I keep having these weird dreams all this week. That could be due to the fact that I am reading a book that is about this woman who keeps toggling between the real world and a dream world. At any rate, I think I am going to start recording my strange dreams here on my flash blog since I haven't been actually writing any flash fiction. .
Dream from January 19th, waking up to January 20th.
As in most cases with dreams, I can only remember the last bits of it from right before I wake up.
In my dream, where I remember from, I am in a classroom and it is dark in the room and there are a bunch of students of all ages and both genders. My teacher is someone that I know, but now that I am awake, I cannot recall exactly who it was, but he was a person of some authority in my life. Anyhow, he passed out a project/paper we had turned in and I was so distraught that I had only received an 88% on it, especially since I felt like I had put a lot of time and effort into it. I asked what it was that I did wrong to get such a poor grade. He pulled my project up on an overhead and started showing me that the grade was lowered because I didn't get all the lines perpendicular on my clip art and that things were off balance and not properly proportioned. I told him that I have always had a hard time seeing things properly and how could he dock me so many points just because things were lined up precisely. I asked if he even read the report, and he said yes and that it was exceptional, but he just couldn't get past the fact that all the pictures were crooked. I felt angry and wanted to leave the classroom, but I couldn't find a way out and the bell wouldn't ring to open the door. I had to stay there and feel angry and embarrassed. When the bell finally did ring, I ran out.
The next thing I knew I was at a large swimming pool. There were a lot of people around and they were diving in beautifully and gracefully. I wanted to dive in so badly, but was terrified that I would do a belly flop or that the water wouldn't part for me and I would somehow land on top of the water and look stupid. I circled the pool trying to decide the best place to try and dive in. All around me adults and children were diving in and loving it. Soon, I stood at the edge of the pool ready to dive in. I had my toes right on the edge, and the people by me were going in. I dove off the edge and sure enough, I landed on top of the water and couldn't get down underneath it. I got back out to try again. This time though someone in a big truck was coming around putting sod down where the water once was. People could still somehow dive down beneath the sod, but I couldn't understand how they were doing it. I decided to just try and dive in, but once again I landed on my hands and knees and couldn't get below the surface. I was frustrated and tried to find the person who drove the truck and was putting down the sod. I could never find him but felt like he was also someone I knew, but from my childhood, like a relative.
Then I woke up.
20 January 2016
18 April 2012
Finding Balance
“Why?” She asked with a wry little smile on her lips. The questions never ceased. There was always something on her mind and she couldn’t restrain her mouth from opening and asking all the questions her brain thought up.
“Why?” she asked. This time a little frustrated and frazzled at not getting the response she had hoped to get, nor as soon as she would have liked to have received it. Sometimes her patience was too low and her expectations too high.
She paced, and sat, and wrote and read and still, she was bemused at the lack of concern, the obvious disregard to her questions. She despised the lack of communication, especially when the general consensus was a horrible mask of harmony and understanding.
Waiting was the hardest part. Waiting with nobody to talk to, to discuss her unrest with. Being discounted time and time again in order to avoid any unpleasant discourse. She treaded lightly, intent on cradling the delicate perspectives that hung around her like gossamer threads. She was suffocating and nobody noticed, wrapped up in their own threads, choking her as they danced aimlessly around her.
A thought came to her mind, like a beacon of light against a cold, crepuscular ledge on an isolated shore. But the thought frightened her, so she pushed it down, deep down into the vault of her mind.
But inside of her, a battle raged. In her heart the torment was insurmountable. Faces, like those from a masquerade bandied around her, mocking and laughing at her discomfort. She shied away, but no matter where she turned, there was always another to take its place, more disconcerting and frightening than the last. She tried to face the terror head on, but was buffeted, and rebuked. She tried again and again to stretch forth a hand, for anyone to grasp it and throw off the mask, to reveal reality. But they were all so intent on the intricacies of the dance, and staying in time with the twisted tune of the blighted guise, that nobody saw her flail, and fall, then fail.
But she was strong in ways they could never have guessed. She got up, and dusted herself off and turned and walked away from them for a time. Jeers and chants and cries of resentment floated after her on the wind, but she kept her back turned and her eyes forward. She knew the answers she sought could not be found in the throng. She removed herself far from the noise, and the chaos. She fell on her knees, and then to her face, prostrating herself even lower than the dirt.
And she cried out, into the darkness.
The darkness was complete. She trembled and wanted to turn away from it, but she was paralyzed and unable to turn her face aside, one way or the other. A slight buzzing sensation began at the nape of her neck and she was afraid. She hunkered down, bringing her body into itself. The silence bored into her ears, heavy and tenebrous. The buzzing quickened and spread into her mind, shooting out tendrils of emnity, endeavoring to consume the very fiber of her soul. But she fought for the light that flickered deep inside of her, and she caught hold.
And she turned to the light.
She pulled her body up to its knees, but could rise no further. Around her, light began to fill every dark space. She could sense, in the distance the thrum of the dancers, and could hear the rustle of many masks being tossed aside and trampled upon. The light surrounded her and penetrated the darkest parts of her heart, the ones she had locked away because she didn’t want to feel the discomfort of healing the broken, jagged lines. Softly, gently the light permeated her heart, restoring and restructuring the damage. But as her heart began to heal, her mind fought to cling to the pain, to be right and be heard no matter the cost.
They battled. The light and the dark. The mind and the heart. Two strong forces pulling her like the ebb and flow of the tide. Gentle one moment and the next moment lashing and roiling against one another. Scenes of injustice and of betrayal, words of poison and jealousy stung and flung themselves against her heart, trying to weaken and destroy the healing balm. But her well was deep, and she began to remember the peace she had written on her heart in the years of calm. The peace pulsed, and enveloped the hurts, turning them around and and then changing them to something bearable. Slowly, her heart began to mend.
