A/N: Alright, so this is a little different from my typical short stories. This is a collection of poems told in story format - poems strung together to form a plot line, inspired by Ellen Hopkins's Crank. I hope you all enjoy, and please review and let my know what you think!
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The image isn't mine, I don't own Percy Jackson, and I don't own Crank, either. As long as we've got that cleared up.
Note: To anyone who might feel uncomfortable about the subject matter of drug usage: this story does include drugs. Be forewarned.
Lost My Mind
Have I ever told you
about the time I lost my mind
let it spiral free, out of control
loose and lascivious
promiscuous ribbons of rouge rage
spring magnolia blossoms
tossed on the wind, juices dribbling
over the pavement, sinking
into the cracks, watering
the weedy invaders: dandelions
and thorny thistles, poor bare feet.
Truth is, I'm not even sure what
I'm writing about anymore
so I guess I had better just ask:
Have I ever told you
about the time I lost my mind
because I've forgotten
my memories have liberated
themselves, finally set free
can you recall what happened
to me
and solve the everlasting
mystery?
Body and Soul
They say poetry is a good way
to let your feelings flow
seeping out of your pores like sweat
it's very therapeutic, you know
but see, here's the thing
I'm afraid my problem
can't simply be solved
with simple words in simple columns
my story is long and heartbreaking
heart-wrenching, to be honest
enough to make you want to cry
I know I have, oh God why
this is a story of poems
or perhaps it's a poem of stories
either way
I've gone completely crazy, lost it
might as well just accept my new career
as the Central Park bag lady
but for now I might as well
cleanse my body and soul
just like the yogis say
after all what have I got
to lose, everything's been taken
already: morals malleable as clay
body and soul dirty as soot
coating the insides of a chimney
so let me write this story of poems
or perhaps poem of stories
not for me, nope, no sirree
but for my poor, battered body
and soul
It All Started When
I met a boy, cliché, I know
couldn't even be original, had to
pull from the book of been there,
done that, laughing all the while
but it's true, I thought he was different
dark hair, pirate smile
eyes like a Heineken bottle
I guess that's a weird way
to describe your lover's eyes
beer-bottle-green, doesn't it just
make you cream yourself?
sorry if I've scandalized you
but you see, there are things
to be upset about, outraged about
and there are things to take
with a grain of fucking salt
and this is simply the latter
(as most things are, like it or not)
so just deal with his Heineken
bottle eyes, because despite
what I may have led you to believe
they were really quite something to see
turned my life upside down
that was it for me
His Name Was Percy
and he was eighteen years old, a year older than me
it wasn't that he was a bad boy, even though he was
or that he smoked cigarettes, even though he did
it wasn't that he was a rebel, even though he was
or that he had this way of smiling lopsidedly, even though he did
it was the way he looked at me
the way he said my name
An-na-be-th
rolled it languidly on his tongue, let it linger on his lips
oh he was bad boy perfection all right, but in the best ways
he didn't own a motorcycle or wear a leather jacket
he simply didn't give a fuck about what other people thought
God what I would give to have the spectacular talent
of hoisting my fist high up into the air, knuckles white
and raising my middle finger to God, to the world, to everyone
God what I wouldn't give to be him
But I Wasn't Him
I was Annabeth Chase, resident good girl, polar opposite
two shoes dangling from my fingers, cold and limp, like a wet noodle
I got good grades, played on the soccer team, golden girl
all around, best friend since kindergarten by the name
of Thalia Grace, best friend to have, because she
brought out the best in me, not that there was much of that X-factor 'best'
to bring out, the sad, sad truth
because here's the thing I've learned: only lies are beautiful
the truth has an undeniable way of being ugly as the boil on the ass of society
Thalia, Punk Rock Chick, Blondie 2.0
She was everything I was not: adventurous
and outgoing, singularly brilliant, not just
book smart, but people smart, too
spiky hair and blue eyes that sliced through you
like lightning, electrocuting, sizzling
Death to Barbie t-shirts and leather wristcuffs
opposites attract, or so the saying goes
and with Thalia that saying was certainly true
not a single doubt in my mind
We Were Best Friends Since
kindergarten, or did I say that already? How stupid,
you'll have to excuse me, I'm a little scatterbrained today,
but anyway, Thalia and I met on a threadbare circle rug
reading Dr. Seuss together, bonding over red fish, blue fish
and green eggs and ham, though I always thought
those books were stupid, I mean there was no
periwinkle fish, which was my favorite color
until I was sixteen years old and looked into his eyes
for the very first time, tsk-tsk-tsk,
changed by a boy, Annabeth? Deserting your morals
already, well I guess that's true, but wasn't
I the one that said morals were malleable as clay?
anyway, friendships forged like that, over dried Elmer's glue
endless games of memory, and plastic kazoos
are the kind of friendships that last forever
or at least they do until one party (me)
decides to fall for a bad boy and offer herself
into the world of drugs and smoke and hazy dreams (oops)
Yes, It's True
it was drugs that shoved Thalia
and I apart, drove a thick wedge
in-between us, because Thalia's mother,
her name was Beryl, 80s TV star with big hair
turned single alcoholic mom in the 2000s,
had a substance abuse problem too.
