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Jaded
Jaded
Jaded
Ebook104 pages1 hour

Jaded

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Jaded embodies the voices of people whose souls have been exhausted by cynical individuals in their lives. Love, like hate, is often irrational and can lead individuals to heroic and evil deeds. The characters all experience feelings of satiety, which manifest into an unconscious state of disillusionment. They all begin to accept the warped world that surrounds them, expressing a surfeit of apathy. These characters have become uncomfortably full with self-hate and are all in search of a release from this overindulgence. The voices echo those of people you may have encountered closely or from a distance in your own life. Through an analytical eye, the characters have become human and struggle to find self-love in the midst of all their chaos. Do not judge them. Simply listen to their stories, hear their cries, and walk with them down the path of healing and self-discovery. Separate stories that are all connected. Each individual voice filters into the other, creating one loud cacophonous roar.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherAuthorHouse
Release dateMar 7, 2013
ISBN9781481713511
Jaded
Author

Karen Achille

The Co-Authors of Jaded, Karen Achille and Philia Anekwe are currently New York City teachers at Abraham Lincoln High School in Coney Island. They both reside in Brooklyn, New York with their respective families. Their first encounter was in February 2005 in a collaborative team teaching class. Through their teaching, love for writing, and compassion for humanity, they were inspired to co-author Jaded. This is their first published book.

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    Book preview

    Jaded - Karen Achille

    PART I

    THIRST

    As our bodies are mostly made of water, I’d rather be hungry than thirsty. And as love is mostly made up of sugar water, I’d rather be a hummingbird caged in your heart.

    — Jarod Kintz

    The Man in the Mirror

    When love shuts its doors you become vulnerable, exposed, alone; with nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. In a maze of deception, deceit, and hurt, you fall victim to your own demise. When love shuts its doors, the feelings of hate can veil the misty fog. When love shuts its doors, time will reveal the man in the mirror.

    W hen was the last time you looked into the mirror and felt totally content with what you saw? Not an inkling of guilt, dissatisfaction, shame, or disgust. No man is flawless, although we often wear the cloak of perfection. I was her hero. Everything she wanted and needed, I supplied. I was invincible. There was nothing I could not do or do well enough in her eyes. Her love for me was pure. With her, I never worried about saying the wrong thing or upsetting her. She lived to please me without question. She worshipped me, and my words echoed like lines from the scriptures. When others saw a monster, she saw a God. Our love is perfect, I would think to myself as we walked up the stairs. I loved the innocence of it all and the control that she relinquished to me. She often jumped into my arms as soon as she could possibly reach me, making me feel wanted and needed. So many women have proven to me that I was not worthy of their love, but today I feel loved by her … and I wanted to express it back.

    As I slowly opened the door to my tiny one-room apartment, her facial expression revealed a slight uneasiness, as the stench permeating from the quarter-sized hole in the wall, made contact with her nose. She walked awkwardly into my room as if it were a foreign land. Her unstable gait and fidgety steps exposed her fear and discomfort of being there with me alone. I beckoned her to sit on my king-sized waterbed and looked into her innocent brown eyes. I gently removed my cloak and dropped it to the ground. Her jaw dropped as I gradually laid her back on the bed and mounted her. She began to cry. Before she could utter a word, my lips muffled her No!

    Lost in the abyss, we swam;

    Minutes had only gone by when lust personified.

    My shivers turned to overwhelming

    Desires of acting out realistic fantasies that

    Forced me to lose control.

    I truly, wholeheartedly wanted you.

    I had to have you.

    This need metamorphosed to orgasmic explosions,

    Leaving their mark inscribed.

    Can I contain this unrestrained

    Sexual craving

    That slowly seems to guide me down a delirious path?

    A part of me wants to exert this intensity onto your soul and body,

    Letting it surge through you.

    Another part of me wants to suppress these overflowing desires—

    Afraid of the

    Chaos

    These desires may create.

    Awakened by her cries, I returned to my reality. I unhurriedly got up, walked to the bathroom, and shut the door. My back remained glued to the door as if I thought that someone would come running to pry it open. I took two steps to the sink, deliberately turned on the faucet, and allowed the cold water to run into my palms. I steadily brought my face down into the meeting of my palms. The cold water sent chills running down my spine. I raised my head strategically so as to only reveal the parts of my face that I was ready to see.

    Similar to a dark sunrise, I saw my hairline, my forehead, my eyebrows, followed by the erratic flutter of my eyelids—then the eyes. The eyes were what caught me. As they stared back at me, all at once, I saw the devil in the flesh. Suddenly I felt guilty, ashamed, and disgusted. What kind of man am I? She’s only twelve years old.

    Save me from myself.

    A Diamond Lasts Forever

    Like a diamond, the love for a child can last forever. The gift of having your own little miracle of joy, while preparing to take on the challenges and rewards of a world not so kind, can be immediately transformed when love fills the depths of the heart. The delight of being suddenly comforted by your bosom is where warmth and protection is inherent.

    T he night was young and temperatures continued to plummet. I sat down in the alley way and gently stroked my matted hair. White flecks from my dry scalp left trails of flaky scales that resembled a fish-fry at a county fair. Every night was a scavenger hunt as I rummaged through the garbage. Still partially eaten, I spotted a hamburger with seven sticks of french-fries floating in a paper cup. I grabbed one. Its mushy consistency repulsed me, but I imagined it being my last meal. The fleeting thought, as quickly as it came to my mind, propelled me to go back in. A glimpse of crinkly pickles with mustard around the edges randomly lied between the empty Aquafina water bottle and a couple of soiled napkins. I sank my rotting teeth into those as well.

    Loud shuffling noises ensued when suddenly a rabid rat, sprung out and grazed my left leg. A large sore, the size of a small tangerine, festered on my shin like a pus-filled hemorrhoid. The smell, quite rancid with a hint of sulfur and iodine, penetrated through the only pair of raggedy corduroy jeans in my possession. Bending over to soothe my wound, I noticed a bloody rag at the tip of my holey sneakers. Somehow, I found solace in immersing my pain in someone else’s wound. Without hesitation, I used it to soak up the oozing cavity.

    The back door opened. I stooped behind the garbage dump. Through a small opening of the rusty lid, the malodorous scent of wet pennies consumed my immediate space. I could easily see a silhouette of a man, probably a custodian. He was disposing of the day’s trash. Amidst the heaping garbage bags, one in particular stood out. It moved. I waited for him to roll his cart back into the building. I slowly approached the moving bag and keenly studied its motions.

    As I got closer I could easily

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