June

    I've lived in this room for a long time. I haven't left, not even to get a drink of water, unless it's night time. The reason being, of course- the unwelcome presence of that scum in human clothing. He's always here for some reason. Everything he does annoys me; watching sports TV at high volume, drinking early in the morning, served food on a silver platter by my mother, etc. Frankly, he just has to breathe to get me on edge.
I know why, of course.
It's because he's family.
    "Family" is such a loaded term. Every time it's mentioned, whether it's in books, media, or just the neighbors talking next door, it always seems to represent something irreplaceable, something to be treasured. I don't get it. Because, see, even in a home that's filled with people that are related by blood, they don't necessarily know one another. And just because they're related, doesn't mean that they want to, either. Although, because they are in the same building does mean that they have to understand some semblance of the other person. Understanding doesn't equal love, however.
Haha, Love. Another loaded term.
I think I'll stop while I'm ahead.
The main point is: I wouldn't have to hate him if he was a stranger.
My life would be a lot easier then.
    Honestly, although I live with my mother, I don't think I love her. I don't think she loves me, either. I'm just a necessary burden.
    "The willingness to understand" is probably a good enough definition for what I might classify under "love". It's effort put into empathy.
The willingness is key, actually.
    Even though I understand my mother and her intentions, I never actually wanted to understand them. Ever.
    I was out of books to read.
    So I came out of my room.
    "Bryan," she was saying, "what if we had another one?"
I stopped, hidden in the hallway.
    He grunted. An ambiguous reply.
    "I know it's been hard on you, these past few years, being everywhere and anywhere-"
    I peeked around the corner. She was leaning on him from the back.
    "-It's been hard on me too, being here alone. I've been waiting for you this whole time, you know? It's not like I'm blaming you though, I understand why you left. After what happened, with your parents, too...Bryan?"
    I saw him take a swig of something and sigh. The sports announcer on the TV was still blaring out unnecessary narration in the background.
    "...Yeah, I guess it's been hard," he relented.
My legs were frozen. By now I had expected one of his usual violent retorts- smashing the glass on the floor, or screaming, or both. This was wrong.
    She continued.
    "...So, I've been thinking, since it's been so hard for the both us, that we should just give up and try again. We were both young and stupid back then. We didn't know how to be a family."
    "mmm," he agreed, quietly.
    "I still love you, Bryan."
    Everything was still for a moment.
    "Will you create a new family with me?"
  
    Anchor baby.
    Failed marriage.
    Unsuccessful birth.
    I didn't really care to ever have to understand these things.    
    Honestly.
    What a pain.

    I guess it's over now.

Anthony

    I walked to the clock-tower today. Although it's a "clock tower", to call it such is somewhat of an insult to what you might call a "real" clock tower. It's tall, to be sure, but made of cheap materials that make you think it could fall over at any moment. Pieces of the support have already crumbled onto the nearby grass and sidewalk, reminding one of dandruff on a hermit old man. It sits in a park in a similar state. With only grass and trees, it can attract no children. It could've been able to supply picnic space, if it wasn't for the perpetually muddy ground, caused by overactive sprinklers. I remember that at one point, this park was the main attraction of the surrounding neighborhood before a newer, less dirty edition showed up on the east side. Now the only people who come here are unhappy dog-walkers, and the elusive bagpipers I can hear occasionally from my apartment.
    I sat on a bench near the structure, and ate my lunch. The entrance to the spiral staircase leading up the inside of the tower was chained shut for safety measures. The landing at the top has no fence or such to keep one from falling off after all, and the city wanted to avoid lawsuits and such, I assume. The stairs were still visible from where I was sitting, though, and uncomfortable images of two young boys running up and down them appeared in my mind before I shook them away. It wasn't time for that.
    In any case, my visit to the clock tower seemed to be pointless. There was nothing unusual about it; it was the same as I remembered. I finished my sandwich, and glanced about. So far nothing pointed towards Campanella's little weirdness about chimes and whatever. I might as well go back home, I figured, and checked my phone for the time: 12:34. In a moment of childish curiosity, I wondered if the time on my phone matched up with the time on the clock face. I squinted at the tower: 12:00 sharp. I watched it for a moment, but nothing on it was moving. It was stuck, I realized. A dog walker passed next to me on the grass, and I asked him about it.
    "Oh, yeah, it's been stopped for what, a couple of years now? City won't fix it, doesn't want to pour money into anything but their own pockets. It's those in charge, I tell you, they're all corrupt, every last one of them. I mean, I heard that just this month, Mr. Fernigan-"
    I managed to smile and nod, before twisting the topic back to what I was interested in.
    "So, it's been stopped, right? How is it ringing every night then?"
    "Huh? Ringing? It's stopped ringing, though. I live just a street over, and I haven't heard anything from this thing in a couple of years. Where've you been hearing this ringing, man?"
    Huh? What? I was stumped.
    "Oh, I thought it was from here, but I guess it must've been something else close to my house. Thanks anyways," I made an excuse on the fly.
    The dog walker continued talking about his own life for several minutes before his dog got antsy and dragged him away to my relief.
    I stared at the clock face. If it wasn't ringing every night, then where was that sound coming from? Or was it the clock-tower making the noise, but only with me able to hear it? I mean, I have a ghost cat, so I guess hearing an non-existent noise isn't too much stranger than that. It then occurred to me that maybe it wasn't the world that was weird, but perhaps my own mind. If it wasn't me then why was all these strange things happening with only me being able to experience them?
    But I laughed it off. I have never been one to doubt my own perception of reality for very long.
    Although reality has always felt very surreal since that day, reality is reality, and no one can change that, let alone me.
    I walked home.