Cautiously she stood on her weakened legs. She felt like an infant, trembling with her first steps and trusting that somebody would be there to catch her if she fell. She had to take the first step in order to dance the dance. In her mind were still doubts and worries, but the light was bright, and it would sustain her for a time. A warm hand slid into hers and pulled her forward towards the throng.
“Why?” she asked. This time a little frustrated and frazzled at not getting the response she had hoped to get, nor as soon as she would have liked to have received it. Sometimes her patience was too low and her expectations too high.
She paced, and sat, and wrote and read and still, she was bemused at the lack of concern, the obvious disregard to her questions. She despised the lack of communication, especially when the general consensus was a horrible mask of harmony and understanding.
Waiting was the hardest part. Waiting with nobody to talk to, to discuss her unrest with. Being discounted time and time again in order to avoid any unpleasant discourse. She treaded lightly, intent on cradling the delicate perspectives that hung around her like gossamer threads. She was suffocating and nobody noticed, wrapped up in their own threads, choking her as they danced aimlessly around her.
A thought came to her mind, like a beacon of light against a cold, crepuscular ledge on an isolated shore. But the thought frightened her, so she pushed it down, deep down into the vault of her mind.
But inside of her, a battle raged. In her heart the torment was insurmountable. Faces, like those from a masquerade bandied around her, mocking and laughing at her discomfort. She shied away, but no matter where she turned, there was always another to take its place, more disconcerting and frightening than the last. She tried to face the terror head on, but was buffeted, and rebuked. She tried again and again to stretch forth a hand, for anyone to grasp it and throw off the mask, to reveal reality. But they were all so intent on the intricacies of the dance, and staying in time with the twisted tune of the blighted guise, that nobody saw her flail, and fall, then fail.
But she was strong in ways they could never have guessed. She got up, and dusted herself off and turned and walked away from them for a time. Jeers and chants and cries of resentment floated after her on the wind, but she kept her back turned and her eyes forward. She knew the answers she sought could not be found in the throng. She removed herself far from the noise, and the chaos. She fell on her knees, and then to her face, prostrating herself even lower than the dirt.
And she cried out, into the darkness.
The darkness was complete. She trembled and wanted to turn away from it, but she was paralyzed and unable to turn her face aside, one way or the other. A slight buzzing sensation began at the nape of her neck and she was afraid. She hunkered down, bringing her body into itself. The silence bored into her ears, heavy and tenebrous. The buzzing quickened and spread into her mind, shooting out tendrils of emnity, endeavoring to consume the very fiber of her soul. But she fought for the light that flickered deep inside of her, and she caught hold.
And she turned to the light.
She pulled her body up to its knees, but could rise no further. Around her, light began to fill every dark space. She could sense, in the distance the thrum of the dancers, and could hear the rustle of many masks being tossed aside and trampled upon. The light surrounded her and penetrated the darkest parts of her heart, the ones she had locked away because she didn’t want to feel the discomfort of healing the broken, jagged lines. Softly, gently the light permeated her heart, restoring and restructuring the damage. But as her heart began to heal, her mind fought to cling to the pain, to be right and be heard no matter the cost.
They battled. The light and the dark. The mind and the heart. Two strong forces pulling her like the ebb and flow of the tide. Gentle one moment and the next moment lashing and roiling against one another. Scenes of injustice and of betrayal, words of poison and jealousy stung and flung themselves against her heart, trying to weaken and destroy the healing balm. But her well was deep, and she began to remember the peace she had written on her heart in the years of calm. The peace pulsed, and enveloped the hurts, turning them around and and then changing them to something bearable. Slowly, her heart began to mend.
Cautiously she stood on her weakened legs. She felt like an infant, trembling with her first steps and trusting that somebody would be there to catch her if she fell. She had to take the first step in order to dance the dance. In her mind were still doubts and worries, but the light was bright, and it would sustain her for a time. A warm hand slid into hers and pulled her forward towards the throng.
20 February 2012
My Bad Day
My Bad Day
by Tevia Wall
Today was a bad day. Not only was it bad, it was downright weird and freaky. I am generally a very early riser. I like to exercise in the morning, you know, get the lungs going and the blood pumping. Not today. I slept in till nine o’clock, really unheard of for me. So, I got out of bed, my head stuffed full of snot and my vision blurred from my eyes itching like crazy. It seems I got served with a cold and allergies simultaneously. I stumbled into the bathroom only to realize that my period decided to start five days early. What luck. The only upside to that was confirmation I wasn’t playing host to a parasitic embryo.
Like I said, I stumbled into the bathroom, and for some strange reason I had my mobile phone with me. It’s not uncommon that I take my phone into the loo with me, I like to play Words with Friends as I sit there doing my business. Everything was going fine until I turned to flush. My stupid phone somehow jumped out of my hand and into the toilet. Crap! I was so pissed I said a swear, another thing I don’t often do. I reached in quickly and grabbed it out of the swirling water, thinking that I should have just stayed in bed entrenched in the weird dream I had been having.
I took apart the phone, removed the battery and assessed the damage, or whatever, I really didn’t know what I was doing at all. I sat on the bench in front of the sink with my hands in my head. How was I to know what I was supposed to do today? My phone had my whole life on it. I had long since stopped writing things down on a calendar, relying only on my stupid device to direct me each day. I wanted to cry, but knew that if I did, my head would swell to the size of a watermelon and produce even more snot than it already was.
I heaved a very big, very moist sigh and stood up. I grabbed my mobile, battery in one hand, casing in the other and was startled to see a little spark of electricity jump from the battery to the phone casing. My hands were suddenly clenched tightly to each piece, as if they were clamped onto the bits of plastic and metal. Once again I saw a spark jump from the battery and felt a tingle start in my fingers and move up my arms. A thought ran through my head in a nanosecond, “I wish I had a bra on!” In the time it took to blink I went from my bathroom to the edge of a tall cliff overlooking a vast canyon in the middle of what seemed to be a dry summer storm.
