Heat Stroke.

His leg was touching hers and he wasn't moving it, and she didn't plan on moving hers either. It felt nice, lying there next to each other making conversation as the hot sun beat down on them and the cold, sharp water licking at their toes while they maintained this extra piece of contact. She didn't know what it meant, them touching, but she liked the idea of some possibility or meaning behind it, it was almost a perfect day. Except for the giant ball of anxiety inside her that continued to twist and fester into every piece of her being, threatening to consumer her completely. Even as their legs brushed together, she could only feel the glow of the moment for so long before she was pulled back under the suffocating all consuming veil of anxiety that made her numb inside. She felt like everything real had been sucked out of her and that she couldn't experience any real emotions anymore, try as she might all she could do was experience them superficially and they would never sink deeper. All she thought about was being able to love him properly again, she constantly thought back to when he had loved her, but this scared her more because as the anxiety and fear ate at her insides it was also slowing draining all the light and beauty from her body, leaving less and less of herself for him to love back. At the same time and she was wishing for his love, she couldn't shake the feeling that what she really wanted was to be dead, but what could she do? She was just another angsty teenager with a crush on a boy and a touch of depression.

The End.

He came back upstairs then, and she tried to hug him but when he flinched away she punched him, twice, then letting her rage slip out for a moment, she slapped him too. He just stood there and took it though, what did he care? he just walked back downstairs. She followed him again and immediately brought him back upstairs. This time she really did hug him, but while they were holding each other he tried to push her over the railing to the floor below, but she was able to grip the railing just in time, so he slammed her into the lockers instead, then he began to tighten his grip around her neck, until the point where she was feeling light headed and was gasping for air, suddenly he stopped, and they began to kiss but soon he let go and fled towards the tracks for a third time. When she finally coaxed him back upstairs she tried to hug him once again, to retrieve the intimacy and strength she felt in his arms, but he just pulled away. This was the final straw knowing that she couldn't have him anymore and knowing that he didn't love her anymore was like being shot in the gut, and she just sunk down against the lockers, all the fight drawn out of her. He didn't seem to notice her change in demeanour and grabbed the two duffle bags and rummaged through them as she had done, he finally looked up at her and said; "You would steal my cigarettes you whore." and left her forever.

Nothing.

She knelt down and entered the lock combination and the door swung open, she turned around and looked at him and saw his beautiful face lined with silent agony. He dropped onto the ground next to the locker and sat there not knowing what to do with himself, out of frustration he began slamming the locker door over and over and over, people began to stare but all they saw were two skin heads causing trouble. She sighed and knelt down next to him, stretching out a hand to comfort him, just then a security guard walked up to them; "any trouble friends?" he asked, "No." She replied. The guard looked at them wearily and walked to lean against the wall to keep an eye on them from a distance. She looked back down at him, he was still wearing his ring which he was ow twisting around his finger in agitation. Suddenly he got up and sprinted down the stairs to the train platform below, she followed swiftly after him, he pelted directly toward the edge of the platform but she caught him and pinned hims against the wall. He moaned in resigned agony, whimpering almost it was a feeling of hopelessness and numbness that she understood all too well. As she held him against the wall she was close enough to catch his scent, not cologne just his normal comforting scent of cigarettes, soap and sweat. She went back up the stairs and he lagged behind, but she knew he wouldn't actually do anything. She opened the locker and pulled out the two big black duffle bags within, she rummaged through them and pulled out some cigarettes, thats all she really wanted back.

The Train Station.

The couple.

She wasn't beautiful, she didn't have long flowing hair or fair skin or eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. She was just her, but he couldn't see that. Not in the poetic sense, he was physically blind. 100% blind since he was a baby, he'd never seen anything but black. he relied on a walking stick, seeing eye dog and people's descriptions of things.
She had described herself to him using every ideal she wished she was, she was slim and willowy with long blonde hair and bright sparkling blue eyes and he drank in every word. They would spend hours lying together in the grass holding hands talking about whatever. Just enjoying the long summer days, ignoring the oppressive heat of the city. They got along so well and they were soon almost inseparable.
One day while they were lying together in the park he began to stroke her head and said; "I love you beautiful, I can't see you, but I know that you're perfect." Her eyes began to well up as he continued; "I wish I could see you, that's what I wish most, my dream is to wake up in the morning and see your face lying there next to me." She couldn't take it, she began to weep, right there in the park, snot and mascara running down her face, which became swollen and distorted from so much crying.
He sat up immediately trying to console her; "baby whats wrong?" He said; "talk to me, what's the problem?! Please is it something I said?!"
"No." She said calming down; "It's me, I don't deserve you, I lied to you, I'm not beautiful, I'm not perfect, I'm just me." She said staring off into the distance. He sat up trying to look at her, but staring somewhere above her head; "I don't give a shit what you look like, I can't even see you, all I know is that I love you and that's all that counts for me, that's all that should count for you too."
"Yeah, well you'd feel differently if you saw me." She said in a flat tone and she got up and walked away, ignoring his desperate panicky calls for her to comeback. She never saw him again and spent the rest of the summer posting angsty GIF's on Tumblr.