Shadows

     I was very imaginative as a child; a gift I am glad I have not kept as an adult. When my mother had tucked me in and the lights had gone off, I would stare at the ceiling before going to sleep. In the darkness of the room, and the bits of light left in my eyes, I would see thousands of different shapes dancing across the ceiling. I saw dogs padding across a field, baskets floating down rivers filled with ducks, people talking to one another, or looking off into the distance, and even a marching band parade. I could change the shapes to fit whatever vision I wanted, a game that I played nearly every night. It was mostly enjoyable.
    The problem came when I began to see things that I didn't want to. Visions of people staring back at me, crouched in the corner of the bedroom. My mind began to wander outside the confounds of 2d characters on a simple ceiling background and found itself creating 3d ones in the room around me. From a shadow created from a bookshelf, I would see a small girl, watching me. I ended up spending many nights in my mothers bed, peering fearfully around me.
    Not many of the visions lasted more than once. By the time I turned seven years old, I simply stopped engaging my mind in that direction. I no longer saw the scenes that plagued my mind at night. Except for one.
    A tall, dark figure standing near the doorway. Never moving, just watching, with absolutely no distinguishable features of any kind. Even when my family moved houses, the figure followed me; showing up near the entrance to whatever room I slept in. I was absolutely terrified of this figure. The only way I was able to sleep at night was to not look at it and pretend it didn't exist. I didn't have a name for the figure at first, but at some point I decided that it was death, my personal death, waiting to take me to the other side. I never knew when it would inch from the corner of the room to my bedside to take me away. But it never did move.
    During my early adolescence, I forgot this figure existed. After some tumultuous experiences and relationships within my circle of people, I didn't have time to pay attention to a childhood nightmarish fantasy. It wasn't until I was nineteen that I recognized it again, stoic in the middle of the room. But, strangely, I wasn't terrified this time. It was always there, an absolute truth in the midst of life's ephemeral lies. Something I could hang onto as things fell apart, an anchor to keep me guided. I knew that even if I was entirely alone in the world, stuck in a dumpster in some degenerate alleyway, that death would be there, waiting to take me away from it all. The medicine for the ills of living.
    I watch for it every night before I fall asleep. As it statically creeps closer and closer every time the sun goes down. I am comforted by it, just as much as I am repulsed. It is what it is. And there's nothing more than that.

June

He's back.

disgusting.

My father.

The man who got my mother pregnant.

The stupid bitch is, of course, overflowing with joy.
She doesn't even see a reason to acknowledge me anymore. Not that she ever did in the first place.

I was just a link. A broken one, yet the only one left.

He's just lazing around, drinking beer and smoking pot, leering at the neighbors daughter.

He won't even look at me.
Well, yeah.
Let's just ignore things that are a nuisance for you, shall we?
After all, that's how you've lived your whole life so far, why stop now?

From what I've heard here and there, he's only here because he ran out of funds for his "home business". I bet they ran out on cigs and prostitutes.

Hah.

This is stupid.

That retarded cat hasn't even shown up.

What the hell is it doing?

Slacking on the job? 

I've waited this long for something to happen. I can't stand it anymore.

I'm sick of her sitting in my room, staring at the empty goldfish bowl every time he happens to go out.
I guess even she knows what he's doing.