The wind howled around me, whipping my nightshirt against my legs. Lightening flashed, illuminating the scene in an electric purple glow. In mere seconds a crash of thunder rang out, echoing eerily off the canyon walls. I dropped to my knees, and scuttled frantically away from the edge of the cliff. In that brief flash of lightening I had seen a terrifying sight, a mordicant! How was that even possible? How could I possibly be at or close to the seventh gate? There wasn’t even a river flowing nearby, so I couldn’t figure out how a mordicant could even be in the desert. If I only had remembered to grab my bells, or at the very least my pan pipes I could somehow protect my self against this horrific creature.
I looked down and saw my hands still clutched around my mobile phone and I was brought back to reality, or a semblance of reality. I wasn’t being chased by a mordicant at all, and I wasn’t actually a character in the book I had been reading before I went to bed that night. I was confused at how I could be hunkered down under a scrub bush in the desert.
A lizard sidled up to me, licked the air, then crawled onto my bare foot. It sat for a moment, then scurried up my leg and onto my knee, looking me right in the eye. We sat, staring at each other for what seemed like hours. My thoughts wandered randomly all over my brain, and when they finally began to become cohesive once more, the lizard jumped onto my other knee and started singing. For such a small creature it sang in such a deep, beautiful baritone. I didn’t understand the words, but peace and calm came over me as his voice floated through every empty part of my soul. I hadn’t realized there was so much emptiness inside of me. I wanted to weep, but remembered that I didn’t want to have more snot to deal with, so I kept it all inside. I closed my eyes, wanting to keep that full feeling as long as possible.
When I opened my eyes I was surprised as my surroundings had changed yet again. I was sitting on the edge of a grassy mound looking at a large circle of stones in the middle of a field. The sky was a strange greenish hue and the stones glittered in the light of two suns. If I didn’t know better I would swear I was at Stonehenge, but in some weird alternate universe. I heard a commotion to my right and looked over to see a young girl dressed in a white, flowing gown with a crown of absinthe on her head being dragged across the field towards the circular structure. She was fighting against the throng and I could smell so clearly her fear, mingled with the bitter herbs crushing against her sticky brow. The mob closed in tight around her, their filthy stench overpowering her fear.
I gasped in horror as a fat, round man broke away from the crowd and headed directly towards me on my grassy mound. In his eyes burned the passion of the devil, deep, dark and hungry for murder. He moved quicker than I imagined a man of his girth could move and was upon me in moments. He yelled to the crowd and four other men broke away to help him drag me next to the young girl.
I started screaming, but I didn’t cry. I screamed the same words over and over, but nobody seemed to understand what I was saying. Why couldn’t they understand I wasn’t a virgin! I would ruin their sacrificial offerings. I knew all the stories required the sacrifice of a virgin and I was definitely not a virgin! But they forced me to lay face down on slab of rock. The surface was sticky, like it had been used recently for a sacrifice. I screamed again, flailing my limbs, not wanting to feel the sting of the crude dagger pierce the flesh through my back to lodge within my heart.
A hush fell over the crowd and I knew my life was over. I waited for the blow, but it never came. I opened my eyes and saw my mobile was glowing in my hands. Small strings of electric energy jumped playfully from the battery to the casing. The crowd was mesmerized by the tiny blueish-purpley strings. I moved my left hand closer to my right hand, hoping that I could somehow connect the two parts and make something happen that would save me from this fate. The two pieces were within centimeters of each other and I skipped locations once again.
I looked down and saw that my nightshirt was speckled with blood from the sacrificial stone I had narrowly escaped. When I pulled my eyes away from my shirt, I realized right away where I was. An enormous ape was batting a barrage of single prop planes away from him while holding onto me, dangling me over a thousand feet above the cold, hard concrete of New York City on the Empire State Building. Fantastic. I didn’t even like this movie and here I was, grasped in the stinky, sweaty palm of a giant ape. I didn’t scream. I didn’t flail around and try to wriggle out of his grasp. I merely hoped my stupid phone would take me somewhere else less cliche.
Instead, my day got worse. He dropped me. The big oaf dropped me and I plummeted down, down past every story of that building and I went right through the ground, as if it were nothing more than a pile of feathers. Down, down until I became so bored with falling through the darkness that I remembered I still had my phone parts in my hands. Instead of trying to put them together, I thought instead of where I might possibly want to end up after this interminably long fall. I thought about wanting to brush my teeth. I longed for a toothbrush. A fresh, new, out of the box toothbrush and a brand new tube of toothpaste. The fluorescent green toothpaste that was only on shelves for a few months, even though it was the best tasting toothpaste I had ever had in my life. I would brush my teeth for hours just to get the acidic taste out of my mouth after having been dropped off the Empire State Building.
My descent ended abruptly. My teeth rattled in my head and I looked down and saw that I had landed on a pile of skulls. Next to the pile of skulls was a glass case full of brand new toothbrushes and next to that was a glass case full of toothpaste. I waded through the skulls and breathed against the glass. I drew a smiley face, then a sad face, then a crazed looking face. I smiled and grabbed a skull and started bashing it against the glass. The skull shattered in my hand and I grabbed another, and another and another. I broke every skull in the room against that glass box and I never even scratched the glass. I turned my back to the glass box and slid down its side, surrounded on all sides by broken shards of skull.
I started to cry. I cried for my broken phone. I cried for the lizard by the edge of the canyon. I cried for the girl who died on the sacrificial stone. I cried for the big stupid ape that dropped me off the Empire state building. I cried for the darkness that enveloped me and dragged me down to the skulls. I cried because all I really wanted was that heavenly fresh taste of new toothpaste in my mouth.
