Carmen

My name's Carmen and I'm seventeen years old. I enjoy poetry, art and socializing. My mind is a glass full of butterflies, or a guilded cage of gold.
Disorder of such a thing I've found to be somewhat of a gift and a curse entwined, for what I would to to let those butterflies fly free, or the mythological creature
run wild unto oblivion. My idiosyncracy and my trauma have given me a pride without ego, a forlorn childlikeness which shall never die. I've been sheltedred my whole life.
Those to who I've bestowed my love have seen to me like an empress, but still this princess must run away. My intellect is keen, in the sense that I live to turn
fantasy into reality, the subjective into the physical. I am incidentally both a virgin and a whore, two labels I'll take back a degree of as a heroine, a soldier, a bishojo senshi.
I would die for love. There lies a universe within my story as all of this has naturally evolved into fable.

There is a witch, her name is Artemis, spinning, whirling into a dream of purple and black, shadows dancing, ribbons encircling, she is the most remarkably dainty thing enpointe.
She could be fifteen or fifteen hundred years old, her silky black hair is tied up in a braided bun, with face painted porcelain like a china doll, her eyes are sparkling midnight black
as she closes them within the grace of her movements. Her tutu is black too, flowing outwards like batwings. She is everything I aspired to be and more.
What seems like moments later the dancers come together and there's a bow. Artemis has always been perfectionistic; slender with milky skin and large azure blue eyes.
Artemis and I catch a cab back to the house, which is grand yet qaint and very pretty. "How as it Carmen? isn't she marvellous?" says mum as we enter into the dining room.
"She was fucking fantastic." I reply with a smile stretching broad across my cheeks. "It's a pity though...", "What is?" mum's face turns stern and icy, defenses up already.
"That you couldn't be there today, you know..." Mum's hand reaches for a wine bottle with an Italian name and pours more of the bloody substance into a glass. I wait for her to speak
again but she says nothing, simply engrossed once again in a book. I make way upstairs and across the hall towards my room, an utterance tickles my ears as I see Artemis knocking on dad's
office door. A deep and raspy cry echoes out. "What do you want now?", "Daddy...?", "Oh... come in darling." dad rarely leaves his room these days. He is lukewarm deeply immersed in study.
I listen intently. "How was the ballet Artemis, did you enjoy it?", "It was absolutely sound, I played a witch, Rosie played the princess.", "So how did the story entail?"
"A classic fairytail, dad. I got to wear mostly black - a black tutu, eyeshadow and all.", "Good stuff Arty." Dad was always the kinder, the softer at heart. His exterior rains cold
but under the surface he is a sweetheart. Artemis leaves dad's office and flashes me a knowing smirk. Artemis' smile has always been that of a trickster, as though she is frowning but her lips
exert an effort of kindness. I enter the haven. My room is decorated pink, red and purple - my bed is a queensize, four poster. My lights are low, brothel style in red glow.
There is a wall I keep for photographs, of family, friends and little memories I took with me from many places I admire and adore. I open a draw under my bed which contains
little pandora's boxes, and sweets. I open one of the boxes to grasp a bag of weed. I open another to collect a bag of E. Along with some hariboes, cigarettes, a small bong and the essential. How chaste. I said I'd meet them one more time.

Down the staircase, through the kitchen to the conservatory and out onto the gravel without a word to mum, Arty or daddy. I catch the train and turn on my ipod where the Waltz of Amelie plays into
the window which eventually melds green into grey. The city is as stern as gravel and as primitive as hell. I look forward to the call from Brooke. Brooke's sawgger is sassy, with a strong voice and warm heart.
