Monthly Archives: April, 2013

Century Bruise

Clocks

Century Bruise

Today I felt fear, a shiver,
the ricochet of a mortal quiver,
reminding me that I am no more than
a bruise that lingers ‘a surface’,
a blemish that lies on life’s
resilient hide, an impact no more
memorable or permanent than all the
blows suffered before it.

That I am the after effect of an action,
a vibrant ripple on a wounded canvas,
a swath of violence’s vivid writhe that,
like all theatrical beings, fades away into
the subtle, soothing tides of time where
obscurity awaits to envelop, erase, and
derive, that which struggles, forms and strikes –

I shutter, for I am only the inflicting omen
of another life.

_________________________________

Happy Friday! Hope you enjoyed this little momento mori and may it serve as a reminder that you just need to get out and live your life. We’re only centennials if we’re lucky, folks, so get up off your hides and enjoy your time while it’s still yours to spend! Here’s to hoping your weekend is awesome!

Death By Analysis (Ch. 1)

Death By Analysis

Death By Analysis

Chapter 1.

He dodged the third vase that had been launched into the air, moving to hide behind the door as it smashed into the wall beside it. Giving it a second, he leaned hesitantly around the door.

“Lily! Lilllyyy, common. You have to- oop!” He slunk back behind it just as the fourth and final vase in the room shattered to jagged bits against the wooden frame. Good. She was out of ammo. Groaning, Sam took in a long deep breath and closed his eyes. The reaction was expected. He could deal with this. They just had to take it one step at a time. Grey eyes opening back up, he looked to the side as he leaned his head against the door. “Lily? You good now?”

Good? Good?! She was most definitely not ‘good’. Scrambling back onto the bed in the middle of the room, she teetered sideways as she stripped off one heel, holding it poised as her final weapon. Chest heaving, her long black hair splayed over her shoulders and over the top of the grey evening dress, her frazzled state a stark contrast to its elegant folds as she took a defensive position.

A disappointed curve twisted Sam’s lips when he received no reply, knowing from the sounds of the room beyond that she was once again using the bed as a strategic high ground at which to attack from. Running one hand tensely through his short black hair, he gave her one more moment before he fixed the collar of his white dress shirt and stepped out from behind his shield.

-Two weeks prior-

Red jowls flapped in their flurried cadence as Talyor Hartaway, a sparely bearded pudgy fellow and Lily’s 2 o’clock appointment, paced around the room in his usual flustered manner, fervently explaining the prejudice cast upon him by his mother.  His words had turned into a garble of accusations and undue bias that had become a white noise as Lily kept her eyes locked on him, head gently tilting in a knowing nod; a puppetry show that she’d perfected over time. In truth, Lilly White didn’t care what Mr. Hartaway had to say, nor was she listening in the least.

Was it her job to care? It was supposed to be, but what good was there in  listening to someone who didn’t want to be fixed and, upon aiding in any way, would storm out only to return again the next week, explaining the same thing he did before. No, Lily had given up on him long ago. Given up on him, the nooner before him, Mr. Headington, and given up on her other two Monday moaners, Mrs. Janell and Mr. Rathwod, as well (a term that Jane, her secretary, had lovingly given them).

Once Hartaway went into his normal ending tirade, facing the windows while he ‘spoke’ to the world, Lily’s icy gaze turned towards the various certifications and degrees on the wall. Sure, they looked great adorning it, but the tiny pieces of paper could do little for a therapist who’d lost all hope that there was any chance of doing real good for her patients. Years ago, when her cliental had still been people scraping together money to pay her fees, the story had been different. They had struggles and real issues and, most of all, they all wanted help. To change. To become better people.

Now, however, as her eyes disdainfully returned to Hartaway, she was vividly reminded that, as the amount she was paid went up, the amount she cared about the work had gone down. The cliental had changed, her reputation raking in people who could afford to page the high wages of the Windy city, and who were all too willing to give it to her at weekly intervals. Sure, there were a few people who need help and came to her, but the vast majority that visited her each week were people with too much time on their hands and too few social skills to figure out what to do with it.

Lily let her eyes wander to the clock, straightening her position in her chair as she realized it was already 3:45, fifteen minutes over Hartaway’s normal time.