My head swelled up. My nose dripped unreasonable amounts of snot onto my knees, which had drawn themselves up against my chest. My eyes burned like hot coals. My ears were plugged beyond belief. I didn’t try to wipe anything away. I just let them all flow out of me. When I finally heaved a big, gigantic sigh, I knew I was done. I could hear birds chirping off in the distance. They were getting louder and louder, and I felt something prodding me in the back. I turned over and realized my alarm was going off and my husband was trying to get me awake enough to turn the darn thing off!
by Tevia Wall
Today was a bad day. Not only was it bad, it was downright weird and freaky. I am generally a very early riser. I like to exercise in the morning, you know, get the lungs going and the blood pumping. Not today. I slept in till nine o’clock, really unheard of for me. So, I got out of bed, my head stuffed full of snot and my vision blurred from my eyes itching like crazy. It seems I got served with a cold and allergies simultaneously. I stumbled into the bathroom only to realize that my period decided to start five days early. What luck. The only upside to that was confirmation I wasn’t playing host to a parasitic embryo.
Like I said, I stumbled into the bathroom, and for some strange reason I had my mobile phone with me. It’s not uncommon that I take my phone into the loo with me, I like to play Words with Friends as I sit there doing my business. Everything was going fine until I turned to flush. My stupid phone somehow jumped out of my hand and into the toilet. Crap! I was so pissed I said a swear, another thing I don’t often do. I reached in quickly and grabbed it out of the swirling water, thinking that I should have just stayed in bed entrenched in the weird dream I had been having.
I took apart the phone, removed the battery and assessed the damage, or whatever, I really didn’t know what I was doing at all. I sat on the bench in front of the sink with my hands in my head. How was I to know what I was supposed to do today? My phone had my whole life on it. I had long since stopped writing things down on a calendar, relying only on my stupid device to direct me each day. I wanted to cry, but knew that if I did, my head would swell to the size of a watermelon and produce even more snot than it already was.
I heaved a very big, very moist sigh and stood up. I grabbed my mobile, battery in one hand, casing in the other and was startled to see a little spark of electricity jump from the battery to the phone casing. My hands were suddenly clenched tightly to each piece, as if they were clamped onto the bits of plastic and metal. Once again I saw a spark jump from the battery and felt a tingle start in my fingers and move up my arms. A thought ran through my head in a nanosecond, “I wish I had a bra on!” In the time it took to blink I went from my bathroom to the edge of a tall cliff overlooking a vast canyon in the middle of what seemed to be a dry summer storm.
The wind howled around me, whipping my nightshirt against my legs. Lightening flashed, illuminating the scene in an electric purple glow. In mere seconds a crash of thunder rang out, echoing eerily off the canyon walls. I dropped to my knees, and scuttled frantically away from the edge of the cliff. In that brief flash of lightening I had seen a terrifying sight, a mordicant! How was that even possible? How could I possibly be at or close to the seventh gate? There wasn’t even a river flowing nearby, so I couldn’t figure out how a mordicant could even be in the desert. If I only had remembered to grab my bells, or at the very least my pan pipes I could somehow protect my self against this horrific creature.
I looked down and saw my hands still clutched around my mobile phone and I was brought back to reality, or a semblance of reality. I wasn’t being chased by a mordicant at all, and I wasn’t actually a character in the book I had been reading before I went to bed that night. I was confused at how I could be hunkered down under a scrub bush in the desert.
A lizard sidled up to me, licked the air, then crawled onto my bare foot. It sat for a moment, then scurried up my leg and onto my knee, looking me right in the eye. We sat, staring at each other for what seemed like hours. My thoughts wandered randomly all over my brain, and when they finally began to become cohesive once more, the lizard jumped onto my other knee and started singing. For such a small creature it sang in such a deep, beautiful baritone. I didn’t understand the words, but peace and calm came over me as his voice floated through every empty part of my soul. I hadn’t realized there was so much emptiness inside of me. I wanted to weep, but remembered that I didn’t want to have more snot to deal with, so I kept it all inside. I closed my eyes, wanting to keep that full feeling as long as possible.
When I opened my eyes I was surprised as my surroundings had changed yet again. I was sitting on the edge of a grassy mound looking at a large circle of stones in the middle of a field. The sky was a strange greenish hue and the stones glittered in the light of two suns. If I didn’t know better I would swear I was at Stonehenge, but in some weird alternate universe. I heard a commotion to my right and looked over to see a young girl dressed in a white, flowing gown with a crown of absinthe on her head being dragged across the field towards the circular structure. She was fighting against the throng and I could smell so clearly her fear, mingled with the bitter herbs crushing against her sticky brow. The mob closed in tight around her, their filthy stench overpowering her fear.
I gasped in horror as a fat, round man broke away from the crowd and headed directly towards me on my grassy mound. In his eyes burned the passion of the devil, deep, dark and hungry for murder. He moved quicker than I imagined a man of his girth could move and was upon me in moments. He yelled to the crowd and four other men broke away to help him drag me next to the young girl.
I started screaming, but I didn’t cry. I screamed the same words over and over, but nobody seemed to understand what I was saying. Why couldn’t they understand I wasn’t a virgin! I would ruin their sacrificial offerings. I knew all the stories required the sacrifice of a virgin and I was definitely not a virgin! But they forced me to lay face down on slab of rock. The surface was sticky, like it had been used recently for a sacrifice. I screamed again, flailing my limbs, not wanting to feel the sting of the crude dagger pierce the flesh through my back to lodge within my heart.
A hush fell over the crowd and I knew my life was over. I waited for the blow, but it never came. I opened my eyes and saw my mobile was glowing in my hands. Small strings of electric energy jumped playfully from the battery to the casing. The crowd was mesmerized by the tiny blueish-purpley strings. I moved my left hand closer to my right hand, hoping that I could somehow connect the two parts and make something happen that would save me from this fate. The two pieces were within centimeters of each other and I skipped locations once again.
I looked down and saw that my nightshirt was speckled with blood from the sacrificial stone I had narrowly escaped. When I pulled my eyes away from my shirt, I realized right away where I was. An enormous ape was batting a barrage of single prop planes away from him while holding onto me, dangling me over a thousand feet above the cold, hard concrete of New York City on the Empire State Building. Fantastic. I didn’t even like this movie and here I was, grasped in the stinky, sweaty palm of a giant ape. I didn’t scream. I didn’t flail around and try to wriggle out of his grasp. I merely hoped my stupid phone would take me somewhere else less cliche.
