April Gave And Now April's Gone

[runaway]

(click here 1st ta go forward and go down to post #25)

(click here ta go back)

I Hate You

The kelly colored girl sat with her head between her knees; lips blue as depression. She tricked her mind into thinking this was okay. Her heart was slowing down as her own deception was taking effect; the impact against her chest remained firm. She forced her breathing to return to normal, even though her body was screaming for more oxygen. It isn’t very often that she has this kind of control in the face of sickness, but today her will stabbed at the heart of reality. The sting vibrating through her head and face didn’t knock her spirit down. She used it like a tool to build up mental strength. The more pain she felt, the stronger she willed herself to be.

There was no turning back from what she was about to do. She had determined this was the right course of action, because there really were no other options left. She had tried medications, therapy, trying to believe this was all just in her head … ignoring the facts and pretending this was just a fact of life everyone suffers through. They each worked for about a minute, but even if she allowed herself to continue with anyone of them, there was no cure in sight, except death.

She reached down into her purse and pulled out her blade. She had fashioned a handle for it by melting down plastic toys and molding it so that only her fingers would fit perfectly in the groves. Rolling up her sleeve, she stared down at the pen drawing she had made as a template. She pressed the tip of the blade into the corner of the image, and went to work carving a permanent trench through the skin layers. When the blood muddled up her view of the design, she licked it out of her way so she could continue.

When the last few details were etched, she pulled a large bandage out of her purse and wrapped it like an expert. On top of the wrap she wrote, “do not open until Christmas”.

Cleaning off the blade with her tongue, and placing everything back into her purse, she laid across the row of plastic chairs. She balled up her jacket as a pillow and used a corner of it to smell while sucking her thumb. Sleep finally took her out of her misery.

She awoke to the bustling of travelers. No one paid her any mind; at least not in an obvious way. They snuck peeks at her at from their periphery; or glancing over their newspapers and magazines between pages. They didn’t want to show the world they were concerned for the girl that had pee dripping from the chair. They didn’t want to embarrass themselves by going over to her and offering their help. She was not part of proper society, therefore did not deserve proper attention.

Once she was aware of herself, she sat up, grabbed her coat and purse and ran out of the train station. She kept running until she could no longer breathe. She stopped in an ally, sat down with her back against the stone wall, and waited. That was her life … running and waiting, hurting and causing herself pain to distract from other pain.

When she could fill her lungs with suitable amounts of air, she went and dug through a dumpster behind a row of restaurants to see if she could find some food. She scored some cold pizza, a slightly brown banana that only had one bite out of it, and several bits of good bread. She only wished she could find something to drink.

“Hey! Get out of there! Go on, before I call the police!” A man shouted at her from an open door connected to the ally.

Off she went, running again. This time she wasn’t so lucky. She ran straight into the path of a car. Blackness gave her peace.

“No, she doesn’t have any identification. All she had in her purse was a homemade blade, several bandages and band-aids, a few pens, and odd pieces of hard candy. It looks like she made good use of her artistic skills on her arms and legs with that blade she made. She wrote on her bandage saying not to open it until Christmas; as if it were a present for someone.”

She chuckled, “Well, got to give her credit. She’s funny.”

“What do we do until psyc can come down and speak to her?”

“Well just keep her where she is. I’ll get a few of the interns to take shifts sitting with her. She isn’t doing anything disruptive; just lays there sucking her thumb. Oh, that reminds me, can you change her into something dry, please?”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

****

(3 months later)

“I didn’t do it!”

“Really? Then why are there three people who claim to have seen you do it?”

“I dunno, but I didn’t.” She shifted her weight from side to side and played with her hair.

“I’ll have to send you to your room until lunch. After lunch you are going to clean this wall.”

“I didn’t color on it!” She stomped her foot to make her point more firm.

“Go!” Wendy pointed her in the direction and gave her a little push.

“FINE!” Krissy stomped off to her room under protest, but she decided to picture another room in her mind just to spite them.

______________

A conversation between her adult self and her little girl self might look something like this…

What do you do all day while I’m out?

I hava invisible friend. Her name's Heidy.

Does she know you're crazy?

I’m not crazy; I know she’s invisible. It’s not like I hear people that aren't there.

How come I can’t hear her?

Because she isn’t talking to you ( ).

You need a nap.

You think you’re so smart, blady blah. You can be as persnickety as you wish to be, but that means I can be as whatever I wanna be too.