“Yes,” she broke in, not hesitating in the least to make a comment though she hadn’t been listening, “well, I believe you’re getting things on the right road, Mr. Hartaway. From what you’ve expressed to me this afternoon, I can say you’re making some pretty good progress. I suggest that, for next week, you look back over your reflections and really think about what you’re feeling. Write them down, and then bring them in so we can go over them together.”

For the eleventh time.

Sputtering to a stop, Hartaway went to verify the time on the clock before giving a hurried nod. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. Self reflection should undoubtedly answer my questions.”

He was quite the expert, wasn’t he?

Fumbling with his jacket, he straightened it out as he headed towards the door, shooting Lily a smile and a mock salute.

“Same time next week and you can bet I’ll be thinking on those things, and I’ll have a novel for you no doubt!”

Lily smiled warmly, motioning to the door. “And please leave it open this time, if you would, Mr. Hartway. I look forwards to next week.” Her calm, warm composure that existed by default never failed to leave her clients with a positive feeling, and Hartaway gave her a wider smile before he shuffled quickly out the door.

Puffing the breath into her cheeks, she slowly let it escape her lips as she rose to walk across the room to her desk. Plopping down behind the glass desktop, she stuffed Hartaway’s untouched file in the bottom drawer, fingers dancing across the name tabs as she ran further back into the alphabet, stopping once she reached the blue tab marked with the letter S.

A smile curled warmly across her lips as she reached for one of the files. Picking it up, she splayed it open on her desk as her eyes ran over the typed case notes. A shimmer returning to them, Lily White felt a small surge of rejuvenation enter her bones as she flipped through the pages; she was about to reach her favorite part of Monday’s. After a few moments of looking over last week’s notes, her eyes danced to the clock on her computer screen and, as one more single moment flipped over to 3:55, her gaze turned expectantly towards the doorway.

Impeccably on time, in strode the man whom Lily felt held the world in his eyes, one Mr. Samuel Oliver Guise. Sam was the iconic philanthropist playboy, the type that movies fought to portray and yet somehow cheapened. Unlike the silver screened depictions of his stereotype,  Lily had been surprised to find a man who spent a great deal of time avoiding the spotlight all while completing actions that should have placed him within it. The last charity dinner he held had raised over three million in a single evening from a small crowd who had enjoyed the full moon on one of Hawaii’s most illustrious beaches. Of course he had played modest while regaling her with the story, but it wasn’t hard to tell just how extravagant of an venture it had been.  However, despite the numerous things he had done, in the end his life had delivered him to her and, each week he spent on her couch had only further revealed two things:  One, Samuel Oliver Guise felt there there was something missing from his life and, two, that he desperately wanted to  fix the problem.

“Good Evening, Lily,” he chimed as he sauntered in, taking off his jacket to throw over one arm as he approached the suede couch. “How is my favorite shrink today? Seems like you might have have a tough one,” he smiled, grin always the same no matter how much he complained of feeling worn thin. Pointing behind him, he gestured towards the door. “The walrus seemed particularly red-faced today. Sure you don’t need a few moments? I’ve got a new game and a high score that’s just dying to be beat.”

Politely smiling, Lily shook her head with a small laugh. “I’m fine. And, no, that is quite alright. Some people just tend to get a little…heated more so than others when letting things out. It’s like the way peppers get the blood flowing. Ranting just lets the mind open up.”

Sam took his seat as Lily gestured to it, sinking into the couch and leaning back, a soft sigh escaping past his lips; a reminder to her that he truly enjoyed coming here. Each and every time the man sat down on the couch, it seemed as though his mind began to relax, shoulders releasing from their perfectly held poise. The bright look in his eyes retired to its quarters, replacing itself with the tired true gaze he held only for behind closed doors.

Knowing his routine, her eyes flickered to his pocket an instant before he reached for his cell phone, turning it off before shoving it into the inner pocket of his jacket. It was her cue to begin. She rose from her desk, moving over to the chair seated just three feet away from the couch to the left. Her hands folded gently in her lap as she leaned back, eyes running over him one last time before raising up to slowly meet his gaze.

“So, how was Venice?”