"Hey beautiful, what are you sayin'?", "Hey, I'll be about twenty minutes.", "Are you bringing weed or...?", "I've a bud and a bag of pills, babydoll." Drugs are the destruction of inneumerable lives, Ouroborus
has me stunned between his tail and his fangs, I can only cry inside as the numbness overwhelms my heart this time. 'The girl remembers everything' a voice as tender as a feather on the wind seeps wrecklessly within
the fortress of my head. I want to turn around, I want to reach for it, but there is something intrinsically preventing me. I step off of the train and run through the station, as though my all white trainers sprout little
wings as feet glide onto the air, up the steps and out into the city of London. The atmosphere is thick with bustle, the many faces from different places racing in pursuit of wages and living and family; students giggling and meeting, tourists photographing, entrepeneurs
climbing - business men out on a break looking for some little dame like me to take out for dinner and eat up - such men are fiendish; but fragmented blurs of the devil personified. Brooke stands tall in creepers, her bleached blonde braids swaying left right and centre
as she runs towards me, before I manage to breath I'm in her arms. "Wow, loving those suspenders, Carmen.", " Awh, thanks.", "So what do you wanna do?", "Blaze, of course, aha.", "Hahaha, blaze. You joker.", Brooke can barely contain herself. "Okay honey, let's get to it."
Brooke's streetwisdom hits me hard in the chest "Blazin' the days, away in a haze, makin' every moment raise like the Ace of Spades." She laughs somewhat like a hyena, but I know she isn't laughing at me, it's just her way. Brooke conjours the shit -
a flourescent pink grinder, Silver papers and tobacco. I pass her the blues. "It's in the blues." Brooke plays a song out of a little round speaker, which is a trip hop beat. The adrenaline of excitement in the pit of my chest, rises and falls on a wave. 'I know that sometimes you wish that I'd go, away, away'
A sense of guilt resides within the deeper depths of my mind, it's like a black storm cloud hovering in above the placid ocean of thought. Brooke rolls the spliff swiftly and takes a few drags. She passes it to me. I inhale slowly, anxiously awaiting the high. I inhale eagerly and exhale slowly, with eyes half closed and head risen.
The world implodes and moulds into the music, which emits all the more heavenly, loftily into my perception making time stand still and stare, in awe. I bun and puff until it disperses. The sense of emptiness over-rides everything.
I shouldn't be doing this, I know, it's such a vacuous way... craving for something I can't comprehend. Rebellion is a forte which I've played well, my tears golden, dragging away the meloncholy on a brisk Autumn day.
A pretty face comes into view with long black hair like the feathers of a raven and skin as cold as cream. She is cool, collected and boyish in her walk. Her name is Yuri. "Hey, Brooke, Carmen..." I feel my heartbeat speed up, it thuds hard in my ear as my eyes dart from one side to the other, all the more away from her.
She sits down and pulls out a joint she'd rolled earlier. Apprehension wells against my will as like a robot, like a clown I put the spliff to my lips once more. I say goodbye and I move.
Once back at the house I soundly and securely step through the kitchen, which is so fortunately empty. I jolt through the next room and up the grand staircase to the landing and ever so quietly tiptoe back to my bedroom.
The first half of the day has passed rather hastily, as I wanted to see Brooke and Yuri one more time before I run away. Brooke was a girl who never failed to make you feel glamorous even when your makeup streamed down your face in little black droplets of tears, Yuri was a soul lost in hard drugs who's sky blue gaze made the butterflies in my stomach flutter up to my collarbone every time.

Yet still there is nothing here for me, there is nothing left. I don't believe I was born to sit on the corner of a street curb and smoke weed all day, every day with people who don't aspire to anything more particularly significant. I live to inquire and inspire, I breath to create. For what am I worth otherwise? if I have not helped some one on this earth - which is so very corrupt beyond its own means already -
who inside feels alienated or alone - then I have achieved nothing. I don't believe that I have ever truly fitted in since we moved here around nine years ago. I was originally a child of the ocean, a beach baby. Such memories now feel almost like vague dreams, lofty and radiant, and now as an adult, possibly albeit a child in an adult's body, the days escape me in a dull grey haze of hostility, simmering rage and self-medication.
Artemis is fifteen years old and speaks like a middle aged poet, she bestows a maturity beyond her years and is beautiful and downy and talented, yet she hasn't touched a proper meal in months. Though I am not one to speak, with the comforting smell of food and the constant put off of anything too daunting, I am her sister and I love her more than anything.
