Cognac diamonds lit with passion's fire
Yours is the touch that ignites my desire
Dreams of tomorrow built today
Bring perfect images to guide our way
A yearning that burns brighter than stars above
You've taught me the real meaning of love.
Showing posts with label free write. Show all posts
Showing posts with label free write. Show all posts
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
The Dump
As I was cleaning out the attic this weekend, I found all sorts of old junk that I had forgotten was even there. Of course, when I first stumbled upon my “treasures,” I wanted to keep everything I saw. Why would I have kept them in the first place? But, after pouring through box after box of broken toys and ripped parchment, I convinced myself that my “treasures” were ready for their final resting place. Being as this was Saturday and that trash pick-up day wasn’t until Wednesday, it required a trip to… the dump. Even now, I wince at the thought of having to brave the ever-present gloom that reigns there. The dump is a strange yet repulsive place… a place where people tend to bury the human spirit along with their trash.
From the main road, entering the dump looked like you were entering the grounds of a federal prison – and we’re not talking “Club Fed”. The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire invitingly curled around the top of each section. Following the slow procession of vehicles to the front gate, I noticed a man peeking through the blinds of a dirty office building. The building’s grey exterior was peeling away, the result of prolonged exposure to the toxic environment of hair spray cans, dirty baby diapers, and rotten banana peels. As soon as the man noticed me looking back, he hurriedly closed the blinds.
A man in filthy grey coveralls was standing out front to interrogate each passerby about their garbage. “Do you have any used batteries?” “Are you disposing of hazardous materials?” “Are you dumping used oil?” The list of questions went on and on for what felt like forever – until you were ready to surrender and admit to smuggling in a bag full of non-biodegradable Styrofoam containers just to make the man leave you alone. You’d even be willing to sign a confession in blood just to make this guy quit asking the never-ending parade of questions.
As I drove on into the interior sanctum of the dump, I noticed another unsightly building high upon a hill, overshadowing the recycling bins. This one had to be twenty-five feet tall and draped with rusted old sheet metal. The building looked like it had been rammed into by a wrecking ball at least a million times, and that it would collapse upon that million and first time, taking everything in it straight to hell. Trucks full of furniture, brush, and tree limbs were unloaded inside of the building – the dump’s own execution chamber. Within the walls of this building contained the largest crushing machine on the premises. When it activated, it made torturous scraping noised accompanied by splintering crackles. You could almost hear the death screams of each abandoned couch or chair as it was tossed into the machine like yesterday’s newspaper.
The stench was overpowering, unbearable – an odor of death mixed with the acrid aroma of despair. The wind stirred and brought along with it the stench of long-forgotten, abandoned, used baby diapers. I pulled my shirt up over my nose, trying to filter the bitterness through the lingering scent of fabric softener and my body spray, but it was too much for my crude attempt to hands.
I choked back a gag as I saw a fat rat fumbling with a half-rotted McDonald’s bag, oozing slimy aged lettuce and ketchup as it did. Weeds bordering the fence were littered with plastic wrappers, Styrofoam cups, and other non-biodegradable materials. Polluted water was seeping out of the dumpsters and had formed stagnate puddles infested with thousands of tiny, spasmodic worms.
I wondered how anyone could work in this foul environment and remain healthy, either physically or mentally. I also wondered how the county could afford to pay anyone enough to work in this harsh, alien terrain.
Most of the people at the dump all had the same blank expression on their faces, void of any emotion except perhaps disgust. They came in like robots, emptied their trash, and sped away as fast as possible without running someone else over.
There was, however, a sub-culture at the dump – those people disdainfully referred to as “Dumpster Divers” by most of the public. One of these dumpster divers, a man whose pants would not stay up and had dipped low enough to reveal a full inch and a half of his butt crack, was crawling through a dumpster full of old washers and dryers. At one point he surfaced, wiping his sweating face with one grimy hand, and paced back and forth furiously like he was contemplating the meaning of life… the world… and everything. Suddenly, he dove back in like he’d discovered the world’s greatest treasure at the bottom of this metallic coffin. No one paid attention to him… they all pretended his existence was nothing more than a mere shadow or trick of light.
At the next dumpster over, a young man was throwing away heavy, black plastic trash bags full of roofing shingles. The reason I know this? One of the bags caught the corner of the dumpster and ripped open while the young man was hurling it into the dumpster, causing shingles to rain down on the ground like torn piece of black hail. This caught my attention because he was standing almost directly under a sign that read, “ABSOLUTELY NO CONTRACTOR OR CONSTRUCTION DEBRIS.”
Within minutes, a man wearing a coffee-stained T-shirt and hat bearing the county’s logo approached the young offender. He asked, “Hey, sonny, whatcha got in them bags?”
The young man shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Just some old garbage.”
Knowing that the young man was lying, but not really caring enough to call him on it, the old man sneered a sinister yellow grin and said, “Them bags look awfully heavy, son. Are you sure you don’t have any body parts in there?”
They both laughed, and I decided to leave them alone. After all, my task was now finished.
So I left that eerie, malodorous place. I drove away from the dump as quickly as I could before I could bury my spirit – my very humanity – along with the trash I had dumped. The dump is death personified – a graveyard laden with the excesses of society. I ran away – far, far away – from the dump before it could sink its claws into me, infecting me with its decomposition and melancholy.