“Oh, you know, terrible. I mean, all the extravagant buildings, the culture, the fact there’s water everywhere,” Sam replied sarcastically, infectious grin spreading across his face. “Nah, it was lovely. When is Venice not lovely? Well, it has its days, I’m sure but even when I lived there it always has its charm”

“You lived in Venice? That’s a new one.”

Nodding his head, Guise replied, “Yeah. It was a while back. Right before I ended up moving back to Colorado.”

She chuckled. “I can’t imagine what it was like, going from scenery like that to-“

“To mountains and far less moisture? It set well with me at the time, believe me. Always been a fan of snow myself.”

“I see. So it was a welcomed move. Well, did you head to any places that held fond memories? Maybe somewhere you liked to haunt back when you lived there?” Lily shifted forwards, leaning on the arm of her chair.

The man who had his heart open to everyone seemed to keep himself, both physically and emotionally, at a distance. His movements, even while subtle and calculated, couldn’t evade Lily’s trained gaze. As she shifted to the right to lean on the arm of the chair, he gently shift how he was sitting to maintain a perfect distance. Hiding it as though he intended to face her more, it was something she had figured out nearly a half a year back, noting that even while his emotions were loosened, he stuck to his guns on his rules for personal space.

“Yeah. I took your suggestion and tried to…reconnect with places I had been before. Think back to how I felt then and how I feel now.” He paused for a few moments, eyes gazing across the room as he tried to summon up the words he wanted to find. “I went back to a few places and, yeah, they were good reminders of different places in my life. Nothing like getting nostalgia for younger years, right?”

She smiled warmly but stayed silent, knowing that pensive look in his eyes. He had more to say.

Eyes resting on the coffee table in front of him, he continued “It was strange, but I remembered little things that I thought I’d forgotten. Things like how people’s steps sounded against that old ground. How the murmur of certain accents were more appealing to my ears. That smell in the air when a good strong breeze comes riding in. There was this one corner I used to always walk along and, even though it’s been built up after all these years, some of the same buildings are still there. If I raised my head up and gazed towards the sky, I got this feeling like I was back there again. Back in time to those earlier years. And I just stood there and the memories came flooding back to me. Faces, voices, images of late nights strolling the streets and days sitting at cafés.” Guise closed his eyes, summoning the sensations back to him that he’d bottled up just to bring back to Lily’s office.

Lily leaned back as she listened, allowing Guise to move forwards a little as he elaborately explained emotions that he felt attached to certain things, not knowing why he specifically felt that way about them. He told her of the summoned memories, and how some of them had made him feel distant rather than closer at odd intervals. He felt as though part of his time had been lost and could never be recaptured and yet he regained a small shard of hope, a youthful ideal as he called it, that lifted his spirits.

For a solid hour and a half, the two sat talking back and forth, Sam doing most of the talking though he was one of the rare few who actually stopped to ask questions. Not just “do you think I’m crazy” or “Am I a bad person for-“ questions, but ones that he’d obviously thought over during their time away. He reached out through deep interpretations of his own feelings, always sounding so jaded to the woman who was the same in age. He sat and poured out every ounce of though he could think to give her and Lily sat enthralled through it all, cataloging his comments in her memory in order to access for later reflection.

Sam was so forthcoming with his emotions and yet, in the same way he constantly regulated his need for personal space, there was a piece of him that he always held back. This too failed to escape Lily’s intuitive nature, and as he spoke she noted when he paused or lingered on a word too long. His eyes would search back and forth on the ground, as if trying to carefully choose another word than the one that had popped into his mind first. Occasionally, he’d stall mid sentence  switching over to a similar idea, but obviously not the one he had been going to talk about. Making mental notes of each one, most of Lily’s physical notes on Sam were centered around this guarded mystery of the man who was reaching out and yet refused to touch an extended hand.

So infatuated with his dilemmas and personal introspection, it was Guise who finally leaned back and gazed towards the clock. “Woah. Bit over the clock today, doc,” he smiled sheepishly in an apologetically.

Lily’s eyes snapped to the hands on the wall, giving a soft nod of her head. “It’s quite alright. I’ve got another two hours free before my late nighter stops in. “

“You do those?” he asked. Realizing she had never mentioned it before, she gave a curt nod.