Did I say anything? What’s your problem today?

I dun’t gotsah problem; what’s your problem?

You.

(tries to ignore feeling guilty for saying that, but fails) I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.

did so (sniffs up snot)

Well, I don’t mean it now. I only meant it during those few seconds, but it is no longer true. You know – temporary. You know, don’t you?

tempararey …

Yes, temporary. What I said yesterday, may not be true today. What I say tomorrow, might not have been true today; get it?

Do I get sumthin if I do?

Are you hungry?

No.

Are you wet?

(no answer)

Is that a yes?

(walks off toward the playroom)

Where you going?

(yells from the playroom) Heidy was talking; what did you say? I didn’t hear you.

I asked if you were wet. (goes to the playroom and stands in the doorway)

What?

You heard me.

No I didn’t.

Are You Wet?

Aren’t we all?

What kind of an answer is that?

A good one. Have you seen my fiddle sticks?

What are fiddle sticks?

They are sticks that you fiddle with.

What do they look like?

I don’t know; that’s why I asked you if you’ve seen them! (rolls eyes) You really are useless.

That hurts my feelings.

Well, now you know how I feel.

How do you feel?

Wet.

Come on, I’ll change you.

Change me into what?

A clean and dry little girl.

opposed to a dirty wet big girl?

Alright, don’t get smart.

You want me ta be dumb?

You know what I mean.

Yes, I know you’re mean.

Are you going to stall me from changing your diaper all evening?

Maybe.

Okay. (she turns and goes back to the living room)

Hey! Where you going?!

I’m not going to waste my time on you if you don’t want me to pay attention to you.

(she goes to the living room all pouty ) I wan attention.

Where’s Heidy? She can give you some.

Do you still mean that now?

Temporary?

Yeah, tempararey?

No. Comere.

(she goes and sits on her lap)

(feels her diaper through her baggy shorts) You’re squishy.

You’re fishy.

I fish for your squish.

(giggles)

Come on. Let’s get a dry diaper on and then we can have dinner.

What we gonna eat?

I don’t know. Maybe we can ask Heidy.

No we can’t.

Why not?

She doesn’t know what our food tastes like.

She doesn’t?

No, she’s invisible! Her eats invisible food. That’s prolly not anything like our food. How she gonna know what we should eat?

Your silly.

Your wet.

Me? It’s you that's …

(giggles)

(looks down in lap and sees her diaper leaking … *sighs*)

Come on, lets get changed.

_______________________

A naughtly little story ...

She patrolled the club through the crowd of people dancing, and laughing, and talking about this and that the best they could over the music. Most people were just dancing. The ones who were talking together, had to dance pressed against the other and intimately talk into their ear. That is just what Kammy wanted to do. She wanted to dance. She wanted to discuss her thoughts. She wanted to find someone, get to know her in less than an hour, and then take her home for sex.

Normally, she would be looking for a girl bigger than her, so she could get dominated in bed. Tonight, she wanted someone a bit smaller; a waif. That wasn’t going to be easy, because she was a bit of a waif herself. The other small ones were also wanted someone bigger than she was. She had a few tricks that might detract from her small size, if only she could find her to try them on.

After two songs and a few rounds of sex with an alligator, she spotted her. She was sitting alone at a table that looked to be of a big party of some kind. There were four tables joined together and many empty drink glasses sitting on top of all four. She looked to be sipping a long island ice tea.

Kammy made her way over and introduced herself by offering out her hand and motioned to come dance with her. It was really pretty nice timing. One of Kammy’s favorite songs to dance to began playing in the background; Gravity – John Mayer.

She accepted her hand and smiled; glad that someone wanted to dance with her. She was starting to feel like a looser sitting there alone. She was too shy to just go out and dance by herself.

Once they began to dance, Kammy introduced herself and asked for her name into her ear; one step closer to getting what she came for.

She copied Kammy’s ear maneuver. “Lea-Anne.”

Kammy felt her breath hit her ear as she spoke. It felt nice. The dance felt nice.

“Republican or Democrat?”

Lea-Anne hesitated, then answered, “Independent.”

Kammy smiled. “Bi or Gay?”

“Gay.” Even a shy person such as Lea-Anne could see where this was going. It was her turn. Seeing Kammy’s interest made her braver. “Clean or Dirty?”

