Help, Im the worst kind of damsel in distress., Jen Wesolowski [series like harry potter .TXT] 📗

It was accordingly set out so the last won standing was unclear. Do the rapture souls defeat the gentle being? That was the question on the mind of the inquisitive someone.
It was the dawn morning of the clock when she knew. All of her immediate long attachments were fornicated to the extent of lies. All that she believed in, all that she was, was some how teared into shreds. That left a demolishing hope on her feelings now.

It was in the glow of the moonlight when she fled to the field where she finds herself at home. Dashing through the mudded slush as her head was stained from thoughts she didn’t care to hear anymore. Was she going mad she thought? Has she totally lost her sense of sanity in a sanctuary of horrid images? She didn’t believe in these monstours visions, she only ’saw’ them, but that was frightening enough.

As she made her way to the cold barked tree, she sat in exhaustion. Mental exhaustion so incalculable that it took a toll on also her physical state. Dizzy with confusion and warped with utter questionable doubts. There was only one place, a place so immaculate that she needed to go to clear her mind of the madness.

She sat there alone and tired, shivering from the terrible early march winds. Rest assured her sour pity to oneself. She called out to her angels “ come fourth now angels, for if not then, now I need you the most, I need your courage and strength to help me forsee, that what I imagine is only so, and not possible actions I desire to for take.” “ I need your trust my angels, your trust so I could believe that this is true, and believe in my self, and in all my compassionate wishes”. “Come fourth now my angels, I beg for your guidance, and I have faith in you, to have confidence in me.” “I love you my angels, and ill be sure to be grateful toward you, thank you my angels for listening to me.”

I wrote that when I completely hit rock bottom. After I thought all possible darkness, couldn’t get any darker. I have seen the ‘night’, in the blackest of form. And my rejuvenation is the only thing that saved me.

Still, now, in my happiest of hours I am no longer who I am. More of a robot programmed to delegate through life’s never ending sunrises. Emotional at best, but the sting of each felt is somewhat compared to as second hand string on the school’s football team.

I often think back to the very first stitch of the long woven scarf I call my emancipation. A creation built with loves sincerity, and the devils smirk.
It was the moment my eyes made their way to those gleaming emeralds, and its been an eruption ever since.


I woke up at dawn, the owl’s must have been watching me. I dressed in a quickened manner and bolted for the door. I hadn’t a clue to where I was heading, I trusted my feet to make the right choice.

After an hour of constant velocity I needed to breathe. I made myself at home on a decent sized rock, chipped so delicately you would have thought it was honorable and deserved its own glass case at an impressive museum.

I lay back and closed my eyes and focused on the surrealist of shapes that swam through my visions. I counted the restless days, from when I last saw him.

The flower I picked was the melody of the most beautiful of songs, I couldn’t do much but to sing along.
Swaying in the morning sun, as I hummed an unknown tune. I thought of rain, children, and then I thought of you.
Forgive me or not, it doesn’t change the dance. Of a once long lived, hateful/sweet romance.

“But just give me a chance”, I yelped so out of pitch. Help me to finish my very last needed stitch.

Then the wind picked up, and blew the dust seizing my song to diminish. Which made it so clear, that my scarf will go unfinished.

I ended up at a run down barn, that was abandoned years ago. I made my way into the door, and the echo of my presence lifted my spirit to the moon.
I could clearly hear my blood traveling into ports of my body, which sped up after I kneeled to say a soft prayer. The familiarity of this place was unexploited. My range of vision that my eyes can see, surly has never saw it here. But my unknowable perception lucidly holds it dear.

I stepped onto an unstable wooden stair that led up to a second floor. I waited for the fear of danger, and then I stepped once more. I had no doubts so I creaked up each one with a quiet motion. Hoping to remember such a place, in any sign or notion. When I reached the top I heard a scuffle to my side. There flew a cardinal, that bring to mind of someone who had died.

My walk home was conveying, I reflected on old memories and deliberated on events. I stopped my tracking when I was distracted by a soundless sound. I burrowed my way down a tunnel in a impeccable white birch tree that was hidden by shrubs. When momentarily was lost inside, I came to the spot I was destined to find. I hid there, trying to be still. So still that I even controlled my breathing until it was barely in gesticulate.