I am no reasonable example, or maybe there isn't enough goodness within the depths of my heart for me to attempt to set one. Psychiatrically meloncholic, which so incidentally and often proceeds the sanguine. I can apologize a million times, as I used to, for such blunders, for such hatred ultimately. But I have now reached a point of no return. I'm a spoilt brat and I will apologize for nothing.
I pick out a suitcase and I pack clothes, make-up, books and a few of my favourite records. I was considering bringing Artemis to my grandmother's house in Brighton, but have now decided upon how impractical such an act would be, I am awful, I'm a bad person.
I'm to leave on my own, and there's nothing anyone could do to stop me. The tears stream down as I leave.

The train journey is tiresome, and lasts around three hours. There is in fact one person who I must apologize to. I sit at my own little table where I begin to write a letter to Artemis. 'Dear my lovely Arty, how are you doing? I haven't a clue as to how I'm going to describe the way I'm feeling right now, or as to where I am, and what I'm doing.
I'm sorry, more sorry than I've ever been before. I can't fathom to lead a life wherein I stay still - as always I am a destructive ball of nervous energy, tearing down the walls as I go. I haven't been the best sister I could have been as of recently, and I'm certainly no better now
but I can simply say and I mean it, I know you too well - please do NOT worry about me... I have left Nottingham to go and live with grandma in Brighton. I crave to be by the ocean. Keep up the beautiful ballet and write me back so we can stay in touch. Love forever, Carmen.' My anti-heroine tendencies are abundent and flowing out of me like a stream of blood, straight from my aching heart. It is dark by the time the train arrives at the station in Brighton.
The moon is waning full, which allows me to think of all the weirdos and lunatics which are out, lurking, dwelling in the darkness of night, effected by the moon with its silvery sheen and beams of light which look majestic and magnificent through the clouds. I decide a drink would be appropriate at a local bar, along with a sweet walk about through the lanes and maybe onto the pier. The ocean air is salty perfection in my nostirils, on my face, making the wisps of honey blonde dance around
and tickle my cheek bone. The souls of dead poets twinkle daintily amongst the absyss of deep royal blue. I find myself sitting at a stool by a small gothic bar. So much black, I'm feel at home in my leather jacket, short red spaghetti strapped dress, stockings and ripped suspenders. I never really gave a fuck about what the people around me thought of my personal style aesthetic, but I know Brighton is more understanding towards my grunge notions than the more urban environment of Nottingham. I wore gold hoops quite often, with red lips.
I think the ocean pacifies, teaches and inspires, it is where I am at ease with myself and nature, as corny as that may sound. I go outside for a smoke, back into that air, a mix of car fumes and sea salt. The beauty is inherent and intrinsic of this night, coexistent with the tragedy of leaving my little lost soul of a sister. 'If I live to see the seven wonders
I'll make a path to the rainbow's end
I'll never live to match the beauty again
The rainbow's end' The song playing sounds like 'Seven Wonders' by Fleetwood Mac, I then notice that they've sampled it. Goth star, that's me. I look around, there are so many people and yet I'm so alone.
I go back to my stool, I stare into drinks on the shelf and decide to order a vodka and tonic. An old dude with a strong Southern accent says "That's top shelf, can't fault the kid." I smirk ever so unnoticably. The music chimes out a hypnotic electronic beat, with the warped vocals of Stevie
falling elegantly into my daydream, I look beside me to see a young girl sat on the stool on my right. She smiles with an air of innocece and warmth, just slightly. Her face is light porcelain pale, her hair is pale and butter blonde, and her eyes are large, hazel orbs, whith a kitten gaze. I smile back, with the feeling of a sped up beating heart. "Hey." I say after another glass of vodka and tonic.
"Hi." she says replies, it's as though the meek 'hi' is knowing and prophetic. This girl wears a halo in the yellow-orange bar light... "What's your name?" I inquire, feeling more confident as the vodka courses through me. "Sakura.", "Nice to meet you Sakura, I'm Carmen.", "You too." she says softly. "What a pretty name, it sounds oriental?", "It is, my mother loved Japanese culture and her favourite manga heroine was called Sakura."