Kammy double took that question! It took her completely by surprise; a pleasant surprise, but she wasn’t all-together sure what she was referring to. She assumed sex, but asked anyway. “Do you mean sex?”

Her assumption was wrong. Lea-Anne leaned very close to her ear, “No. Panties.”

Kammy’s eyes grew wide and excited. “Wet or Messy?”

“I asked first.”

“I know, but there are two kinds of dirty.”

“Okay … wet.”

Kammy grinned and practically licked at her ear while saying, “I’m wet right now.”

“I’m holding.” Lea-Anne snuck a hand in her crotch while they were dancing pressed against each other.

Kammy followed her hand and felt underneath her thigh-high pleated skirt. Kammy felt a pair of cotton panties, but they were not exactly dry. They were a bit moist. “Strap-on or Free Hand?”

“Is that all my choices?” Lea-Anne faked a pout.

Okay, this game was about over for Kammy. It was time for phase two. Her needs grew stronger, and as ‘Give It to Me’ – Timbaland started playing, she grabbed her arm out from her crotch, and began dancing and grinding her breasts against Lea-Anne’s flat chest. They shook their bodies to the drum rhythm; Kammy groped Lea-Anne’s sides and back; sliding a hand down to her ass, swiftly bringing her crotch to meet her hips. “Lea-Anne, meet Kammy. Kammy wants Lea-Anne’s face to taste her.”

“Do you live far?”

“No come on.” Kammy took her hand and pulled her, but Lea-Anne didn’t move.

She couldn’t move. She put both hands in her crotch and stuck out her bottom lip. “I gotta go.”

“You wanna go potty?”

Lea-Anne nodded her head yes.

Kammy looked around and saw the restroom signs. “Ok, I’ll take you. Leave one hand pressed in there, and take mine with your other.

She did, and Kammy guided her toward the signs that gave an arrow pointing at the hall of doors. There were six individual private bathrooms. “I think I see one that’s open”

Lea-Anne gasped and froze just a few steps away from the door. “Ut Oh”

Kammy looked back at her and down at her legs. She saw a little trickle of yellow liquid running down her left leg. “It’s alright, that’s just a little. Come hurry one is open.”

“I’m gonna lose it all if I move!” Lea-Anne’s bladder was so full. It was hurting her stomach.

Kammy grabbed her arm and jerked her toward the door. This jolted her hand from her crotch. You could hear the splashing of pee onto the hard floor just as they got to the door. A large yellow waterfall was falling down between her legs. Kammy pushed her inside and locked the door behind her. Lifting her skirt up, she didn’t bother taking her panties down, she guided her quickly to the potty. Kammy saw the very visible relief all over Lea-Anne’s face; her eyes were closed, her head tiled back, and a big smile on her face. It was more than relief, it was pleasurable. That hot liquid swam around her sex, forcing her to moan. The public accident really was a fantastic turn on; the reason she was holding it in the first place.

“You liked that didn’t you.” Kammy smiled.

“Mmmm hmmm” Lea-Anne’s grin turned into a lustful stare when she opened her eyes. She glanced around the room. Seeing that it was very clean, except for the mess she had made, she slid off her panties and kicked them to the side. She then looked back up at Kammy. She stood up and made the four steps over to her. Whispering her plight, “I dun’t have any panties on.”

Kammy embraced her waist, and guided her down to the floor. She wouldn’t normally do this but this place was really clean. She couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to wait. She dove into Lea-Anne’s mouth, unbuttoning her shirt along the way. She felt up her tiny little rib cage. The nice sloping transition around the back makes for a nice hand slid down to her ass. That skirt had to come off!

Kammy moved from her mouth to neck, to stomach … taking the time to position her legs; getting them comfortable for her next move. She could smell the scent of Lea-Anne’s pee as her face met Lea-Anne for the first time.

“Oh God, Oh Tat’s tat’s sooooo gooooood. SO Gooood. Awwww! Awwwwe! Mmmy God. Tat’s so so OH OH OOOOOOO!” She climaxed as she screamed!

Kammy felt good. She had put in a long night’s work, but it paid off. She felt nice to have accomplished something. It wasn't exactly what she had set out for, but she thought it was a good start!

[lil_mikey]

Grrrr, you silly girl. You got me good.

[Frink]

evil.

evil, evil, evil.

EVIL!

[Eagle0769]

You desirve a spanking for that one little girl.