Instead, my day got worse. He dropped me. The big oaf dropped me and I plummeted down, down past every story of that building and I went right through the ground, as if it were nothing more than a pile of feathers. Down, down until I became so bored with falling through the darkness that I remembered I still had my phone parts in my hands. Instead of trying to put them together, I thought instead of where I might possibly want to end up after this interminably long fall. I thought about wanting to brush my teeth. I longed for a toothbrush. A fresh, new, out of the box toothbrush and a brand new tube of toothpaste. The fluorescent green toothpaste that was only on shelves for a few months, even though it was the best tasting toothpaste I had ever had in my life. I would brush my teeth for hours just to get the acidic taste out of my mouth after having been dropped off the Empire State Building.
My descent ended abruptly. My teeth rattled in my head and I looked down and saw that I had landed on a pile of skulls. Next to the pile of skulls was a glass case full of brand new toothbrushes and next to that was a glass case full of toothpaste. I waded through the skulls and breathed against the glass. I drew a smiley face, then a sad face, then a crazed looking face. I smiled and grabbed a skull and started bashing it against the glass. The skull shattered in my hand and I grabbed another, and another and another. I broke every skull in the room against that glass box and I never even scratched the glass. I turned my back to the glass box and slid down its side, surrounded on all sides by broken shards of skull.
I started to cry. I cried for my broken phone. I cried for the lizard by the edge of the canyon. I cried for the girl who died on the sacrificial stone. I cried for the big stupid ape that dropped me off the Empire state building. I cried for the darkness that enveloped me and dragged me down to the skulls. I cried because all I really wanted was that heavenly fresh taste of new toothpaste in my mouth.
My head swelled up. My nose dripped unreasonable amounts of snot onto my knees, which had drawn themselves up against my chest. My eyes burned like hot coals. My ears were plugged beyond belief. I didn’t try to wipe anything away. I just let them all flow out of me. When I finally heaved a big, gigantic sigh, I knew I was done. I could hear birds chirping off in the distance. They were getting louder and louder, and I felt something prodding me in the back. I turned over and realized my alarm was going off and my husband was trying to get me awake enough to turn the darn thing off!
01 February 2011
Lovesick
Arrabella was silent.
Barely eighteen years old, she had just been diagnosed with a life threatening
illness.
Countless doctors had poked and prodded her from top to bottom, and after
endless months of tests, the results were in.
Defeated, her parents dropped heavily in the chairs next to her bed.
Every time Arrabella looked at her parents, she couldn’t help but smile.
Frankly, she was thrilled with the diagnosis and wanted to shout it from the
rooftops.
Gently she grabbed her mother’s hand and stroked it, hoping the touch would
somehow give her mother courage.
Her father reached out and grabbed his wife’s other hand and wiped a sparkling
tear off his cheek.
Inside her chest her heart thumped and pounded against her ribcage.
Japanese honeysuckle climbed lazily up the trellis outside the open window
sending waves of sweet fragrance that wrapped around Arrabella like an invisible
cloak.
Knuckles white, an intern placed a thick chart in the hands of the doctor, then
stepped back into the shadows.
Little did Arrabella know, this doctor was formidable in his treatment of this
particular illness.
Most of his patients had had a complete recovery with very few side effects.
Never had he seen a case he hadn’t been able to treat.
Once again, he read the diagnosis to the family and prepared to give them all
the information he could in order to treat, and destroy the illness.
Perhaps he hadn’t listened too closely to Arrabella, and was therefore shocked
to the core when she boldly stood up and refused treatment.
Quickly, an orderly grabbed Arrabella and shoved a needle in her arm to suppress
any unwanted resistance.
Running was no longer an option as the medication coursed through her veins so
swiftly that Arrabella tottered, and then slumped to the floor.
Several things happened all at once.
Two nurses appeared from the shadows and grabbed the parents, shoving them
through a door that had, until then, been quite invisible.
Under the direction of the doctor, the intern grabbed the patient and hauled her
through a separate door from her parents.
Voices, like gnats in summer, swarmed around Arrabella’s head as she was whisked
into a room cradled gently against the intern’s chest.
“Where am I?” she asked uncertainly.
Xyloid panels adorned the walls of the room, and her mind began recalling the
familiar grain in each of the panels surrounding her.
“You!” she said as she looked deeply into her lover’s eyes, grabbing his face
and pressing her lips firmly against his.
“Zack, you saved us, you saved us! “
Barely eighteen years old, she had just been diagnosed with a life threatening
illness.
Countless doctors had poked and prodded her from top to bottom, and after
endless months of tests, the results were in.
Defeated, her parents dropped heavily in the chairs next to her bed.
Every time Arrabella looked at her parents, she couldn’t help but smile.
Frankly, she was thrilled with the diagnosis and wanted to shout it from the
rooftops.
Gently she grabbed her mother’s hand and stroked it, hoping the touch would
somehow give her mother courage.
Her father reached out and grabbed his wife’s other hand and wiped a sparkling
tear off his cheek.
Inside her chest her heart thumped and pounded against her ribcage.
Japanese honeysuckle climbed lazily up the trellis outside the open window
sending waves of sweet fragrance that wrapped around Arrabella like an invisible
cloak.
Knuckles white, an intern placed a thick chart in the hands of the doctor, then
stepped back into the shadows.
Little did Arrabella know, this doctor was formidable in his treatment of this
particular illness.
Most of his patients had had a complete recovery with very few side effects.
Never had he seen a case he hadn’t been able to treat.
Once again, he read the diagnosis to the family and prepared to give them all
the information he could in order to treat, and destroy the illness.
Perhaps he hadn’t listened too closely to Arrabella, and was therefore shocked
to the core when she boldly stood up and refused treatment.
Quickly, an orderly grabbed Arrabella and shoved a needle in her arm to suppress
any unwanted resistance.