The end.

The younger man was breathing hard, it took quite a bit of effort the kill a man with an axe thats been dulled from cutting wood for such a long time. After a moments rest the younger man stood up straight, changed his clothes and washed his hands. He covered everything in gasoline and left without another word tossing a lit newspaper behind him without looking back.
The house burnt down, along with all of the contents inside including its late owner and the piano bench, both just fuelling the fire and burning up with whatever secrets or explanations they held.

The storm.

One day there was a terrific storm, the man who was not so young anymore was spending the time trying to ride out the storm sitting on his piano bench trying to play the keys in a way that would make the keys dance like they used to but all they would do was lament. After a few attempts, he gave up and sat in silence listening to the rain pound against the window and the wind howling at all corners of the building. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. He looked up with a start; "Who could be coming around at this hour?" The older man thought, the knock sounded again, more powerfully this time. The man rose, with some difficulty to answer the door. When he opened the door he almost collapsed when he saw the face waiting for him on the other side, slightly older but still the face he had loved dearly and the face that hated him so deeply. How could such a beautiful face carry a look of such hatred and anger?
The young man on the other side of the door pushed past the old man out of the storm and into the building. He turned around and faced the old man; "Its time you get what you deserve you sick bastard" he screamed as he stared at the old man and started towards him. The old man realizing what was happening began to back away but it was too late, his eyes began to well with tears, tears of sadness, regret and fear. Why him? Why must he have been born the he had? In his hast he tripped over the piano bench and fell to the floor, as he landed the young man raised an axe above his head and let it fall upon his victim, the old man didn't utter a word of protest and all that could be heard was the dull thud of the axe and the grunts of the young man, it took 27 blows from the axe to asauge the young mans anger, though the man was dead after 4.

The darkest heart.

But try as he might he couldn't find anyone to share it with, wherever he went he was met with resistance and tears. He soon discovered that this longing of his wasn't like everyone else's it was dark. It had something evil to it that kept his desires unattainable. They cried because they knew it was wrong, they left because they couldn't look him in the face any longer. His notes no longer danced as they left the keys, but slipped out, afraid of being discovered, as if the darkness they harboured could never be cleansed. He and the piano bench began to drift apart. The man began to spend less and less time playing his dancing tunes.

The Piano Bench.

The piano bench. It had been there for years. It was chipped and scuffed and the hinges creaked, there was even a place on the seat that had been worn down from years of being sat on. Nobody notices it anymore, they hardly ever did. It simply sits, sometimes in the sun, sometimes in shadow, year after year, until one day somebody picks it up and takes an axe to it and uses its shards as fire wood.
Nobody could ever imagine what it would say after so many years of silent observation. In the beginning when it was shinny and new with a bright young man who would sit upon it for hours playing the piano, making each note dance a spritly jig in the sunlight that poured through the window. Later the young man would sit with a choir, playing his dancing tunes, leading their voices as they rose and dipped in joyful harmony. These were happy times, times where bench and man were almost one, where the worn spot developing on both of their heads was a point of pride and maturity. This young musician who sat on the bench so regularly was getting older, his dancing tunes still filled the heart with joy, but what his heart really desired was another heart to share it with.

A fragile age.

"I'm so sorry." Officer Stephens said, he didn't know what to say, nothing seemed to even come close. He stood in the threshold holding his hat in his hands, wringing the the sides. How could a family suffer so much in one day? It was inconceivable, why was he even here? What help could he possibly be?
Mrs. Meyer and Flora stood their lifeless, staring at the helpless awkward man in front of them. What was he doing here? What help was he to anyone? Dennis, now Martin? Something had died along with them that day, and no amount of detective work would bring it back.
"This doesn't seem like the appropriate time, but when you are ready, could I perhaps ask you some questions?" Officer Stephen's said.
"I'm ready now." Said Flora she hand't said a word until now.
"Please, I-I understand that you'll need time, I-I shouldn't have come, I'll come back another time-"
"I killed him." Flora shouted, interrupting Officer Stephen's, she was completely calm, only shouting to be heard over his stuttering.
"Please dear, don't be guilty, you couldn't have done a thing, what your father did was completely his fault." Her mother said soothingly.
"Not him, Dennis." Flora said, "He thought he was special, he thought he could do things other people couldn't, so I dared him, be like Houdini, prove yourself, but I knew that he was a fake, I drove him to it anyway. I walked away and he struggled and flailed and gasped for breath, but it was done. I left the note and the dog found his body." Flora finished her tirade.
Silence. The all at once Mrs. Meyer screamed and slapped her, the sting was harsh and made her eyes water, Officer Stephens was on her at once and before she knew it, was in the back of a police cruiser.
Everything happened so fast. She had been under arrest for 1 hour when she heard, her mother had killed herself, fastened a hose from the exhaust pipe into the car, and let life drift away. She sat in silence when she heard the news, then the voice spoke, the one who had been with her for a year or so now, it said; "you're next".

