Random Thoughts (needs editing)

1

There are days when thunder roars and lightening strikes the bare earth that I find myself running the streets letting the rain drops soak my every thought of fear away listening to the pitter-patter of my feet hitting the ground. Nothing in this world seems to bother me as I jog to my freedom. Then suddenly I'll come to a stop and tears will flood my eyes. I fall to my knees with sobs of pain. My body frozen to the spot as my hands come pounding down in attempts to break the grip the world has around me. Slowly, I come to realize what I've done, the sins I've committed, the pain I've caused. I've isolated myself from society, not a soul stirs. Perhaps I just don't realize them surrounding me pondering my reasons of disruption, or maybe I have gone blind and only see what I choose. When I finally open my eyes and begin to run once again I fail to notice those eyes that look upon my crazed face. It all ends as I arrive at the foot of the porch. My worries once again consume me, and I find myself pretending to be something that I'm not. And on the days when the sun shines through the clouds I find myself cooped up inside the house to afraid to leave my safe haven. I do not answer to anyone who calls upon me, nor do I answer to myself. Many people come knocking on my old oak door. They come with questions of my well being, and I refuse to answer. I sit alone in this petrified state of being. Then there are the days where I come around to talking to myself as if there is someone there. I lurk about the house with my head hung low, mumbling absolutely nothing hoping that someone will hear my cries of need, yet no one ever does. No one comes when you want them too. They always arrive on the days that I prefer to hold myself captive from the world. But on my lonely days, the days I find myself holding a conversation with my shadows, I long for compassion and human contact. It's a bit scary if you think about it, but it's truth. I've lived my entire life this way, and I will continue to do so 'til the day I parish into the earth's surface. Some days I even think that I'm not the only one who lives this way, and on these rare occasions I whisper to myself as I watch those who walked passed me in a store or on the streets with their heads hung low. I yearn to badly to read what's on their minds in order to feel some what excepted by the world. I know this is impossible, for I have always been the outcast. 2

At the age of thirty-four my mother Karrie Thompson had suddenly entered an early mid-life crisis. Her children too young to understand and her husband too consumed in his life to realize that he was needed now more than ever. Myself the oldest of Karrie's children, had began to notice her mother's strange behavior, and even made custom to feel the same emotions. The seven-year-old Madison knew no better than to cling to the side of her mother's pain and agony. When most girls were too busy worrying about catching cooties and running about in dresses laughing at sensless things I was at home taking care of the kids. I'm not saying my mother didn't care for us, but on the days where she cried not so secretly in her room I was there to tend to the children's needs. I didn't dare whine and plead with her in order to play amoungst the yards of our neighbors instead I stayed inside peering out the window with the pittiest look upon my soft face. I'd wait up anxiously for my father to come home, and on days he actually walked through the door he would scoop me up in his broad arms and swing me 'round until I felt like my heart would explode with excitement. It was the most affection I would feel in weeks. Neither of my parents took the time to pay any attention to their children and as the years went on the distance between us would only grow larger. 3