Running was no longer an option as the medication coursed through her veins so
swiftly that Arrabella tottered, and then slumped to the floor.
Several things happened all at once.
Two nurses appeared from the shadows and grabbed the parents, shoving them
through a door that had, until then, been quite invisible.
Under the direction of the doctor, the intern grabbed the patient and hauled her
through a separate door from her parents.
Voices, like gnats in summer, swarmed around Arrabella’s head as she was whisked
into a room cradled gently against the intern’s chest.
“Where am I?” she asked uncertainly.
Xyloid panels adorned the walls of the room, and her mind began recalling the
familiar grain in each of the panels surrounding her.
“You!” she said as she looked deeply into her lover’s eyes, grabbing his face
and pressing her lips firmly against his.
“Zack, you saved us, you saved us! “
10 February 2010
Installment #1
He walked across the city checking the GPS device every now and then, not caring that he wasn’t making any progress towards headquarters. His anger had cooled to a smoldering warmth inside his chest, ready to ignite at any given moment. He had been going in circles the last hour, completely ignoring the coordinates the woman on the phone had given him. He knew they knew where he was thanks to the little tracking device they had fitted him with right before his assignment. He figured if he didn’t turn up, sooner or later they would come looking for him. He had just turned the corner on his fourth lap when he noticed a dark, unmarked sedan driving deliberately towards him.
Well, here they are. He thought. They took longer than expected, but here they are.
The sedan pulled up along side him and an oily voice issued from the open backseat window. “Get in the car Mr. Rhybrook.”
The door opened and he wondered if they would shoot him if he ran. Not that it would do him any good to try and disappear. If he tried to remove the tracking device, it would release a biological agent that would cause his body to start shutting down, until he was completely incapacitated. They had demonstrated the effects of a disrupted tracking device on an unfortunate stray they had picked up on their way to the lab. There were too many strays in the city anyhow, and he wasn’t too put out to see one put to such use. He slid into the back seat and closed the door.
“Mr. Rhybrook,” a man in dark glasses addressed him from the passenger side of the vehicle.
“Call me Aaron. My dad is Mr. Rhybrook.” He chuckled to himself, thinking that line sounded just as idiotic saying it, as hearing it.
The man in the glasses cleared his throat and started again, “Mr. Rhybrook, you have failed to accomplish your assignment. As per our agreement dated the tenth of March, you are hereby the sole property of Middlegamut Industries. Your home, and all personal effects therein have been moved to headquarters, with an addendum stating your dog be cared for by a Mrs. Lotty Abrams, neighbor. Furthermore, Middlegamut Industries reserves the right to catalog and confiscate any and all items in your home that could compromise your service to us. This includes, but is not limited to all electronic devices, books, photographs...”
Aaron tried looking out the window, but found it to be impenetrable. He couldn’t remember if it was day or night, and glanced at the GPS device for help, but it had stopped working once he entered the car, as did his watch. He closed his eyes as the man droned on and on about policies, punishments, and in short, the reaping of his soul. He could feel the hum of the car engine and wondered how long before they arrived at headquarters.
“Mr. Rhybrook.” A distant voice echoed inside Aaron’s head.
”Sir,” the voice was now clear and very near his ear, “we have arrived. You must exit the vehicle.”
07 February 2010
The Matchmaker
approx 2200 words
I arrive at the house early. My way too expensive handbag digs into my shoulder and I wonder if I’ll end up with some nasty nerve damage. I’m still not sure how her card came into my possession, but I am not going to question my good fortune. I am tired of being single, and ready to try just about anything to change that, no matter how bizarre the means. Don’t get me wrong; I have certainly had my share of relationships. Girl meets guy, guy wants goodies, girl gives in, guy dumps girl and moves on to the next willing idiot. I am done with that song and dance. I want total commitment, total devotion, and a slice of happily ever after. That is why I am standing resolutely in front of number two twenty seven, Caraway Lane.
The door opens and I am ushered into a vast sitting room. I drop my bag to the floor and it makes a dull thump on the hardwood floor. Right away I notice the books. Each wall is lined from floor to ceiling with them. I can’t imagine ever having enough time to read that much, and wonder if she has read them all. Part of me wants to climb up the rolling ladder and run my fingers along their bindings, but the rational part of me keeps my butt on the sofa. I tear my eyes away from the myriad volumes lining the walls and am surprised to see a small silver box sitting benignly on the coffee table in front of me.
The box is slightly larger, and deeper than a pack of playing cards, and is covered in a delicate design. I draw closer to make out the design and hear, or rather feel, a humming, and vibration coming from the box. The top and edges of the box are adorned with intricately etched hearts. Inside each miniscule heart is a name. I try to make out some of the names, but every time I think I have one figured out, my eyes water up, and the letters swim out of focus. I am concentrating so hard on reading a particular name that I fail to notice the woman standing in front of me. A cool hand touches my cheek and I reluctantly draw my face away from the silver box.
The woman takes the seat opposite me and I feel shabby and beautiful in the same moment. She sits tall and straight with an air of confidence that draws me in, and makes me feel at ease. Her ebony hair falls in long sheets down her back, and she fixes me with a stare that lodges straight into my heart.
“I am Redocia.” She says. “You are here because you aren’t capable of tying your heart to someone else’s. I will help you with that, but it comes with a price, tailored specifically to you. Are you willing to pay?”
I scoot excitedly to the edge of my seat, ready to answer yes, but she quickly puts a finger to my lips, shakes her head and gives a sad smile.
“So quick to answer without even waiting to hear what the cost to you will be. You are too hasty young child, much too hasty.”
Her words are spoken kindly, but they pierce me, and make me feel foolish and rash. I take a deep breath and somehow find the courage to look on her face. I feel rattled by the depth I see in her eyes, and comforted by the compassion in them. Her skin is smooth and flawless and I am ashamed of my own lackluster visage. I swallow, and then begin.