"Japanese comics eh? my sister Arty adores those." It doesn't take me long to notice how Sakura is dressed, something I often notice about people - rather like a manga character herself - she is wearing a white sailor uniform top, and a red tartan skirt. Her hair flows down in two long, straight pigtails. Her socks are knee high with a little red bow on each, and her shoes I see are grey and beige creepers. "That's nice." she says, without any hint of sarcasm she actually seems rather genuine.
"Would you like a cigarette? I'm going out for one now.", "Okay. Sounds cool.", "So what brings you here on your own, on such a night like this?", "I don't really know. I'm just wandering.", "Oh that makes two of us... Do you want to get out of here?" Sakura hesitates. "Sure, let's go." She says, I never thought making friends could be so easy.
We make our way out of the bar and find a small club. The interior's walls are painted with flourescent graffiti and there are fairy lights and many drunken punks, cybergoths and ravers dancing away their sorrow to witchy, elven electronic music. "Can I buy you a drink?" Sakura offers. "Of course!" I say beginning to feel ecstatic. 'Real is a feeling, yeah' "Would you like one of these with that?" Sakura's smirk is wide and excitable. She opens her hand to reveal a small bag with a little green alien head on the front.
"Yes please!" I take a little pink love heart pill and everything changes. We bop our heads to the tune at the bar as the strobe lights emit onto the wave of luscious elysium.
The infinite pink, blue and purple light looks all the more vivid, bright, intense. I move my arms to the rythems and pulsations of stunning sound and colour, Sakura dances too. She glances at me with those hazel eyes which glow green when a strobe hits them. I love you, for tonight I love you. You're my dream girl, mystic, angel. Sakura takes my hand and leads me into a corridor, which I think leads to a smoking area outside. The walls are endorsed all the more with graffiti. The lights are glowing pink. Gothstar by Pictureplane plays once more.
I feel perfect, I feel angelic, Sakura has me cornered against the wall. She giggles showing her teeth, which are kind of prominent when she smiles, she is beautiful. We look at each other for what seems like forever, before she leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. I look at her with wide eyes for a moment, and then I lean in to kiss her back. She kisses me more forcefully, more passionately and I reciprocate, my tongue touches hers gently. I take her by the hand and we run, out of the club, out into the fresh night air.
"Do you wanna come back to mine?", "Okay. That'd be nice. Do you want to keep holding hands?", "Of course." My heart beats like thunder under my breast, inside my chest it sounds erratic yet steady, serene yet excitable. My cheeks are heated, I notice Sakura's too are rosy pink. I let go of her hand for a second in order to spark a cigraette, I pass Sakura one too and light her up. We catch a bus to my grandma's house.

I can't see the house as it is dark but in the sunlight it is grand and beautiful, like a mansion. The back garden is huge, once inhabited by grandma's horses, Icky and May. The green is vast and over looks the sea. Sakura seems more shy and nervous than before, which is undertandable as she has never met my grandma before, but I sense that she is adventurous as she would have declined to come if she wasn't. I knock a few times on the large wooden doors.
An old and familiar face comes go greet us - grandma. "Carmen?! what are you doing here?", "I've ran away from home, grandma, I wish to stay with you for as long as is necessary. I'd became tired of living, or rather, existing at home and I needed to get some space away from everything, and everyone. Please take me in for a while."
"Well Carmen, it's delightful to see you... You just took me by surprise is all, but as you know you're always welcome to stay here and... who's this, is this lovely young lady a friend?" Grandma is as sharp and as kind as always, I feel happy right now. I feel secure and excitable.
I look over at Sakura, who blushes a little. I feel for her as it may all be a somewhat overwhelming, having only met me this evening, I feel as though I've taken her aback. "Oh um hi, I'm Sakura, it's nice to meet you, um...", "Silvia. It's lovely to meet you too." that was lucky.
"Do you want to come in then? it's becoming awfully brisk.", "Of course". The interior is as lovely and antique as before, delicate and pretty yet spacious and open. "I'll go and make some tea, shall I? or would you like something slightly stronger, Carmen?" good ol' grandma, she knows the score.