“I do. Many of my clients need to come in during their off hours and I stay a little later than most people work to see that they have someone to talk to. One downside of the job happens to be very little free time.”

“And thus why I decided to help people from afar. Doing good at a distance. It’s best for both parties involved that way,” he smirked as he moved to stand, grabbing his jacket. Sliding it back on, he took out his phone, turned it back on and returned it to his pant’s pocket. Lily rose to stand with him, giving him one of her warm smiles.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Sam. Honest. You’re already making progress and it’s only been about eight months. Had I anyone to brag to, I’d tell them you were my most promising client,” Lily said as she turned around and walked a few steps back, moving out of Sam’s way. “Now, I know I spent most of the time listening tonight but next week I’d like to spend some time going back over a few points that you’ve made. I think there’s quite a few things to work on,” she smiled as she raised her chin, her eyes holding an approving pride for the man’s progress. She really had hope for him.

Sam nodded his head. “Alright, well I’ll be looking forwards to it then and, Lily,” he paused eyes going to her hand for a moment before back up at her. “Thank you. I honestly can say I feel a great deal better since I’ve been talking to you.” He’d said that after every time and, surprisingly, Lily felt it was genuine compliment. As Guise turned, he parted his lips a little bit, seeming to always have more he wanted to say. Though she normally let him slide, wanting Sam to come around without feeling pressured, she decided to give it another shot tonight.

“And I always feel as though I’ve helped you made some progress, despite things that you hold back,” she answered quickly as she paced back to her desk, back facing to him as she reached to mess with the papers that were sitting atop it. “I understand that there are things that just take time to surface, and talking about the issues that make up the walls surrounding  it will eventually help it come out, however, I just want you to realize that I am always here if you decide you need to talk before then.”

Guise watched her with a look of constrained pain, eyes screaming that he had more to say but, as always, he blinked it away with long lashes and choked it back with a charming grin. “Thank you, Lily. I appreciate it. I’ll be sure to call if anything comes up,” he replied, and her lips mouthed the exact words as she faced away from him, settling into a sad smile when finished. She listened as his footsteps headed towards the door and she turned back around, taking a seat at her desk.

Pausing abruptly, Sam stood in the doorway, head tilted to the side before he sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. Spinning on his heels, he turned to look back at Lily who was now rummaging through the files on her desk, having expected the man to leave as planned. His eyes lingered over her for a moment and, as she leaned forward to rest an elbow on her desk, soothing her forehead with one hand, he smiled.

“Lily,” he called softly, though the woman startled anyways, quite accustomed to their normal routine. When she finally lifted her head to look to him, he just let his eyes scan the room and the window as he asked, “Anyway you can pencil me in for tomorrow night? There’s somethings that I’d really like to get off my chest. Maybe rant a little myself. Free up my mind a bit.”

Her mind stalled for a moment, the opportunity she had been waiting for all this time coming as quite a surprise. However, she quickly stammered out a “S-sure. I mean, of course. I’veee-“she instantly turned to her computer, flipping up her schedule. “I’m open any time after seven.”

Smiling , Guise nodded softly. “Alright. Dinner it is then. I’ll bring the food, you just bring that mind of yours.” He paced back a few steps with a hesitant worry surfacing within his light gaze. Finally he gave one last nod before spinning around and heading quickly out the door.

Lily’s eyes lingered there for several moments more, heart swelling at the fact that he’d finally cracked. She’d known that, eventually, he’d want to get everything out there. It had all just been a matter of time and Lily had patiently awaited it, nudging him towards it with gentle suggestions and understanding smiles. Rising from her desk, she took in a deep breath as the exhaustion that came every Monday settled in over her body though her mind refused to come down off its emotional high; she was finally going to get the bottom of the mystery that was Mr. Samuel Oliver Guise.

____________________________________________________

Well, there’s chapter one all finished up. Hopefully you’ve enjoyed the introduction of these two characters. Truth be told, Lily was a late edition as I swapped out the original therapist for her, feeling as though Guise and here had a bit more chemistry than my first choice. Mind you, this is a work in progress and I am finishing each chapter week by week, so you’re seeing this as I’m writing it. Even though I have the story structure down, I still am a bit apprehensive about posting these rough drafts!   Well, as always, I would love to hear your comments (even though this was a bit brief) and here’s to hoping you have an awesome rest of the week!   Also, as before, you can expect to see Ch. 2 coming your way next Weds!

