I once saw a little boy playing in the sand. At ten years old, he was such a handsome man. He had golden blond hair, and great blue eyes. He stood in the sandbox with his dirty little hands. Looking down at his creation with great pride, he formed a smile three times his size.

He had built a four story castle with a village to the North. Men and women he had set with army figures. Trees and animals also were placed neatly in their appropriate spots.

There he stood clapping his hands. His first fairy tale came to life. He ran around the park trying to get others to come and see this beautiful sight. Boys and girls gathered around while he told his story of Kings and brave Knights. When he was finished they all left with joyful laughter, and left him once again with only his fantasies.

That same little boy I saw at twelve years old running crazily down the street on a semi dark night. He ran to a bench not too far away. He seemed to run from an invisible force only he could see. He lay on the bench exhausted. Breathing in air as if he could not get enough, yet exhaling it in sighs of relief he could still breathe.

Then as I walked just a little closer I could see he was shaking uncontrollably from every muscle in his tiny frame. It was as if he could not hold a single muscle still. One could think he was having a stroke.

Even closer I walked, as the sunset was fading. I saw his tears forming at the edges of his eyes, and they were falling steadily in line with the tears before them. His eyes were so tiny they were almost swollen completely closed. The lids held the color of moonlight, and the moon would not allow the little boy to see.

As I looked closer I noticed the moon not only touched his puffy eyes but every part of his little face. He had a large lump over his right cheek, another by his ear. The ear started gushing the fluid from his heart onto his little torn shirt.

With caution, I walked a little closer, that's when I noticed the bruises on his neck and arms. He seemed not even to notice them as he wiped angrily at his own tears.

Enraged he cursed aloud. He said words I had never heard any man say. His voice was hard and strong as he lay there weeping. His body seemed to crush under a force I was not permitted to see. Yet, I heard him weep and cry out in pain and anger.

I dared to go a little further, so close I could have reached out and touched him. Suddenly, as though he knew my intentions, he jumped from his bench and ran. This time much faster, and he never looked back to see who I might be. I got the feeling he did not care, he was running to the night, trying to find a way to be free.

I saw this boy only two more times since then. Both on the same day. First, on the cover of the newspaper, and then on TV.

You see it has been many years since that night by the park bench, yet, I could not forget his face. He haunted me in all my dreams. I saw his face in all blond haired boys.

This time, his hair was long and very dirty. It was long and tangled, and just simply lay upon his head. His eyes had lost their shine and glow. Behind the glaze of alcohol they appeared almost black. They were frightening, angry, and looked straight into my soul like cutting knives. He had gotten larger. Very large in fact, he had become a very strong, towering man now. Each muscle framed, each curve perfected. He was still handsome, now in an inhuman, savage way.

The papers told me was scheduled to die by lethal injection in two days. Angrily I read why. You see my little boy had killed his son and his wife in an outrage of anger. Apparently, he had beaten them for three hours straight.

I continued to read through my haze of tears. His son was twelve and attempted to escape. After the incident the man went to the police station with what was left of his whisky and told the police officer he had just committed two murders. When asked how he could commit such a crime the man said nothing, but the police officer stated there was regret in his eyes.

That night as I slept, I saw him come to me. He was a little boy again, and he sat on the park bench. He asked a simple question, "Why"? I could not understand what he was asking. "Why?" What could that mean? What could that symbolize?

Then I realized he was asking me so much more than a simple question. He was asking me why I didn't touch him on the park bench. Why I didn't help so long ago. He became exactly what he cursed that night while the sun went down.

Slowly I answered him, and said it was none of my business what happened in his life. He corrected me softly by stating, "You could have helped me save another little boy".

Thanks for stopping by
Nik

Hello to all today:

Well here I go rambling on about what a boring day I have had so far. Woke up, went to school, made another A in German (pat myself on the back), came home wrote an English paper, now I think I want to play poker.