It had driven her son, Thalia's brother
into the American foster care system
and Thalia, poor Thalia, had never quite forgiven
Beryl for her missteps, and looking at me
strung out and high, lost to the world
riding a cloud up somewhere in the sky
she said, "How could you?"
I replied, "It was easy."
and I guess it's easy to lose friends, too, because
that's exactly what I did, but I was too
lost in the world of prescription pills
to notice until I came back to the world
of the living, but that was later, too late,
and then all I could do
was cry and cry and cry and pop
a few more from the orange bottle
because as it turns out, pills
are an effective way to ignore
your problems
But In All Fairness,
it wasn't just Percy that led me astray.
I had a real shit storm of a life,
even before he ever looked my way.
My mom died in childbirth, I guess
I was just a little too much for her to handle.
My father never wanted a daughter, and
I always thought he blamed me
for Mom's death, even though
it wasn't my fault, but that's not
always how life works. Oh, yeah, Dad
decided to effectively ignore me, but
he didn't go to pills, he went to books.
That's right! Dear old Dad is a professor
of knowledge, practically ripping a page
out of old Stephen Hawking's book.
And when he married Carol, well,
that's about when shit really hit the fan.
My stepmother hated me too, oh
at my house it was a real hate-Annabeth-fest.
So, to recap: dead mother, absentee father,
bitchy stepmother, excuse me, is this
something out of a Grimm brothers story?
It wasn't, sadly, because he was no
Prince Charming, as I'm pretty sure
the prince never popped Cinderella some pills
behind the school, leaning against a rusty, supersized dumpster.
But It Wasn't Just My Family,
it was Luke Castellan, too.
God, I really loved him, ever since
I was a little kid. It was me and Thalia
and Luke, all of us together, and I couldn't
help falling in love with him, blonde-haired
and hapless, his father dead, too. It was a lot to
have in common, both of us with a parent dead before
our seventh birthdays (Luke told me his died when he was
six). And of course Luke's mom was crazy, he had a crappier
life than me, and I sure set the bar high. Why, did I ever tell you
about the time I ran away from home, packed my bags and just left,
goodbye? I came back a few weeks later, when the police hauled me home,
earned a smack across the cheek that resonated for miles around. But back to the
story, it was Luke that sent me over the edge. I really loved him, but as it turned out, Thalia
loved him too. And it was her right, why shouldn't she? Free country and all. But
as it turned out, Luke liked her back. They got together in spring of junior year,
and all of a sudden it was just too much. They were kissing at the lunch table,
completely oblivious. I went outside, excused myself, got some air in back,
where all the stoners hung out. I never knew then that that was beginning
my downfall, starting to tumble down the rabbit hole, like poor Alice
in Wonderland, because guess what? I was in Wonderland, too,
lost in a land of red queens and mad hatters, only mine
looked a little bit different, set in the halls of high
school, because now that I think about it, the
only similarity between Alice and I
was the truly unfortunate fact
that we both lost our mind.
Grover
It was him I saw first, Grover Satyr, who names their
kid names that ended in the same sound, 'er' and 'er'?
He was wearing a striped Rasta hat, old-school Bob Marley,
tendrils of peach fuzz poking out of the knit cap.
He offered me a bit of pot, just so long as I was willing to pay,
I hurriedly raised my hands and said no, thanks anyway.
At this point, I hadn't lost myself yet, I was still the same old
Annabeth, but it was only a matter of time, because around then
I spotted Grover's bestest buddy, his old elementary school pal,
Percy Jackson, the boy with the Heineken eyes, who gave me a smile,
parted his lips, mouthed, get over here, and pulled me in with one
hypnotic gaze, because that was right about the time that I lost
myself, heartbroken over Luke and Thalia and Mom and Dad and Carol,
and so I let myself be reeled in like a fat, lazy fish.
Charmer
He was a charmer, Percy,
daredevil smile, and from that
moment, he was all mine, all mine.
He asked me my name, I said
it was Annabeth, he said
why that's a pretty name,
and introduced himself as Percy,
Percy Jackson, just like Forrest,
Forrest Gump. We hit it off
right away, which was strange, really,
because we'd never been involved
too much in the past. We passed
each other in the hallways without
so much as a second glance.