Grandma makes her way into the kitchen. "I'm sorry if all of this is a bit much, I didn't mean to spring anything on you, I know we've only met tonight but you seem lovely and cool, I couldn't afford to spend the whole night dancing as its my first night in Brighton and I didn't want to upset my grandmother by coming home in the early hours."
"Hey, it's fine, it's cool. I understand your situation, and its been a pleasure to meet you too." I smile widely. Grandma comes out of the kitchen baring alcohol, one bottle of brandy and one bottle of rather expensive wine. We all enter the dining room and sit down at the big glass table.
Grandma pours us each a drink. Brandy for herself and I, and wine for Sakura. "So, how did you two meet? I'm intrigued.", "Well I was sat at the bar all alone, until Sakura sat next to me and we ended up talking. After so many drinks we went to a club and danced for hours.", Sakura looks over at me with a tiny smirk.
"That's right." says Sakura. "And Sakura, what a beautiful name... its Japanese?", "Yes, indeed it is... Thank you.", "Tell me about yourself if you may.", "What would you like to know?", "Anything and everything." says grandma with a smile.
"Well my mother's a writer and my father's a gardener... I enjoy writing myself... painting, ballet, and most of all singing.", "Great, a very creative individual then from what you've professed. Do you play any instruments?", "I play the keyboard and the piano, along with a little guitar and violin.", "Brilliant! the child must be a creative genius."
Sakura's cheeks go pink again. "Grandma, you're embarassing her... shh." I must say though that I find myself becoming all the more interested, in Sakura. "Would you like to play something on the piano?" inquires grandma. "We've a charming music room, if you're up for it." My eyes dart cheekily towards Sakura, who is smirking slightly herself.
"Uh...", "Grandma! let Sakura relax, she doesn't need to show us her skills tonight.", "No it's fine, I'd be happy to." We finish our drinks and head into a large room which beholds many instruments, the grandest being the piano. Sakura edges slowly towards the piano.", "Go ahead." says grandma.
"Okay, cool." Sakura sits down and begins to play something. She hums and sings a little but the melody is extraordinary and beautiful. "Ah... bravo! that was wonderful, truly." says grandma who is evidently impressed. Sakura looks gleeful and chirpy.
"Did you write that yourself?" I ask with eyes wide. "Yes...", "What's it called?", "Elysian Field", "Wow... The place the gods go to rest in between life and death.", "So... is it okay if me and Sakura go up to my bedroom?", "Of course." 'My bedroom' is actually one of the many spare rooms, the one I've always stayed in at grandma's.
We walk up the staircase and through a long hall which leads to the end bedroom. Sakura plonks down onto the four poster bed and I go over to the record player to set it up. I've many vinyl, of all kinds of music. I pick out a few records which are celestial and trippy, some old, some new.
First song I play is 'Lost in my Bedroom' by Sky Ferreira. I find my little pandora's box from my bag and I pull out two blue dolphins from a little plastic bag, Sakura's face lights up when she sees them. I wear that intuitive smile all over with great, piercing eyes.
We each take one with a sip of brandy. The music is sweet and floaty, the lights in the room shine ever the more bright. Seemless, ravishing infatuation blooms into dilated pupils and eyes like stars, mirroring the dimply yet vividly shining lamps. "How are you feeling?" I ask Sakura.
"Pretty fucked.", "I get you, I get you... ah the senseless hedonism of our generation. I've always been far too romantic..." the words slur out as I speak, elation is sparse within a year and yet it sits with me right here tonight, with this kind of dream girl, this fairy princess or queen.
It doesn't feel real... to be back here, in the confines of a grand, old house which over looks the wide ocean of night. I sit down on the bed next to Sakura and I feel not awkward but at ease, more relaxed than earlier. I would rather be here tonight than at home with that family which is externally plastic,
false, a family which gives off the impression of prefection which is really under the surface a boiling self-destruction and deprecation. Neither my family or any man could give me this much joy. I put my hand to her cheek bone and slide it past her ears which are elfin and as soft as petals. I stroke her buttery, now golden hair,
which is straight and long, tied up in pigtails. I feel my eyes grow droopy and sultry, lustful and a brim with affection. She brings a hand up to mine and holds it there... She kisses me, so lightly. I kiss her back just as anxiously. She isn't anxious though she is sexy in her confidence.