Pessimist’s Spring

894326_54591782

Pessimist’s Spring

A thunder clap
slapped me right outta
bed, and the light I left on
had an entire ecosystem
swarming ’round it.

Then morning came
and my eyes swelled shut,
I sneezed, hacked, and a
damned lung nearly came up.

Suddenly the neighbor’s noisey
offspring went screaming down
the street, and it sent me
to thinking that there’s
a million and one other reasons
why I dread the spring.

_________________________________________________________

Thanks to evah for the awesome pic above! Pessimist’s Spring is a work in progress, but I wanted to get the idea posted and out there as I think it’s good enough for a small smile. I do feel some of the things the speaker has to say, which is a bit inspiration for the poem. Though I like seeing the sun again, I do rather miss Fall and Winter as I feel they are far to brief!

Monday Mantra

Worker balancing globe on finger

Monday Mantra

I will not
scream at stop lights
glare at coffee pots
nor envy my office mates new
computer screen.

I will not think
about hiding tacks on seats
turning power breakers off
of my failed expectations
and where they could have taken me.

I will
turn on fifth street
take the stairs on the way up
straighten up my desk and, maybe,
wash out my coffee cup (for once).

I will think
of how this is helping
of where I am going
of when I will get there
and what time I get off.

I will
learn from my mistakes which
I will not
be stupid enough to make again.

I will
remember all my hopes and dreams and
I will not
ever loose sight of them.

Break.Huzzah.Amen.

__________________________________________________________________________

Well, folks, it’s Monday again. Sorry bout that.  Read this poem, memorize it. Look in the mirror. Repeat it. Over and over again. Should help! Just kidding. Really, here’s something that I hope makes you smile at the beginning of this week and know that the hardest part is now over: you managed to make it out of bed on a Monday. Congratulations, you’re my hero. Now go get ‘um, tiger.

Pursuit of Happiness

Lion Statue in London

Pursuit of Happiness

Envious of immortality
I stalk solemnly, a chided
lion waltzing through scenes
that seem steeped in a
forever that never dares
to stray far from the line.


Cookie cutter cultural
norms reveal familiar
scenes of caffeine corrupted
teens sipping on their truth
from magazines while
blind adolescence dreams
of something far greater
than what is in store.


Denied grace of ignorance
and its bliss, too old and
jaded for innocence, I still
prowl through the scenery,
saving these scenic routes for
days when I am particularly
in need of moral support.

___________________________________________________________

This is just one of those poems that happened when the lines fell together. Sort of a thought of looking back on youth and life, and then thinking about moving forwards in it.

Insomnia

Man in front of computer at night

Insomnia

The minutes they
drip, like oil seeping
they sit heavy but
slide quick from
the corners of my eyes,
the place where
time passes when
you watch the
clock tick it by.

____________________________________________________________________

So this is a short one for the end of the week. It’s not funny, but I think it catches the perfect feeling of those last few minutes of your workday. I actually wrote it as I sat, just looking at the tiny clock on my screen (that’s why I chose that stock photo up there) Anywho, happy Friday and welcome to your weekend, my friends!

He’s In the Details (Story 1, Pt. 3)

He's In The Details

He’s In The Details

(Continued from Part 1 which can be found by clicking here. )

(And Part 2 which can be found here.)

“Lonny?” the fuzzy voice wafted in my ears, repeating again shortly after. “Lonny Boy.”

My eyes slowly blinked open as I fought to focus in on the form above me. Only about an inch from my face, our noses nearly touching, was the strange mutated sheep-esc face of Phos. As my mind had not yet solidified his face to memory, there was little I could do at such a terrible sight other than scream, lashing out with two unmanly slaps that caught the equally startled Phos across the face, causing the devil to let out a strange bleating as he scrambled back.