“My name is Jezie,” I say, “short for Jezabella. I am not exactly sure how your card found me, but it seemed like the right thing to come see you.”
I reach across my lap and pull a small, red business card out of the side pocket of my bag, and hand it to her. My bangs fall out of a hastily installed clip so I sweep them behind my ear, hoping they will stay tucked. She takes the card and slips it into her sleeve. I immediately launch into the story of my sorry love life, explaining how no matter what tactic I take with men, I always seem to come out the worse for wear. I talk for half an hour, and she never interrupts, never even bats an eye. When I finish, I exhale and feel empty and relieved. I wait, not knowing what she will say or do.
“Jezie,” she says, and my name rolls off her tongue and it feels as if she now owns a part of me. “I saw you admiring my silver box. It is my greatest treasure.” One of her pale fingers lovingly strokes the lid and I realize that she has clutched my arm in her firm grip. I open my hand, and she places the box on my palm. I feel the vibration emanating from it, and my hand tingles.
“Inside this box is my collection. There are few, if any women who can match my skill or passion in obtaining these highly desired objects. Before I offer the contents of the box to you, I must tell you a story. After you hear my tale, we will discuss payment for my services. You will have one chance to back out, and I will never hear from you again. Agreed?”
I nod. I am unable to speak because an odd stillness has crept into the cavity of my chest. Redocia stands and beckons me to follow her through a doorway that has materialized in the wall. I rise from the sofa, silver box clasped tenderly in my hand, and follow the tall stately woman through the door. I hesitate for a brief moment before stepping across the threshold, but an unseen hand pushes gently against my lower back, and I cross over.
The room is bright and airy and feels warm in contrast to the swirling snow outside the picture windows. I notice, for the first time, Redocia’s dress. It is a simple cut, with a plunging neckline and hugs her body like a glove. I look down at my own outfit feeling underdressed, only to realize I am no longer wearing my comfy jeans and sweater. My dress matches Redocia’s except in color. She stands by a window, her hand resting lightly against the pane of glass. I walk in her direction, but she lifts her hand and I am directed to sit on one of the two high backed chairs. She looks longingly out towards the horizon, and then settles herself neatly on the other chair.
“I am a beautiful woman,” she said, “and with such beauty I have tamed the hearts of many men, bending them to my will and making them my own. Beauty is not enough, though, to tame hearts. My beauty is enhanced by charm, wit and intelligence, making me powerful and dangerous.”
Her words make the silver box in my hand resonate, and I see dozens of the etched hearts begin to glow. She continues her story in a mild tenor voice.
“Inside that box are the heartstrings of men I have tamed. I have traveled the world, hand selecting, gathering, and keeping safe that most precious item a man possesses. I love them, and know them and they entrust a portion of themselves to me, until the time is right to release them to their match. I have the power to call them to me, no matter where in the world they are, and they come. I am able to bind them to women, like you, looking for a man to be bound to. I have never had a failed matching.” She stops her narration and takes a sip from a glass filled with amber liquid.
I look past her and notice the gathering dark on the horizon. The snow falls thick and wet, and I am sure my car is turning into an indistinguishable lump out front. I pull my gaze from the window and place my hands on my knees, still clasping the box. I feel like it is time to speak.
“Earlier you spoke of payment, something tailored specifically for me?” I finger the silver box and see five of the hearts increase in brightness, the names on them becoming a little clearer. “I believe I am ready to hear your terms.”
“You must give me something of great value as payment for my services. Something that will almost break your heart to part with.”
I place my hand over my heart and close my eyes letting my chin drop to my chest. A small locket presses against my warm skin. It is the only thing I have left of my mother. Her picture, the size of my pinky nail, rests next to a tiny lock of her golden hair. I look up and see Redocia shaking her head, letting me know the locket is not enough. I think hard, and dig deep into my soul. I ponder for some time and then it comes to me. I cry out, and a little gasp escapes my lips. My joy, my solace, my release, my piano.
“You are almost there.” She said with a sad, thoughtful look in her eyes.
I realize she isn’t looking for something tangible. She wants something that I have poured my heart into, something that defines who I am, and sets me apart. I am a pianist. I have spent years of my life perfecting my talent. It is then I realize that I have to pay with my talent.
“My talent,” I whisper, “you want to take my talent?”
“ I will never take anything from you. That’s not how it works. You have to give it to me willingly, in exchange for the heartstring of a man. A man who will be devoted to you, love you, cherish you, fulfill you, complete you.” She turns her attention to the silver box on my knees. I glance down as well. “I can see you are getting close to a decision. Only three hearts are glowing now.”
I look down and see two hearts on top of the box, and one on the side glowing brightly. The names on each golden heart show crisp and clear in bright red lettering. Benjamin, Daniel, Samuel. I turn the box slowly in my hands, studying each glowing heart intently. I want to touch each tiny heart, but something holds me back. I feel the beat of my own heart pound sharply against my ribs. Redocia slides the box out of my hands, and I know it is time, and I am ready.
Redocia stands, holding a hand out to me. I place my hand in hers and allow myself to be lead to another door. Before we cross this threshold, she stops.
“Here is where you leave your payment behind or leave my home forever. If you truly wish to make the payment, you will be charged as soon as you walk through this door. If you wish to leave, another door will be open, and you are free to leave. Your payment will you’re your heart feel broken, almost beyond repair. It has to be this way to make the binding work. It will be painful, but you must give it willingly.”
I nod my understanding and cling tightly to her hand. I close my eyes, willing my heart to relinquish the years of practice, study, and love I have stored there; the years of dedication, tears and frustration. I inhale, then exhale, then step through the door. The pain is immediate and sever. I collapse in a heap and begin to retch in agony. I am alone. The room is dim and cold, and I feel completely abandoned.