Sorry about the post yesterday, but I am reading Red Dragon in class and while the book is actually interesting and I really do enjoy this sort of stuff (I am a criminal psych major) there are people who really don't get things.

For example, just because one is abused as a child does not mean they will grow up to become a killer! It is absurd to even think this is possible. Just because one is raped does not mean they will themselves become a rapist!!!!

On the other hand, I cannot understand why there are people who have no concept of what it is like to grow up in the families--or better yet--- the minds of serial killers. Their minds are different than the minds of the average and yes their actions may be monstrous, they are still human.

Let's say for example you are cheating on your husband, you may not feel bad about it, but your best friend would. The same thing...kind of...serial killers do not have that emotion in the brain to realize they are hurting others. If they do know that it hurts they do not CARE.

While I believe that serial killers and rapists are not safe and cause fear, I also do not believe they should die because their brains are different. It is not something that one can turn off. Hell even alcoholics are alcoholics their entire lives...the brain is different for other people.

Finally, the thing that really pissed me off yesterday was that there are those in the class that said serial killers deserve to die for their crimes, but yet the victims got what they deserved. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT????? Who's fault is it? The killer because he's crazy or the victim because they are pretty or gay or tall or blond or have blue eyes!!

I just don't get it. I respect all opinions as long as one forms an opinion! Telling me that a man should die because he is monster is one thing, telling me that the victim deserved to die is another!

Well thanks for stopping by
Nik

Hello to all today:

I hope that everyone had a great holiday! Sorry I haven't been posting lately, but I have had one crazy week. {she says as she finally puts down the liter of Jack} LOL no not really!

Family was in town, and then there was all the missed work for school...I've just been playing catch up the past few days, and I have also been nursing one killer hang over.

Family gathering went well. It's always a pleasure to relax with those people who are closest to your heart. It makes one relax, because there is no one around you who will criticize or judge...hell they also came from the same tree so to speak.

Having a hard time in my English class right now, the topic is serial killers and rapists and it's hard for me to discuss these issues some times...but I am managing...well right now anyway!

I'm going to surf a while...

Thanks for stopping by
Nik

Hello to all again:

Well it's finally here huh? Thanksgiving. Well, Thanksgiving has me stressed out! My nerves are twisted and I cannot think straight. I have nine family members here in TN for this oh! so very special occasion, and I haven't been able to eat in three days.

Maybe its the family, maybe its been the tests and exams, maybe its love or the lack of love! What ever it is I hope that this weekend goes by fast so I can get back to normal!

I wish you all the happiest Thanksgiving, and I hope you all celebrate with joy and peace!

Nik

Hello to all today:

I have a little story to tell...

...Today she remembers. She remembers what it was to be touched. Touched by a man who really thought she was an angel. She remembers the way his fingers held her face and the way those tender hands fell down her back. The hands that brought with them passion. The passion that allows the spirit to come to the surface once again.

Those hands touched every part of her body. However, it wasn't just a once over. She remembers the way those hands allowed her to close her eyes and fly. The tender caress, the gentle rub, it was a touch to last through all the years, only to be desired in dreams.

She walks to the chair and she thinks about the kiss. It was never a real kiss like those in the movies. Only the million tender kisses on her skin. He kissed all the places never kissed before. The places that have yet to have a tender lip. Those are the kisses remembered when she is with any other man. Those kisses were the ones many left out, and only one man has braced her neck, breasts, and face with the kisses of passion.

She rises and walks to the kitchen where she walks to the window and looks into the sky. The rainbow is there to wash away the rain. She once again wishes she vanished back to that time when a touch and kiss would surface in the night. Those gentle looks that made her heart ache to be one once again like that night where passion overtook sense and she allowed herself to fall for the man who made every moment feel like an eternity. It was an eternity of complete need and wanting.

Then she walks to the bath and lowers herself into the tub and before the nights final memory, she thinks it should have never ended.

Thanks for stopping by!
Nik