As soon as he was away from me, I  instantly sat up, chest heaving as everything came quickly back to me; however, everything was still a bit hard to take as I gazed about the room, eyes first going to the window, realizing how low the sun must be in the sky for it to be that dark outside. As I began to recall what happened, I turned my head down to the side, checking under the end table and finding that Ninny was still there, eyes still wide and unblinking. The tilting of my head sent a rush of pounding blood to it that it had obviously not requested, making my pulse beat loudly in my ears. Groaning, I reached up and gingerly touched my sore skull, finding a bit of wetness there.

“Well, nearly made a liar out of me, Lonny! Heh. Would have been the first man I killed if youuuu-,” Phos stopped himself, clearing his throat as he decided against finishing his joke.

As I brought my hand in front of my alarmed eyes, I found the blood there to be dark, a sign that it had been dry for quite some while and, thankfully, upon examining my skull, I found it wasn’t cause for panic. With a relieved sigh, I let my head fall forwards into my hands, trying to sooth the pounding.

It was only when the buzzer at my front door began to sound in rapid succession that I came back to the moment, having felt foggy minded since the fall. Standing sluggishly, I slowly made my way to the door. Opening it, I gazed out at the devil who was laughing his head as he continuously pushed his nail into the soft doorbell, ringing it even as it stood there.

“Ha! Bet that is driving you crazy. Well, why don’t you try this on for size?!” He slammed his nail down one last time, making the button stick to cause the ringing to continue.

I slowly reached out, gently thudding my fist against the wall next it. The sound stopped as the button became dislodged. Phos stared at the button, going silent as his nose twitched a few times. I turned around and began to walk back in. The sound of his hooves against the ground followed me in, leaving the door open. I moved back to my chair near the table, turning to look up to him as he walked past me, his eyes going up to the clock.

“Oh, time flies when you are having fun! Going to have to be on my way soon,” he said with a snort before turning and looking towards the box. He reached out, poking it with one hand.

“But…it’s only five o’clock,” I muttered, eyes glancing up towards it was well before back at the demon. “The box says you’re here for the day, right?”

“Awww, hate to cut the date short myself, Lonny Boy, but those are the rules.”

“But the box s-“

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving me off with a bit of annoyance in his voice. “I know what it says, but damned enchanter was a two bit, so it’s a little off. Do you know how hard it is to get someone to make one of those things? And not even to mention the price of having something engraved again, especially these days! Anyways, noticed you didn’t have any candy for tonight,” he said with a wave of his hand, motioning towards a large stack of candy in a bright green bowl.

“I…where did you get that?” I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to know.

“Good ol’ thunder thighs house. You know she wasn’t going to pass out most of it out anyways,” he snorted with a chuckle.

I shook my head, sighing; I was so sure Mary was going to find out. Never did, but I was on edge for a good few weeks afterwards, avoiding her at every turn.
I slowly arose from my chair, walking over to pick up the bowl of candy, holding it my arms. I couldn’t remember that last time I’d taken part in Halloween. I was always traveling about, forgetting about such things I deemed childish.

As I ran my hand through the colorful assortment of mixed candy bars and little wrapped truffles, I distantly asked, “Like Halloween, do you?”

“Food, fun, and frightened children; what’s not to like, Lonny?” Phos answered with his, by now, signature snort.

My eyes rose from the bowl to the devil who was busy inspecting the box, fingers running along its ominous exterior as he smiled,  silently gloating over how terrifying it looked. I stared at his back, realizing how at ease I felt with him in that moment. There was it, the thing I had been looking for all this time, though it was quite different than I had expected. Sure, he wasn’t about to eat my ears while he made me watch or anything such as interestingly gruesome, but it still it was something more. Something else out there that-

Phos suddenly raised his head, as if hearing some far distant sound, and I could feel it within me, knowing it was time. My eyes briefly raised to the clock, noting the time was exactly five-twelve. It was then that my mind recalled the question I possessed before taking my little tumble.

“Phos! Wait, where do you-“

“No time for questions now, Lonny. Gotta be on my way,” reaching down, the devil placed his hand on the box to open it, though paused, eyes turning back to me.  “Hey, Lonny boy!” I’ll never forget that pose he was standing in. He was looking back over his shoulder as he crouched over the box (hooves slicing into my once flawless wooden table). For a long moment, our gazes met, my green to his yellow,  the silence between us was only accented by the suddenly loud tick-tick-tick of the seconds hand on the clock. Then, the same wide grin I had first seen him with spread steadily across his face  and he gave a hearty, “Happy Halloween”.