In the far corner of the room I see a bright glow. The light gives me courage and I am drawn towards it. I find the silver box sitting on the floor, and realize the hearts are the source of light. I pick it up. The box feels warm and it resonates, cheering my broken heart a little. I look over the names again. Benjamin, Daniel, Samuel. I say each one out loud, feeling the name in my mouth and drawing it into my soul. After a time, only one name remains on my lips. Samuel. I reach down and touch the heart with his name on it. The box opens, revealing a velvet- lined interior. In the center of the box is a single heartstring, thrumming softly. I pick it up and place it against my chest, feeling the man it belongs to. My heart envelopes it, and the empty places begin to be filled.
A voice I have never heard before, but somehow recognize, calls my name. I turn toward the voice and see a man standing beside Redocia. My heart recognizes him, and I walk towards him, a shy smile on my face. He reaches out to me and I fall comfortably into his warm embrace. I feel his warmth and realize he has already given his heart to me, that it is mine to care for and love. My payment for this man’s heart seems like a trifle compared to the overwhelming fullness of joy I have in this moment. I know, without a doubt, the Matchmaker has once again made a perfect match.
31 January 2010
No Title Yet...
He leaned against the wall, staring at the large white building across the street. A swirl of emotions danced across his face, giving him an almost pained look. His heart quickened in his chest, and he involuntarily placed his hand against its rhythmic beats. He wished he hadn’t come, but there was nothing that would excuse him from this assignment.
A silver minivan drove past, momentarily blocking his view of the building. It seemed familiar, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw the driver waving in earnest. He glanced over his shoulder for a second look, but it had already turned into a parking lot and disappeared from view. He brushed it out of his mind and continued watching the building, waiting for a signal from his contact.
He had been sitting in the sweltering heat for nearly forty-five minutes. Something must be wrong. He was told this assignment would only take a quarter of an hour, however, the rules of assignments dictated that he remain at the scene until an hour had elapsed. This would give the infiltrator extra time if any unforeseen problems should arise. He glanced at his phone to check the time again and noticed the driver from the van walking his way.
He recognized her and knew he had two options. He could turn and run, or he could blow the whole assignment and acknowledge the woman walking towards him. If he engaged in conversation with anyone during an assignment he would be put on the red list and punished accordingly. They were always watching, always listening. He decided to run.
He took one last look at the white building before he began running down the street. A petite, blond woman had finally emerged from the front doors in a simple, white gown. A crown of daisies rested lightly on her head, and a sad smile pulled at the corners of her rosebud lips. A single glistening tear had caught the light, and for a brief moment, it sparkled like a diamond. His resolve almost faltered when he saw it was his sister, Mariella, being paraded across the grounds, hands tied tightly behind her back. Six men in brown robes guarded her, hedging her way against any attempt to flee.
23 October 2009
Day 8: Manifesto
"Shut up!" Yelling this time, staccato, sharp, piercing sounds from her throat, desperate to penetrate, to breach his consciousness and force him to understand her need for him to be silent.
"Just shut up! I don't need your arguments, your reasons, your long lists of how you're right and I'm ALWAYS wrong, and if the world JUST went according to what YOU thought and YOU wanted then it would be just BETTER for everyone! I hate it! I hate it! You and your self loathing I'm such a pathetic victim and everyone should pity me and do what I say manifesto!"
She was breathing heavy, her eyes dilating, nostrils flaring, face reddening. He had never seen her this angry before. He actually didn't know she could get angry. For so much of their friendship she had always been the calm one, the reasonable one, the pacific, placid, pensive one who seemed to live outside of the everyday experience of human aggravation.
Wow, he thought, you think you know someone.....
"Just shut up! I don't need your arguments, your reasons, your long lists of how you're right and I'm ALWAYS wrong, and if the world JUST went according to what YOU thought and YOU wanted then it would be just BETTER for everyone! I hate it! I hate it! You and your self loathing I'm such a pathetic victim and everyone should pity me and do what I say manifesto!"
She was breathing heavy, her eyes dilating, nostrils flaring, face reddening. He had never seen her this angry before. He actually didn't know she could get angry. For so much of their friendship she had always been the calm one, the reasonable one, the pacific, placid, pensive one who seemed to live outside of the everyday experience of human aggravation.
Wow, he thought, you think you know someone.....
22 October 2009
Day 7: Crispy
Sweet, crispy, luxurious. Those were the words to describe the delightful concoction now swirling around on her tongue. Ayla opened her eyes. It was wrong, she knew, to indulge herself so thoroughly on such delights when most of her father's kingdom was starving, but when it came to Chef Chuley's miraculous bit size choco balls, she had no resistance.
Day 6 : Bilge
(def: the widest circumference or belly of a cask)
The light sputtered and obstinately threatened to refuse to shine. A few more vigorous pulls of the chain woke it from its stupor and coaxed a dim, yellow luminescence from the old tired bulb. This corner of the ship was in sad disrepair. Being on the lowest level of the schooner, and also the hardest to access, it was rare for human eyes to take inventory of its state. If the outside hull wasn't leaking, the inside wasn't much worried about. Through most of the ship's voyages this nook remained empty - cursed and abandoned as a misfortune created by bad planning on the part of the shipbuilder. This journey, however, the dank inconvenient bit of ship sported a curious cargo. Twenty-seven ironwood casks were lined up against the furthermost hull, tied tightly together with black horse hair rope,and painted with the symbol of the corn crow on their bilges.
The light sputtered and obstinately threatened to refuse to shine. A few more vigorous pulls of the chain woke it from its stupor and coaxed a dim, yellow luminescence from the old tired bulb. This corner of the ship was in sad disrepair. Being on the lowest level of the schooner, and also the hardest to access, it was rare for human eyes to take inventory of its state. If the outside hull wasn't leaking, the inside wasn't much worried about. Through most of the ship's voyages this nook remained empty - cursed and abandoned as a misfortune created by bad planning on the part of the shipbuilder. This journey, however, the dank inconvenient bit of ship sported a curious cargo. Twenty-seven ironwood casks were lined up against the furthermost hull, tied tightly together with black horse hair rope,and painted with the symbol of the corn crow on their bilges.
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