Here’s a creative writing piece I submitted to the Lyre:

 Here’s a creative writing piece I submitted to the Lyre:

Mr. Methuselah came looking for me

The wind was howling

The house was creaking 

And rain was dripping into my home 

from a crack in the roof 

Into a cup already full 

As I peeked out through my curtains

Squinting through the dark gloom 

Wanting to see him

He who promised he’d come

Mr. Methuselah would come looking for me 

Saying sweet things I didn’t want to hear 

And I would let him.

His presence

Dark, looming, something addicting 

And there he was, making his way across the street to my home 

Unbothered by the rain.

He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door

His wet, curly hair, 

His black coat, blue tie, dark eyes

And I felt a surge inside of me 

It made me rise to go answer the door

He looked down at me, 

Leaning against  the doorframe 

His eyes black

Bearing down on me 

Like I was his prey.

A smile crept across his face

And I smiled back

Taking one of his hands in my own 

Tracing the back of it with my thumb 

“Care to walk with me?” he asked.

“Why don’t you come inside instead? It’s pouring.”

He gave me a half smile 

And led me out into the rain

It was cold

Wet 

Uncomfortable.

He didn’t seem bothered 

As if he was right where he should be.

Where are you taking me?

shivered through my brain 

His large hands moved to my waist

Slipping under my shirt 

His hand cold on my skin 

Feeling the contours of my insecurity 

Pulling me along.

I wasn’t going fast enough for him 

So, watching him as we walked, I sped up

Not paying attention to what lay ahead 

His eyes facing forward

His smile steady 

Him numbing me to time…

Hours passed

Weeks passed

Walking 

Through that rain
My eyes on him 

His eyes on the road

His smile fading as time gently slipped through my fingers 

The rain let up 

Walking, walking,

My legs growing tired

To an open field.

The moon was red 

Romantic 

Dangerous.

The field was overgrown 

But through the coiled vines and small yellow flowers 

You could still see

Skeletons in fine dresses 

Wearing pearls, intricate hairpins, jeweled necklaces,

Sparkling daintily.

Subtle but elegant.

They were bound to the ground 

Stuck 

Heads pulled back by tree roots 

To stare at the sky 

“Darling, come lay down with me.

Stare at the stars.”

I didn’t want to 

The ground was wet 

A dead girl was lying next to my foot,

Now mostly covered by ivy 

Her eye socket stared up at me 

Empty 

Lacking 

Ivory in the moonlight 

I tried to turn, but he caught my wrist and stopped me.

I grabbed my hand to try to gain some leverage

To try to pull away 

But also 

Trying to not to be too in the way

Not be pushy 

He pulled me to the ground 

And we layed next to each other 

Staring at the sky 

The cold wet earth seeped through my shirt,

The dirt staining it.

I began to shiver

He turned to me and whispered, 

His breath warm on my ear,

“You’re so beautiful.”

He put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

A small tear escaped as I felt the vines below curl up around me.

A tree root coming up to bind my head 

So that I’d look at the sky 

For the rest of my days

My hours

My minutes 

The stars started seeming less and less bright 

Mere pinpricks in the dark, ominous sky above.

It was barren… too far gone.

He kissed my cheek and sat up

His elbows resting on his knees 

As he stared down at me 

“Beautiful thing, isn’t it,” he said

“Yes. I suppose it is.”