Then, as quickly as he had come, he was gone. No flashes of smoke, no dissipating into a cloud of bats. It was just as though he never existed at all. It was a blink of reality shifting, of worlds changing. I slowly brought my gaze down towards the now closed box. I stood there for a long while just thinking, the brisk October wind filling the room as it blew out the firelight. It’s strange how your mind wants to deny what you’ve seen once its gone, tries to change it. Even as I stood there, just moments after he had ransacked my house, that doubting belief crept into my thoughts. What if he wasn’t re-

“TRICK OR TREAT!”

With another squeaky scream, the candy came up into the air before it clattered across the ground in a rainbow rainstorm of sugar and cellophane. At the door, the small group of children and one adult who had gathered were giggling profusely, the leader of their dubious troop dressed in his all red costume that was, what else, but that of the cliché devil. The humor was not lost on me at the time and once I managed to pry myself from the spot, I joined them in their laughs.

“Alright, alright. Jokes on me, come and get your earnings. You can have whatever hit the floor,” which appeared to be half of what had been in the bowl to begin with.

The energetic children all entered in, the accompanying parent watching  as they scrambled across the floor in an attempt to score the biggest share. Halfway through their rummaging, a bright pink fairy stopped in mid grab, head turned to the side. She stood up and walked back over to me, tugging gently on my sleeve. Confused, I silently walked over with her a few feet before she stopped, pulling me down with a point.

“Mister,” she muttered softly, and I allowed my eyes to be directed across the wooden floor  into the corner to a dark shadow under the end table. There, still perfectly petrified in a state of eternal poof, sat Ninny still gazing blankly out towards the direction of the living room.  Letting me go at last, both I and the little girl stood up as she thoughtfully , and most correctly stated, “ I think there’s something wrong with your cat.”

She’s never really recovered from that night, you know. Neither have I, for that matter. I spent a good deal of the time after (what wasn’t spent cleaning, of course) walking around in sort of a haze. There were so many things now that finally came into my mind to ask him now that the shock was gone. Well, now that it has lessened, I should say. Where exactly was it that he went to? What else had been here in this world? Who were these other-kinds that he mentioned so vaguely?  What more was there? More maddening than not knowing if there was something more was knowing there was, in fact, something more but not knowing anymore about it! Oh dear,  that sentence is just a mess as the thought itself…

Attempting to be a little clearer and more concrete, I should say that I now had more questions than when I began. There was more than I could have ever imagined possible that came through that solitary, little box. I’d learned that it was possible for objects to hold more than intent, more than what now seemed like meager human emotions. They held worlds. They held demons. They held, above all, endless possibilities.

However, I must also add this: no matter how maddening my questions can seem, I appear to have a leg up over all those philosophers who are left pacing back and forth with no answers in sight. My answers, you see, are only months away. Mere hours, really. Of course it’s June now but, really, what are five months compared to the scheme of things? I mean, I haven’t even moved the box, you see. It’s still there, still is sitting, on that damaged table just feet beyond my favorite chair. It’s right there under that clock, across from that fireplace, just waiting.

Waiting for those twelve strokes to chime and then, for all the questions in my mind to be answered. What else was there? Where did that portal lead? What did Phos mean when he’s said he’d look in on Mary when  he returned? But, above all, there was one question that continued, in my mind, to reign supreme: what in the hell could a demon need with three sets of underwear, fifteen pieces of silverware, a power brick for a lap top, a coffee pot (minus the machine), two light switch covers, the bell off a cat’s collar, and one Men’s Health magazine?

Apparently, my not so dastardly friend had been busy while I was asleep.

_____________________________________________________________________

Well, that wraps up the first draft of Lonny and Phos’ first encounter! Yes, I eventually fell as though I will be writing more of these two together, having fun figuring out the scheme of things. However, that’s all for now, folks! This lil’ story here is done, though I must admit I toyed back and forth with which ended I wanted, and ended choosing this one above the other possibilities. Now, for next week, I’m working on a little story called Death By Analysis which isn’t in first person, so that means I’ll be a bit more back in my element. You see, I’ve never really written first person other than this story so the next one might seem a little more coherent. Well, sort of coherent. Besides, how coherent can a story about a therapist and her favorite client turning out to be a- well, I don’t want to ruin it. I guess you’ll just have to come and read for yourself 😉

500+ Thank Yous! (w/ Poem)

OMGAMAZINGAWESOMNESS

OMG!