She appears quite feminine and weird at first, but when she kisses it is apparent that she is a tomboy. She pulls off my little dress to reveal red and black lace lingerie. She then unties and puts aside her sailor uniform. My breasts are pert yet somewhat large, compared to Sakura's which are small and pretty.
I lie back with her on top, we fall into the world of the duvet which covers our fay, naked bodies, a world of our own of which nothing could penetrate or distrupt. She strokes down my stomach and slips her fingers inside me. Her touch is immaculate and gentle, like feathers on porcelain.
"I love you..." I whisper into her ear, she fights the urge to resist my adulation. She keeps going until I reach a sound climax. Reality hits hard when she turns over and doesn't kiss me. I feel as though I've offended her fragility, her kindess and caress... I uttered such big words within the fleet of a heartbeat and a wave of ecstasy, drunken and lost.

"I mean, uh..." my heart beats fast. "I like you a lot." Sakura reminds me of a childhood crush I had on someone from my primary school. She is everything I recall from such long, spread days in the middle of summers past, she was androgynous, warm and fond of nature. I would never admit such an absurd fantasy at the time... the mere fact of liking another girl, the boyish girl.
The girlish boy... a first attempt at feeling something close to love on a whim. They say we were all both once, until we were torn apart; humans and elohim aren't supposed to fall in love. Which is why angels reside here too.

Sakura.2
The air is cool and the evening has came to be. In your eyes I am mystery and in your eyes I am lofty, but here I am falling gently in love with you. The Sakura blossoms dance in the twilight breeze, an oblivion of pale pink floods my view as I look up at the wide violet blue sky. I smell candy floss and freshly cut grass as I walk through the park.
There must be a fairground, somewhere. We will do it anywhere, anyhow... who cares. I want to be with you, whomever you are, my darling fate... tonight, tonight.

My name is Sakura Monica Lawson. A baby as people like to brand me, 20 years old and always romantic. They say we are most beautiful at twenty, us girls, but who am I to be so vain. The mpment keeps escaping my grasp as I just manage to clench it and pull it back like streamers into the now. I often feel like wasting my young years... but keep my values close to my heart.
I'll be creative for as long as I live. Music has became my world; singing, playing in clubs, I wouldn't be here without it... Everything about this evening is rather like a sense of timelessness, there's something in the air.
Chelsea consumed a large proportion of my universe for quite some time, all my energy and affection, my dreams were shared, my heart unveiled... but you're not the one, not anymore. Tears stream quite heavily from my hazel-green eyes and fall onto my sailor fuku. I don't gush but they are there, meloncholia is a trip sometimes, but this was more than that.
My best friend of years since childhood, my girl, my lover finished with me this morning. The day's been long and drawn out, and my eyes still hurt from crying. Why I bothered to apply eyeliner I've no clue. It hurts even more that way.
I listen toSky Farreira's 'You're Not the One' on the bus which takes me further into town, into the night. I walk straight through the pub, past the bar and into the toilets in order to fix my make-up somehow. There are little specs of black from my mascara which have splooshed onto my face from the tears. I splash my face with water, a few times and rub until the makeup has vaguely gone.
I pick out some light porcelain foundation, mascara and a liquid eyeliner from Cheburashka. Once my face is once more pristine I head straight to the bar and order a cherry shot, next is a harsh double of vodka and coke, I sit down. I feel eyes on me, and I mean piercing through my entity... Firstly I ignore them, but in the end give in the urge to turn around. I turn around.
I see doey, large cat eyes looking up at me. They appear brown from this distance but I can't quite tell, her stare is almost pertrudent in its intensity, she looks scared, like a deer caught in headlights and yet kind of forward coincidentally I observe the girl more closely for a moment and it's so beyond awkward its no longer even awkward, I smile meekly. What are you looking for?