Your worst Nightmare

the girl who kissed the devil!!

All along it was a lie, that made life worth living...

I remember... So many recollections wither and die, while others remain as vivid and full, as the day in bloom. Yes, I remember... I remember a girl, and her name was Shay. Red curls spiraled down porcelain cheeks, while green eyes wandered astray. She so often was perceived in this way. Quiet... introverted... as if captivated by a hidden curiosity, dream like and surreal. And most often, somewhere far away. As you would guess, she didn't speak much, but she talked to me.

After school we would meet down by a creek, that ran along an old chapel with trees growing out the windows. In the front of this chapel, the flowers still bloomed. But what was buried in the rear nothing ever grew. Mere headstones bleaching in the sun. She once told me her grandmother was buried there, and that her ghost would sometimes wait for her. Together they would go picking flowers around the chapel, until her grandma felt too tired and needed to rest. She would then meet me by the creek, and together we would pluck the daisies and watch as the stream softly carried the peddles away.

Many times she was scolded for telling tall tales. The trouble was, I think she believed in them.

One day she did not come through the modest graveyard, to cross the bridge I had made for her; using old tires strapped to 2x4s. Rather she crept up behind me, carrying a bundle of the strangest blue flowers I had ever seen. When I asked where she had found them, the story she had told me was even stranger. She pointed to a field behind us and said, "Just beyond the fields of rye." She said that she wandered through it and found a whole patch of them in the clearing.

Never seeing anything like these flowers before, she quickly started picking them. It was then from a hidden stairwell in the ground, that a manlike creature with copper skin emerged. Disgruntled, he demanded compensation for the blue violets she had reaped. But Shay was no more afraid of him, than any other of her daydreams. In fact she found him quite humorous, and as a joke, she leaned over and kissed him upon the brow, then chuckled as she ran away.

I decided then, to tell her what I thought of her tall tales. I had for so long pretended to believe her out of friendship, but now I beginning to worry; as her stories grew more and more outlandish. I felt as if she was slipping away from the real world, and sinking deeper into someplace that would get her locked up for sure.

She said nothing as I explained. She merely nodded a little with a long face, while plucking the petals from the violets. Soon she grew disheartened, and did not wish to hear anymore. Tossing what flowers remained, she announced that she was going home and ran across the makeshift bridge.

I tried to get her to come back, but she wasn't hearing it. Before disappearing behind the chapel, I heard her shout to one of the headstones, "You were right about him, Grandma! He's just like all the rest!"

I let a couple of days go by, in hopes she would cool off. But her detachment from me and the rest of the world only widened. In school, she didn't even seem to recognize me anymore. She simply walked from class to class with this distant stare. After a couple weeks, she stopped showing up at all. Prompting one of her teachers as to why, was when I first heard her name associated with the term, schizophrenia.

Passing her house every day, I noticed she had taken a liking to staring out her bedroom window, which was the lofty attic overlooking the neighborhood. Once I jokingly called out to her, "Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!" But she was not amused. I tried to get her to come to the door, but her mother said that she was ill. Once the door was shut, the old lady next door, remarked while sweeping her porch, "Poor girl... seen her just the other day. I don't think she's eating... seems like she just... wasting away."

Truth be told, I wasn't faring well without her. And the thought that I had in someway betrayed her, weighed heavy on my heart. I spent the following afternoons wandering the field... searching for that infamous flower patch. I figured that if I were to find it, then I could tell her everything about it. Surely then, she would trust me again. And if all it was, was some psychotic dilution, so be it. It didn't have very many friends... none like her. And if she was a schizophrenic, then I wanted to be one as well. I would follow her anywhere... even beyond the thresholds of sanity.