So, today I officially hit 500 followers!  The fact that there are 500 people out there who actually followed my rantings is something I just find unbelievable. Honest. I can barely get my dog to put up with my poetry, and he often scuffles away to hide under the bed while I’m pacing back and forth, reciting lines to myself like a mad woman.  Anyways, this is a gigantic thank you to the 500+ who put up with my oddly placed syllables and snarky prose. Really, seriously, from the bottom of my heart and anything else that means “I’m being genuine here’, thank you guys. It means the world to me.

Now, for the slightly less serious. I’ve also decided that for every 500 followers I get, I’m going to buy myself a cupcake and post an extra poem. Okay, so the poem is obviously for you, and the cupcake for me. Since recently going on a diet and trying to avoid my wheat allergies, I’ve been depressingly cupcake-less (a tragedy, I know). To remedy this, and to make sure I don’t have an excuse to shove my face every week, I’ve decided to use my blog count as a way to reward myself. Anywho, you get a poem. I get a cupcake and thus want to write more. Win-Win situation right there, folks. Now, for those of you who actually stuck around through the ramble, here’s a little something for you:

I’m addicted to you,
you know.

I sit, entranced in dark
behind milky white light
that washes over eyes
which consume every ounce
of text, of ink,
of soul you pour
onto these screens.

I’m high on you.

It take hits, sips,
bites of you.
My mind writhes,
heart skips,
because of you.

My thoughts shiver
and rewrite for you.
It’s a drug, these
lines that seep from
you, and it’s one
habit I would hate
to kick.

I’m addicted to you,
you know.

And I love it.

Poetry Is Dead

Hand rising from ground

Poetry Is Dead

So they said,
epitaphs wrote in texts,
in tweets, on
screens,
but they never saw it coming,
groaning, twitching
back to life,
it opened clouded eyes,
scratched fingers across granite
tombs of etched bigotry.

It rose!

It walked among the living,
snatching children,
ripping chunks from hearts
with infection teeth,
shambling among campuses,
in subways,
along crowded streets.

It thrived!

Moaning memories, it
brought the dead back to
life, amassing armies
of its own kind, turning
texts, and tweets, and
screens into devices,
vessels to breech
borders, pandemic spreading,
growing fiercer all the time.

It lives!

Through touch,
through bites,
through minds,
it passes between lips
and lingers behind eyes.

It.
Is.
Alive.

And the apocalypse it brings
leaves a better world behind,
so shut up, get bit, or
fall silently in line.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I’ve just heard that damned saying so many times I thought I’d throw this up in defense of that tired line. I get it, most people think of poetry as lofty prose with convoluted meanings. However, I also understand that most people coming to this blog do not, so this is hopefully something to make you smile! Once again, I think this is going to have to be another work in progress, as I am done at about 4am and this is scheduled to get posted around 830am. It was a rough idea I just really wanted to make work before I turned in for the night, err…morning I mean!

The Gossip

clock image with woman on it

The Gossip

Her face hangs long
and narrow with
eyes clacking
back and forth,
left to right,
tick to tock,

Keeping measures,
meters of importance,
social grace,
water cooler rumors,
her mind counting down,
her gears winding
up,

turning moments
into memories,
tying minutes to
her tongue, waiting
to open her mouth
and let it rock,
back and forth,
left to right,
tick to tock.

______________________________________

You know ‘um, they’re everywhere: it’s the dreaded gossip. No matter where you go, they are always lingering in hallways or listening intently behind the walls of their cubicles. It’s those annoyingly obtrusive people who just can’t get enough of everyone around them because they have no life of their own. For some reason, I though the imagery of a clock fit because they are just there, counting moments and committing your time to their own life.  Like time itself, they are stealing bits and pieces of your life and taking it along for their own ride. Nasty, vicarious little things! Hope you enjoyed Monday’s poem and here’s to hoping you have a week that’s free of these dreaded things 🙂