Losing your mind makes you
notice funny things: how the sunlight
falls, dappled rays spreading
across earth, leaking into the loamy soil,
and how handsome boys
you'd never noticed before
have a peculiar way of pronouncing
your beautiful, beautiful name.
I was his, from that moment.
He asked me if I was in to drugs,
I said no. He asked why not.
I said, "I don't know. I'm just not interested."
He said, "Goody-two-shoes, then?"
I said, "I'm not a goody-two-shoes."
He said, "Just try it. C'mon."
But I wasn't about to fall for it.
I knew, after all, what to do
when the dilemma of peer pressure
came up. "I have no interest in drugs."
"Really? Hmm."
"Why are you making that noise?"
"What noise?"
"That noise. Hmm."
"Because you look like a girl who wants
to get lost, that's why."
"I do want to get lost," I said, struck
that he seemed to know me so well.
"That's why I take drugs," he informed me.
"It's a wonderful way to get lost. Just one pill."
"Just one pill," I repeated, still dubious.
"Just one pill," he affirmed. "If it's not
for you, then you can just walk away.
No strings attached."
Of course, I wasn't stupid – I'd been
to health class, knew what drugs did
to your brain, made them a fucked-up picture
of complete and utter disarray.
But right then, I wasn't thinking about
safe sex and condoms slid onto a banana,
about brain diagrams and druggie horror stories.
I asked, "How much?"
He said, "How much for what?"
I said, "How much for a few pills?"
He said, "Here." And reached into his pocket
and pulled out a little orange bottle
that made a sound like a baby rattle
when he shook it, shake-a shake-a.
"First one's free, on me. Take them
and let me know if they change your life."
And so I did, popped it in my mouth.
High
It didn't kick in right away, it took an hour or two.
But from that moment, he was right.
My life changed forever.
My senses were amplified, my brain on overdrive.
It was nothing like I'd ever experienced.
It was beautiful, losing myself in the symphony.
Percy was right: drugs are an easy way to lose yourself.
Pills before your problems, pills before your problems.
Teachers asked if I was alright, I just smiled nice and bright.
It took a while to wear off.
Too tired to catch the bus, I crashed underneath the bleachers.
The ones in the football stadium, that is.
I woke up feeling groggy, like shit.
I had just made it over my first high.
I didn't like my first low.
All I wanted was to do it again.
I Was A Smart Girl,
or used to be, anyway. See, here's the thing:
I was a straight-A student. But not for the right
reasons. I wanted the 4.0 on my college apps,
I didn't relish working hard. I'd always stressed
over every little thing. It was sickeningly easy
to just let go, oblivion welcome. It was sickeningly easy
to finally be loose and free. It was sickeningly easy
to ignore the funny brain drawings in health. It was sickeningly easy
to push aside the facts. To push aside the real me.
The Real Me
What a funny concept, I can honestly say I haven't the faintest idea
Who that is anymore, the real me, God, can you believe it, the real me,
Who even dreamt up such a concept? If there was ever such a person,
A real Annabeth Chase, with hopes and dreams and a real personality,
It had disappeared with the drugs, eked out slowly with the ever-escalating highs.
There is no real me, not anymore. I'm lost on a drug-induced journey
To Neverland, second star on the right and straight on 'til morning.
The Real Me. I almost wish there was one, a real Annabeth Chase, someone other
Than the pills and the drugs, someone who could give me a helping hand
And bring me back to the world, bring me back to me.
College Funds Put to Good Use
I had saved up some money – for college, originally, but now, who gave a fuck about college? Certainly not me. So I went to the bank, got it all refunded, in cash, and stuffed it in my piggy bank. The next day, instead of going to lunch, I went around the school, to the dumpers, where Rasta Grover and all the other stoners were busy getting buzzed, passing around a brown paper bag with some sort of bottle stuffed inside and miscellaneous plastic Ziplocs. I went straight to Percy, who gave me that knee-melting smile, and asked him how much for some more. He smiled. I was in the druggie clan now, a part of their system. Good-bye, Luke. Goodbye, Thalia. I had new friends now.
Dialogue
"How much for some more pills?"
"Back already?"
"Yeah. Now how much?"
"So, I guess the drugs changed your life, huh? Just like I said they would."
"How much, Percy?"
"Getting ornery. It's an amount."
"I can pay it, whatever it is."
"You really liked the pills, didn't you?"
"Yeah. I really liked them."
"They're a good way to forget, aren't they?"
"…Yeah. They're a good way to forget."