[baby_nightcrawler]

*crys* you had me so excited nice one runaway the prank is strong in you

[luvs]

For me, there is nothing worse than fear; well, okay maybe worse would be fears coming true. But of course, just like everything else, fear has a spectrum. Those times I’ve waited for the night to break into day so I could sleep are consequences concerning the unknown. I’m not afraid of the dark; I’m afraid of not being able to see, not being able to prepare for what's out there. I suppose it isn’t always associated with the dark. Sometimes long showers are scary; I can't fully hear over the water, nor can I see anything during those times I have to close my eyes while rinsing my hair and face. It seems there is no escaping fear totally, but there is reprieve every now and then. I guess I prevent myself from doing some things so that I won’t have to feel afraid. That can be hard, especially when I can't do the things I love. When I get to missing them too much, that's when I get the courage to face it.

I fully enjoy those morning moments when light finally makes it appearance. Of course, I don’t always have the ability to stay up all night. I fall asleep out of exhaustion at times. My brain does a dance, holding the sleep back, but the best I can do is hold out till darkness fills my mind uncontrollably. I like things happening naturally like that ... like wetting almost. Sometimes it just happens, and you are not sure when it occured. I like control most of the time, but there are moments when it feels nice to relinquish it.

I did a Google search about fears, and anything related to getting rid of them; at the very least, I wanted to lessen them. I was frustrated at the similar condescending attitudes of many sites devoted to the subject. The Christian sites told me that I just didn’t trust God enough, and this was the reason for my problems. The secular sites listed a few “tips” to get my mind off my – insert phobia here – such as, 'think happy thoughts' and 'send your focus elsewhere' lol. Many sites read as if children are the only ones who feel afraid of things.

Oh well, I'm content in my usual ways of dealing, but it would be nice to find validation once in a while. Sometimes being afraid is what you are supposed to feel. I know I am much more appreciative of those times I am happy after a long period of "uncomfortable" simmering.

The flavor of contentment is much sweeter.

The smell of calm sends me floating.

The sound of a quiet mind is relaxing.

Hey sweetheart I want to say I really enjoy your story's. But I have to say that you do keep things fresh by reworking that thread. Not mad about it so don't get me wrong it just makes me look at it everyday to see if it is changed. LOL Keep up all your good work. It is really nice having a female's point of view for a change. so you go girl

[baby_nightcrawler]

I agree with luv i thought it was and interesting thought and it made me think for a moment of some of my own fears and reflect on them so good work.

[t baby]

I always been scared of da dark, trees and lunder thorms. I gotta keeps my lr or kitchen light on alled night cause i scared and I keeps both porch lights on til me go to bed.

[t baby]

Oh yeah isn't april showers is what brought the "May flower" ober here?

[smarti]

She had a secret fantasy that she could meet a nice woman who could not only be able to act as her little girl, but also become a switch and transform into a caring and gentle Mommy who would enjoy treating her like she always had wished she could have been treated when she was truly little.

That's a nice slice of writing!

[Three Rivers]

Very good

[luvs]

Are you wondering where the April Showers went? That story wanted to trade spaces with this one, but April made me promise not to tell where she went to poster herself.

(lol, sorry, didn't mean for that to sound dirty)

Horrible thoughts and feelings have slowly surfaced since I wrote that reconnect letter to Trish. I wish now that I had not kept that letter she sent me all those years ago – my dark years. It’s not like I haven’t crashed back into depression a time or ten before, so I can’t really blame it on that letter; it was only an unexpected reminder. Perhaps if I had been more organized with my packing, I would have known not to sort out that particular box. That isn’t completely true – I did know that box contained some reminders of that time, but I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I wasn’t thinking of it and all I wanted to do was throw out any unneeded papers.

When that letter fell out of the pile of old cards, for a minute my brain tried desperately to check in with my body to see what kind of reaction it wanted. I was worried that it wouldn’t be the right one. I know better to believe anyone when they say there is no right reaction. I highly doubt they would ever say that if they had to spend two years of their life in and out of crazy hospitals because of wrong reactions.

My eyes sting from the crying earlier this evening. A private sadness has been in a rejuvenation of a sort for about a month, but I couldn’t run from it. There is never anything I can do about the inner aches that return to the surface when I’m no longer able to keep them sunk within my emotional quicksand.

