This is part one of my month long Halloween poem. I am going for sick and twisted so if you want a happy poem please wait until November. If you want a bone chilling, freak you the freak out, pee your pants in terror poem, I hope this works then.
I wake up there is only darkness.
Pull on my leg I feel a chain.
The metal scraping against the ground.
No light is allowed in,
Am I in Hell.
Am I still alive.
All of a sudden screams make their way into the room.
Blood curdling screams.
Followed by laughter.
Hordes of maniacal laughter.
Where am I?
Desperately pull on the chain try to break free.
Can't.
There is nowhere to go.
No hope at all.
Footsteps coming.
Stopping at what I would guess is my door.
Key's jingling,
The sound of a lock turning.
Light assaulting the pitch black of the room.
Blinded by the bright fluorescent.
Rub my eyes to get the spots out.
There I see him standing in the doorway.
Wondering what is behind his smile.
His painted white makeup is smeared down his face from sweat.
Multi-colored wig is all in knots.
Black apron with red stains all over it.
White gloved hands carrying a knife.
Looks at me with lifeless eyes.
Laughs.
The same laugh I heard that followed the screams.
I do not give him the benefit of that.
WHO THE HELL ARE YOU
There is no answer.
Only a tilting of the head.
Eyeing me up.
Having no idea what is going on in his head.
Wondering what is behind his smile.
Pure evil is contained within in this dark creature.
His red lips smiling his pearly whites.
Stained with blood.
Not wanting to know why.
He walks over and goes towards the chain.
Unlocks my feet.
Shows me the knife.
Telling me without saying a word.
Don't fight,
I stand up.
Groggy from being in the darkness for so long.
I fall.
He laughs.
The only sound he makes is laughter.
Wondering what is behind his smile.
I try to get up again.
He gives me a glass of water.
I take a sip out of dying thirst.
Head starts to spin.
Seeing multiples of the same smile.
The same sadistic smile that drugged me.
He laughs again.
That is all he can do.
He grabs my feet.
Drags me out the door.
Having no fight in me.
I have no choice to go where he takes me.
Wondering what is behind his smile.
Being dragged down the hall I realize I am not alone.
Clowns everywhere.
Lining the halls.
Pointing at me.
Laughing at me.
Smiling at me.
So much evil in each and every one of them.
No longer men or women.
Only monsters.
Embodiments of true fear and terror.
He picks me up with ease and throws me in a chair.
Before you start reading I thought I'd warn you, that yes this will be a blog about writing a book. If you are tired of hearing me talk about it, you will probably not want to read this, but give it a chance. There is a reason why I can't stop talking about it, and I am so proud of what I have done.
Ever since I was a kid I always wrote and had an active imagination. Hell, I still do! I would sit in front of my computer at 11:00 at night the night before any paper was due with only about three paragraphs written. With my music blaring on one side Bon Jovi, Limp Bizkit and Eminem as I got older, and my mother on the other ear asking me why did I always wait for the last minute. I now found out why. Pressure brings out the greatest in all of us, don't believe me, ask a diamond what it was before it was tested.
I would complain the whole time and my mom would leave leaving me with my music and my words. Two hours later I would have a five page report written and edited ready to turn in, and sometimes it even took less time than that. My mom hated that, and envied that, and still talks about it to this day. I still use that same model whenever I write. Music and writing go hand in hand with me at least. Always have and always will.
Flash forward to High School where my creative writing really took shape. I wrote a story about a friend who was possessed by his best friend by wearing the same jacket (it was dark), my creative writing class which I loved where I really learned to express my emotions, and video tech. Where we wrote, acted, and filmed our own videos that's when I realized I want to do something along those lines, so I went to ITT Tech and the itch got itchier.
During my time at ITT I dated my ex and was miserable inside and out, but I ignored all of those feelings, or I thought I did. I started writing a book or screenplay called Confessions of A Teenage Boy who attempts suicide but fails. He loses all of his memories and relearns about his life, and sees where he went wrong. Once again a dark tale, and made my mom worry. It made me worry too. I never finished it, but I used the premise for my movie trailer I did.
The point is I have tons of unfinished products novel ideas, cartoon ideas, movie ideas, a quarter of a screenplay written (NFS Tech) which I still laugh at to this day, and four comic book scripts. But not a one single finished product. My wife said to me you have a lot of great ideas, but that is all they are, ideas. And I stopped writing for a while. Then my blog came about, and then the poetry came back. And I found a reason to pick up a pen again. The ink was back.
I turned thirty and it was a rough year for me. If you don't know I'm adopted, and I've always wondered why I was. I know I am loved and raised by a wonderful family, and I couldn't be happier where I ended up. But I could never shake the reason why. Why was I given up on? Who were the people who created me, but didn't want me? So I made a plan to find out who my birth parents were for myself. as a present to myself. I would drive by the health and welfare building everyday on the way to work and always tell myself tomorrow I will stop/ On my day off I will stop. I will unravel this mystery. But I never did.
I picked up my script again and started reading it. Defender is about a boy who is adopted and beat up on the daily, and he finds out he is a superhero. His birth dad is a superhero and his mom was a supervillian. I had four scripts done, but no artist. I re read them, and I a light bulb came on. This is my story. I adapted it a little and changed a little around here and there when making it into my novel. Instead of him getting his powers at the age of eight, he get's them at the age of thirty. He works at a chuck e cheese place, and is addicted to DB coffee. Yes I'm Topher. But they say you write about what you know and I've worked at CEC for ten years, and been a superhero for my whole life so what do you expect.
The story evolved into so much more. It became written therapy. I said things in this book which have been on my mind for way to long with no way to express them really. What I have Topher ask his mother and father why he was given up are the exact words I would ask. I cried after I wrote that part, and literally had to take a break. The best thing about writing your own story in your own world is that you can give yourself the ending you want. But I stopped writing for a while, and to be completely honest with you, unsure if I was going to pick it up again.
I would hide from my book in my poetry, blame life was being well life, or use any excuse in the book. The truth is I wasn't ready to finish my book yet, because the shit had not hit the fan yet. Over the last few years it has been harder and harder to accept the fact that I have failed having two degrees and being a manager at the Cheese. I was not destined to be that kind of guy, and only a part of me knew that. The last year has not been the same. Too many great people have left, some no longer keep in touch, and too many things and people have changed. And being F###ed over consistently is the greatest reason to pick up a pen again. And I did.
I had to prove to the one person in the world who thought I would never finish my book. That one person being me. Everyone else thought I could do it, but a part of me knew it never would. I knew deep down I couldn't look at my kids and tell them to go for them dreams, if I never did. So I spent as much time as I could writing like a madmen. Thinking like a madmen while at work. Piecing each piece together one by one. Until yes I got to write the words to be continued and finish my book. Proving to the one person who thought I never would. I F***ing did it!
This is not the end though. I already have my next book planned out, and the next two in the SuperMidLife series, as well as a different kind of princess story. I am never putting down my pen again, because I know God has putting ink in my blood and given me the gift of writing to share with the world ideas that they might have, but are to afraid or unsure how to express them. So thank you for being there and supporting me when I wasn't able to do it for myself. And know that this is not the end, but only the beginning.