I secretly watched as a beautiful tigress, stepped gracefully into a stream. The reflection of the water gave her coat a tint of blue and magic in her eyes. A powerful lady i envisioned but with a certain kindness. Her elegance was emancipating and the fireflies around her were welcoming. A beast wouldn’t have allowed it, so you know her elegant quander was true. The tigress gazed into the water as if looking for something quite specific, like an answer to a question she has long been yearning. I must have lurked in that tree observing for hours, what seemed as only a few dainty moments. I said a prayer then, hoping for the beautiful creature to eventually find what she was looking for, and then I was on my way.


Weeks went by and I couldn’t shake the fidgety feeling that’s always burrowing inside of me, so relentlessly. A kind of eerie undertone that causes my teeth to shred my lips.

The line between loss and gain is never assured to me. And sometimes I feel that my selection of actions should have been worked out in a more sensible manner. But I know deeply that the way it came to explode was the only way it could have worked out in the ending of such an indissoluble union.

My heart is left unresolved and my toes clench in the hopes of regaining an explanation we longed deserve.

The first rainfall of spring was always a celebration to me. The premature budded trees bathing to grow picturesque.
I sit aside my window, fogging it to a mist. I breathe through my singed scars, over and under my thoughts. Arousing the tied monster and watch as my horror detangles from the ego. The filthy mind crystallized through my own pain and integrity while devotion is my empowerment. I sigh to release the joy which empathy convicts, big hearted I am, for such a little miss.

I barely ate today, and my stomach scratched against its lining as it grumbled for food. Too in the clouds to eat, I swallowed down a glass of water.

In the loneliest of days I am refracted beyond control, reflecting on the simplicities of what makes me yearn. A sure rainbow, while the endless tears gushing from angles so disorganized makes it an unerring possibility.
I believe my soul itself is emerging onto indigo, but my derailed senses can never be too sure.

When my showers are over, so is my pity and then I set back to the bounds of reality. Never with the supreme volt of enthusiasm, but I do what I can to stop others from worrying. After all, my life’s hardships shouldn’t dampen the will of the ones I care for.


My Aunt and I took a ride out to the nearest Indian reservation because she wanted to get her husband cartons of cigarettes to stock up on. The ride there consisted of her chattering about how her boss has been really riding her ass. And about the pointless tasks he makes her do, being its “undeserved and time wasting”. As the words dribbled out of her mouth I couldn’t help but to drift away into my own pile of thoughts. I could tell by her rapture with her discussion that she didn’t notice my mind melted off into a dimension of illus ional conduct.

If her self’s largest problem was whether or not she should put up with the unfair dedication of her place of work, then what’s that to say about me? Here I am shredding away my meaning of who I am, who to be, and why and deepening my dreadful existence. And she’s complaining about restocking a stapler.

As her words swirled into my ears, I couldn’t decide if her world was less meaningful than mine. Blankly obvious that she has no serene connection to earth’s true entities, where I knew them well and treasured them severely. But then on the other hand, despite her bitter dislikes of occupation, she was happy. And I was not.

As she pulled into the stony parking lot and reached for the door handle I mimicked her gesture and made my way inside. A sudden breach signaled myself and I walked around aimlessly until I could come fourth my next move.

It was there just outside the shop where an old Native man sat. I wanted to approach him, for Native American culture was always a fascination of mine, but I didn’t want to come off as rude or hasty. So as I waited in line to purchase my diet soda and beef jerky, I pondered on ways to subtly score a chat with the wise man.

I was rather nervous cashing out, because I knew my inquisitive talk would be intensely overwhelming for me. And I could tell the young man collecting my money could feel my anxious cool.

I gathered my change and I traveled toward the exit, but when I stepped out the old man was no longer there. Disappointed yet relieved because I built up an anticipation so large, I continued to walk toward the wooded bench the wise one sat merely moments ago.

I sat down unnoticing what was left there. Until I sat back comfortable enough to make due. There was a folded piece of paper that lay before my crutched posture and I hesitated to take hold of.

Did this man out of old age forget to take with him his belonging, or had it been there to take? I debated for minutes until my aunt made her way outside. I quickly opened to read the first scribbled line “You are forgetting something, young one. Its in your