The pain doesn’t just come from those terrifying two days back in ’97; it also comes from the resulting break down and the powerless passage through my early 20’s as if I was some pathetic lump of flesh, seen by some, to just be looking for attention. In total essence, the opposite was true – I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I finally broke away from all that and didn’t communicate with anyone for an entire year. I felt betrayed and wanted nothing to do with anyone.

After my grandmother’s funeral in March 2001, I drove the ten hours back home and didn’t speak, write, email, or even hand gesture anyone till summer 2002. I needed that time to figure things out for myself; to learn how to be, how to live, and how to deal on my own. The problem is, I did learn how to deal on my own, but failed to learn how to deal with others. As long as I isolate myself from the world I am perfectly all right – mostly. It takes mental energy for communication, of which I don’t have a big supply of.

Back to the raw eyes; I stare out the window noticing that the heavy rain matches my mood. I watched the Narnia dvd movie earlier. When the fox is gripped by the wolf’s mouth during the hunt for the four siblings, this instigated my surrender to my latest fall into depression. The subtle sound of him wincing made my heart break, and I just lost it. I cryed ...

I feel an awful physical pain, but can’t locate where I feel it. That is the worst thing about emotions; there is nothing substantial about them. I’d rather feel physical pain than mental anguish as long as I know where it is and why it’s happening.

I want to be the kind of person who can look past emotional turbulence to those times I felt better, and know ‘this too shall pass’. My brain can think it, but my heart isn’t relieved. I bunched up my special blanket, held it against my face and let it soak in my tears. I inhaled the fabric; one of the most calming and happy scents in the entire world.

There was sort of an exchange going on; I projected sadness into the blanket ... it gave me comfort back ... very symbiotic. I just wish I knew where all that sadness goes when it gets absorbed into the threads. Every time I allow it to catch my passionate release, whether it’s tears, screams, or angry laughter, I start imagining a whole other world where the emotional vibs swirl into it, like water down a drain, and they get captured. There seems to be a lot of power emanating out of me, so it can’t just disappear! The fact I feel extremely drained afterward tells me I’ve spent a lot of energy. Where did it go?

Some might say it was a thermodynamic consequence of cellar metabolism. Utilizing more glucose and depleting ATP, emotional strain can kick start aerobic respiration, which then leaves the body spent until gluconeogenesis (or a nice sippy cup of juice) replenishes the body back to its normal state.

Posh, who needs real science when you can have an imagination like mine?

I call it the land of runaway dreams; here is a story of how it all began...

The land of runaway dreams can’t really be located on a map. I suppose it is kind of like Narnia … you find it when you are not looking for it. I sure don’t like to go looking for that place, but no matter where I am, if I let my guard down I get sucked down into that world before I can even realize what is happening. Sometimes my surroundings look as if they had been drawn and shaded with pencil. Other times the scenery looks like it was made up of every existing and yet-to-be-imagined shade of purple there ever was and ever could be. There was this one time though, during a huge electrical storm that caused a black out, I got sucked down into a world that was filled with things made out of other things. Trees were made out of bits and pieces of china dishes and cups; the ground was made of crumbled up tires, footballs, basket balls, rubber bands. Anything that had a rubber texture to it you could find a piece of it in the ground. The pathways were made of crushed cans of all sorts that had been steamrolled so tightly into the ground that the rubber had melted them tightly in place so the path was fixed and steady to walk upon, just like concrete. The only difference was when I walked upon it my shoes made a tink-tink noise.

I suppose you can imagine that the gray pencil shaded world comes about when I’m feeling a bit morbid. The purple shaded place to the normal world might, on the surface, seem to cast a royal meaning; but my mind usually takes things apart and deals with each one separately. If you split purple up into its primary form, you get red and blue. Red means passion, and blue usually means some kind of sadness; put them together and you get passionate sadness. That is what I think the purple shaded world is best used for.

The only place I’m having a very hard time with interpreting is the things-made-out-of-other-things place. The entire world has been recycled, reused, and restored; but nothing has retained its original form. I rather like this place better than the others. I find I have forgotten why I get sucked there, and I’m always very curious about everything I see and hear. It seems even the natural sounds have been reorganized into something new; as I just described the noise I make when I walk has changed. The sounds of the wind blowing over these materials create vast new tunes than before. You can imagine the resonance of a tree made of china blows in the wind very differently than with bark and leaves.

See I knew you had it in you. You have done well my child