I mean, yeah, it's all normal.

It's just, I mean...

Weren't you supposed to save me? 

Anthony

When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a superhero.

In my seven year old brain, it was the only thing worth being. For hours, I would sneak-read the marvel comics my older brother had collected over the years.

Older brother? Oh...right.

It's not as though I especially love life, but...

"It's time you woke up..." a sobbing voice told me, gripping my hand.

Who? Who?

I'm sure he was like that too. At least at one point. Wanting to be a superhero. To be right.

So, why? No matter how hard I tried to understand, it didn't matter.

Wanting to be a superhero...that desire hasn't changed after all these years; if anything, it's grown stronger.

But perhaps, the motivation has changed.

I just never want to feel that helpless ever again.


bzzt. bzzt.

My eyes snapped open. Snatching the phone that was about to fall off the edge of the bed, I hastily turned off the alarm.

I stared at the cellular device in my hand before shaking myself out my reverie. My head was pounding with an oncoming headache.

What a sickening dream I had just had.

June

I've been having nightmares.

They're nothing big, really. I'm up somewhere really high, looking out some sort-of arch at the night sky. An airplane flies by, the sound echoing in my ears unnaturally loud as though I had never really listened to an airplane before. And then the city lights down below suddenly blend together like a dissatisfied artist wiped his hand across his landscape in anger. I always wake up in a cold sweat. It's extremely real.

...I think they started when the cat disappeared. That was a few weeks ago; he just suddenly stopped coming over. The few days before then I noticed that when that blasted clock tower woke me up at 3 am, he would shimmer really brightly; practically lit up the whole room, and then disappear. When I say "disappear", I don't mean that he just went back to his typical "invisible" state, I mean that the meager shining reflection of the moon he let off would disappear, that the weight at the foot of my bed would be gone, and nothing would be left there except for the darkness of the room. It always creeped me out, and I was relieved when he returned the next night, except when the same thing happened. Eventually, he just stopped coming back at all.

I'm not worried, I mean, I am, but...Maybe it's gone for good? You hear about them going to the after life in movies and stuff, after all. It's already been a year, hasn't it, since I wrote in here? I guess I've gotten pretty used to having him around, probably too much, really. There's hardly any stability in life, but there's even less in death. When you're alive, you could be gone at any time, but you plan for the future and you are there in the present. But when you're dead, you don't even have a future. You're already gone, but no one can tell where you go after your already gone. At least you can tell the living.

Rectangles in the ground, 6 inches deep.

Anthony

There's a smallish clock-tower next to where I live. It's pasty white, landing straight in the middle of a field that has the pitiable excuse of a park to keep it there. I go on walks there every once in a while to avoid the stress of my daily life, not that I have much of an excuse of one. Of course, I go there at night to avoid the people, and the curious looks they give me. Maybe if I had a dog, or something, I would have more of an "excuse" to go on a walk by myself. But I already have enough on my plate with Giovanni, and my apartment doesn't allow dogs anyways. It allows cats, strangely enough, however. I have a hunch it's because the land-lady is a lover of them. Her name's Loraine, and she's fond of orange juice, which is the first thing you find out about her, as she lugs a can of it with her everywhere. She's a nice land-lady to have, loose but strict at the same time on the rules. She does have a judgemental side, however, that makes me avoid her.

But about the clock tower.
It rings every night at exactly midnight. To be exact, it rings every three hours before midnight, where it stops for the night. It used to ring all through the night too, until the neighborhood complained of losing sleep, for which I am grateful. The other night, Campanella was on my desk (as I could tell from the mewling and the things moving from his irritated swinging tail) demanding to be let out. I'm pretty sure the thing can walk through walls, but he still demands me to let him out by opening the door. Who knows why. Maybe because he wants to annoy me. Well, he's succeeded. Anyways, I was doing my best to ignore him when midnight struck, and the clock-tower started ringing from far away, and he lit up, like a Christmas tree; the cat I mean. I was able to really see him for the first time after he had died; all white and shining like the reflection of light off of tinsel. It took me aback. After midnight had passed, however, he was the same-old invisible though. The same thing has happened the past 3 nights since, and I've reasoned that the reason I've never noticed him do that before was because he always made me let him outside beforehand. I've been wondering if the clock tower has anything to do with this, or if it's just the time. I'm pretty sure the time Campanella died was not midnight on the clock. Maybe this is just one of those things that happen without an explanation. Who knows. But I think I'll go check out the clock-tower later this week.

I've also been having nightmares since then.