbelt – after all, what was the last thing that went through Lady Di’s head? That’s right son, the dashboard”.

But I do have one crystal clear memory. I remember the only good look I got at it. Hanging there, prone and limp trying to figure out which way was up as Diet Coke dripped on me from somewhere. I heard something crawl above me. Or under me. Around me. The scratching noise, like twigs scraping down broken pipes, seemed to come from everywhere.

I wrenched my head around to look out of my back window and what I saw made me bellow an absurd laugh that sent flecks of frothy blood and tooth against the back seat.

It was the same corner.

Same accident.

And then I saw them. The long fingers. Rough, almost bark-like, clutching around the edges of the broken rear window. They delicately tapped and grabbed and stroked like a nervous pianist against the inside roof. As they slowly, surely, gained purchase on the soft felt lining, they gripped and pulled. Then, the scraggly, leafy hairs of the head some unknown creature came into view.

It pulled and nudged and advanced until I could see it’s whole face. Gaunt and drawn, his mouth fell impossibly low and revealed nothing but inky void. His eyes were absences. His skin wrought with deep wrinkles that followed every curve of his elongated face. I was somehow reminded of old 3D puzzles I use to make with Dear ol’ Dad where each layer was made of flat cardboard pieces stacked up to make a 3D shape.

Now, having gained a firm grip on the back window, the thing thrust a barky hand towards my face. Mere millimetres out of reach, I tossed and wrenched to get away from the scratchy, earthy fingers that plied at my face and grabbed into the broken bleeding mess of my teeth. At that moment, another car came around the corner. It’s headlights seemed to bore through the creature’s head, illuminating his eyes and mouth as though he were translucent. The beams seemed to drive a kind of ethereal scream from the creature, as though light passed through him like air over vocal chords. Then, with none of the slow, clutching trepidation with which he’d pulled towards me, he was gone. Somewhere, in the distance, brakes squealed.

Some faint, fading, heavenly voice… “Fuckin shit mate Jesus… Can you hear me? You alright in there? I’m calling an ambulance just hol….” And then sweet nothingness.

In the hospital, they found nothing. Smears of dirt here or there. Nothing to lend credence to the idea of a leafy monster in the bushes. The car was a write off, but it was insured. I replaced it with a brand new, ‘highest safety rating in its class’ 4x4. Dear ol’ Dad in my ear – ‘You lose half the value just driving off the forecourt’.

Fuck off, Dad.

Months later, there was a blown gas pipe near my work and I had to drive the same road back. Like clockwork, there it was. Sticking out of the bushes. An Audi A3. I paid it attention that time. And so should you.

“Police Aware”

No they’re not.

Credits to: Skarjo