New Life
That became my new life, a haze
of pill-popping and wasting away
my ever-decreasing funds. My grades
slipped, teachers wanted to know just
what I was doing, because they knew
the signs of a recently-converted druggie,
of course, it wasn't their first day. I didn't
know what to tell them, aside from the truth,
and that certainly wasn't an option. So
I just stared at the wall while they asked
why I had gotten a D- on a test
in my best subject, why I had suddenly quit
the soccer team. I didn't have the heart
to tell them that I was gone now, that soccer
just wasn't as important as getting more pills.
My Family Didn't Even Notice,
and that's maybe the worst part. Thalia
ended our friendship with a wounded look
lingering in her electric eyes, Luke shooting me
a glare over his shoulder as they walked away,
hand-in-hand, tears streaming down my former
best friends' cheeks. But Dad, Carol, my stepbrothers
Bobby and Matthew? Not a chance. They were
completely oblivious as I experimented with new drugs
that Percy offered me, as I let myself drown
in a haze of pharmaceuticals and psychedelia.
My family didn't even notice.
You know what? I take it back. That is the worst part.
Loverboy
So I guess by now you're wondering whatever happened
to Percy, because at the beginning of this poem of stories,
or story of poems, I called him my lover. And I guess that's
true, in a way. Somewhere along the strand of hazy afternoons, he flashed
me a smile, grabbed my hand, both of us grinning like loons,
as only strong, strong drugs can make you do, and brought me
underneath the bleachers. We both made love, both of us
on a high, and I can honestly say sex with him is one
of the only good things about that time, because God
I think I might've really loved him, sick as it is. Maybe
in a different world, things would have turned out okay,
maybe, in a different world, we could have been happy together,
neither of us relying on drugs just to get through our day.
As it was, we snuck under the bleachers regularly, hiding
in plain sight, and I gave myself to him over and over again,
the last remnant of old, prudish Annabeth disappearing overnight.
Now You Know
how lost I was, how completely I'd lost my mind.
Now you know how foolish I was, sex and drugs
like some 1970s pop star. Now you know how
I'd descended in a perfect storm of turmoil, made myself
vulnerable to the worst of outcomes. Now you know.
Now you know.
Rachel Elizabeth Dare
It was Rachel Elizabeth Dare that brought me to rock bottom,
brought me to where I am today. It wasn't that I had anything
against her personally. She was an artist, one that used drugs
to get a vision for her new painting. Red, curly hair, freckles,
paint-spotted-everything. The inside of her vagina is probably
even speckled with metallic gold spray paint. But anyway, I saw
her kissing Percy, shoved against the brick wall, his hand
right up her tacky, polka-dotted bra, her face a picture
of perfect ecstasy, and not the kind that looked like a pill.
I just stood there, stock still, jaw hanging slightly ajar.
But neither of them noticed me. They were both too lost
in their own sort of euphoria. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I
left, left school right there in the middle of the day. I just
started running, around the block, feet pounding on the pavement.
Wind whipped my face, my hair a wild vortex of insanity.
I had lost it, completely and totally gone insane. I no longer remembered
what it was to be happy and safe and ordinary, with a slightly
crappy life, but with two best friends that would be there for me,
if only, if only, if only, I'd let them. If only. If only. If only.
But now I was lost and confused and afraid, having ostracized
everybody that mattered. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
I clearly meant nothing to Percy, even though he meant everything
to me. It was stupid, to let him get to me, but my defenses
had been worn so weak, my heart crushed twice within the span of a month,
that I couldn't help it. I was done, finished. In the end, I was strong
as flimsy wrapping paper. If only, if only, if only.
Park
I found myself in a park, a really beautiful place,
thick-trunked oak trees and grass like a St. Patrick's Day Parade.
Bunches of Queen Anne's Lace crouched by the sidewalk,
more organized patches of plum-colored petunias and
heart-shaped daisies, petals fluttering in the wind. It was spring,
so the magnolia tree was in full bloom, big pink flowers
swaying, dangling off of brown branches, low-hanging fruit.
A little girl with dark hair had tucked one behind her ear.
I went
and laid
down beneath
the magnolia
tree.
And Then
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pills, swallowing all of them in quick succession.
Every single one. And here's the point where I could describe it as I'm scribbling
wildly in this composition notebook, but I don't really see the point.
Because that moment? That moment where I took all the pills? It's happening right now.
The drugs are beginning to set in, and just in the nick of time, because I've finished
my poem of stories, or perhaps my story of poems. We're coming to the end of my tale.
This is more pills than I've ever taken, more pills than I think I'm supposed to take.
But that's alright, because I find it easier to not worry about it, to just let go. To be free.
Untitled
I close my eyes
and drift away
into everlasting sleep
if it's one thing
you've learned
from my poem
don't ever waste
yourself on pills
face your problems
don't end up
like me
shh, shh, be quiet now
I'm trying to go to sle-
A/N: So? What did you think?