The Pier

Schizophrenia according to Merriam-Webster;
: a psychotic disorder characterized by loss of contact with the environment, by noticeable deterioration in the level of functioning in everyday life, and by disintegration of personality expressed as disorder of feeling, thought (as delusions), perception (as hallucinations), and behavior —called also dementia praecox The disorder tends to affect young adult between the ages of 15 and 35.

Martin Meyer was sittin gon the edge of the pier. The empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay forgotten behind him. The wind was blowing and it was beginning to rain but it didn't seem to bother him, nothing could distract him anymore. His son was dead. Joining him was all he wanted. He thought of his wife, his beautiful wife. She would look after Flora, is wonderful daughter. All he needed was to join his son. He didn't want him to be alone, he was lost and it was his job as his father to find him. Tears ran down his face, he didn't even try to disguise them. Then he was falling, nothing was holding him, he was free, when hit the water he opened his mouth and sucked in the piercing cold water. Then he was dead, all the life in him was gone and his body began to return to the surface where it would be unceremoniously washed to the shore for a jogger to find in a few hours.

The phone woke Deborah up with a start, she had been lying on the couch trying to get some sleep after hours of living in the waking coma of grief. "Hello?" She said groggily.
"Mrs. Meyer?"
"Yes, who is this?'
"Officer Stephens-" He was cut off by a scream and the phone going dead.
Deborah had known the moment she had picked up the phone, the same serious tone addressing her with the name only her students used. She had been trying to call him for hours but she'd had no luck, but twice in one day? She thought she was going to be ripped apart, she had tried to remain whole for her family, but now what? She was on the floor weeping when Flora found her. She knew right away. They lay there crying and holding onto each other crying for hours.
The knock on the door was the thing that finally broke them apart. It was Officer Stephens he came to wish them his condolences and ask follow up questions. It had been one hour since the jogger had found Martin Meyer's body washed up on the shoreline bloated and lifeless.

Heat and Liquor

It had now been 12 hours since the body of Dennis Meyer had been discovered. Flora was lying on her back in her room listening to the whir and clink the furnace made while it pumped out heat. Everything was quiet. She heard the phone ring downstairs and her mother go and pick it up. Then muffled voices, her mother was probably talking to another sympathetic neighbour. Then her thoughts were interrupted; "Flora, phone for you." Her mother called. She rose from her bed puzzled and went to the phone.
"Hello?"
"Flora?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"It's Officer Stephens, I was wondering if I could get you to come in to answer some more questions", the tone was cordial.
"Why?"
"Just procedure, follow up, you understand."
"Ok." she said, and hung up.
20 minutes later after having convinced her mother that she was fine and would be back soon, she was waiting in a chair outside Officer Stephens' office. "Why hello sweet heart, thank you for stoping by again today" said Officer Stephens as he opened the door and found her slouched in the chair outside. She shrugged and said nothing, walking past him into his office.

She sat down in the chair facing his desk and he sat down behind his desk. The room was hot and stuffy, Flora didn't like it. They looked at each other for a good while before Officer Stephens said; "Now just to follow up what we spoke about earlier, I'm curious about why you assumed murder when I was asking you about your brother." Flora said nothing, Officer Stephens continued, "Is there something you're not telling us? Because we must do everything we can to make sure your brother is laid to rest in piece if there is." He said fixing her with a serious stare. Flora snivelled in anger and indignation, standing up abruptly and fighting back tears she screamed; "My brother was a fantastic boy and nothing anybody thinks will change that, I did what I could to protect him and nobody can blame me for that, NOBODY!"
Officer Stephens was silenced with his shock and Flora ran out.

Martin Meyer had stopped at the liquor store. He had bought a 40 of Jack Daniels. He had it in a paper bag and was about one third of his was through it. It was beginning to dull the pain, he was still walking but he couldn't feel the blisters anymore and the wind barely bothered him, in fact he couldn't really feel anything at all. He liked this feeling, the feeling of nothing.