From the main road, entering the dump looked like you were entering the grounds of a federal prison – and we’re not talking “Club Fed”. The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire invitingly curled around the top of each section. Following the slow procession of vehicles to the front gate, I noticed a man peeking through the blinds of a dirty office building. The building’s grey exterior was peeling away, the result of prolonged exposure to the toxic environment of hair spray cans, dirty baby diapers, and rotten banana peels. As soon as the man noticed me looking back, he hurriedly closed the blinds.
A man in filthy grey coveralls was standing out front to interrogate each passerby about their garbage. “Do you have any used batteries?” “Are you disposing of hazardous materials?” “Are you dumping used oil?” The list of questions went on and on for what felt like forever – until you were ready to surrender and admit to smuggling in a bag full of non-biodegradable Styrofoam containers just to make the man leave you alone. You’d even be willing to sign a confession in blood just to make this guy quit asking the never-ending parade of questions.
As I drove on into the interior sanctum of the dump, I noticed another unsightly building high upon a hill, overshadowing the recycling bins. This one had to be twenty-five feet tall and draped with rusted old sheet metal. The building looked like it had been rammed into by a wrecking ball at least a million times, and that it would collapse upon that million and first time, taking everything in it straight to hell. Trucks full of furniture, brush, and tree limbs were unloaded inside of the building – the dump’s own execution chamber. Within the walls of this building contained the largest crushing machine on the premises. When it activated, it made torturous scraping noised accompanied by splintering crackles. You could almost hear the death screams of each abandoned couch or chair as it was tossed into the machine like yesterday’s newspaper.
The stench was overpowering, unbearable – an odor of death mixed with the acrid aroma of despair. The wind stirred and brought along with it the stench of long-forgotten, abandoned, used baby diapers. I pulled my shirt up over my nose, trying to filter the bitterness through the lingering scent of fabric softener and my body spray, but it was too much for my crude attempt to hands.
I choked back a gag as I saw a fat rat fumbling with a half-rotted McDonald’s bag, oozing slimy aged lettuce and ketchup as it did. Weeds bordering the fence were littered with plastic wrappers, Styrofoam cups, and other non-biodegradable materials. Polluted water was seeping out of the dumpsters and had formed stagnate puddles infested with thousands of tiny, spasmodic worms.
I wondered how anyone could work in this foul environment and remain healthy, either physically or mentally. I also wondered how the county could afford to pay anyone enough to work in this harsh, alien terrain.
Most of the people at the dump all had the same blank expression on their faces, void of any emotion except perhaps disgust. They came in like robots, emptied their trash, and sped away as fast as possible without running someone else over.
There was, however, a sub-culture at the dump – those people disdainfully referred to as “Dumpster Divers” by most of the public. One of these dumpster divers, a man whose pants would not stay up and had dipped low enough to reveal a full inch and a half of his butt crack, was crawling through a dumpster full of old washers and dryers. At one point he surfaced, wiping his sweating face with one grimy hand, and paced back and forth furiously like he was contemplating the meaning of life… the world… and everything. Suddenly, he dove back in like he’d discovered the world’s greatest treasure at the bottom of this metallic coffin. No one paid attention to him… they all pretended his existence was nothing more than a mere shadow or trick of light.
At the next dumpster over, a young man was throwing away heavy, black plastic trash bags full of roofing shingles. The reason I know this? One of the bags caught the corner of the dumpster and ripped open while the young man was hurling it into the dumpster, causing shingles to rain down on the ground like torn piece of black hail. This caught my attention because he was standing almost directly under a sign that read, “ABSOLUTELY NO CONTRACTOR OR CONSTRUCTION DEBRIS.”
Within minutes, a man wearing a coffee-stained T-shirt and hat bearing the county’s logo approached the young offender. He asked, “Hey, sonny, whatcha got in them bags?”
The young man shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Just some old garbage.”
Knowing that the young man was lying, but not really caring enough to call him on it, the old man sneered a sinister yellow grin and said, “Them bags look awfully heavy, son. Are you sure you don’t have any body parts in there?”
They both laughed, and I decided to leave them alone. After all, my task was now finished.
So I left that eerie, malodorous place. I drove away from the dump as quickly as I could before I could bury my spirit – my very humanity – along with the trash I had dumped. The dump is death personified – a graveyard laden with the excesses of society. I ran away – far, far away – from the dump before it could sink its claws into me, infecting me with its decomposition and melancholy.
Monday, July 20, 2009
A Dark So Heavy
You know me. Deep down in the depths of your psyche, you know me very well. I am the thing lurking at the very edges of your world, where reality and illusion blur together. I am the ravenous creature that fed on your fears as a child – the monster in the closet; the bogeyman hiding under your bed, waiting to snatch you when your defenses were at their lowest. You didn’t realize what I was then, did you? Only when you were older… wiser… and more alone than ever did it dawn on you what I was. But you couldn’t verbalize it – couldn’t find the words to describe what was happening.
You have always thought me a monster, and I am. I am your personal monster. Your parents always told you I wasn’t real, but you never believed them. You could feel my cold icy fingers reaching for your heart in the darkness of midnight. You could feel the weight of my presence pressing down on you like that of a lover… a lover more concerned with your pain than your pleasure.
You cried tears into the pillow after your parents left you, assuring you there wasn’t anything there – that small pillow with the daisy-patterned pillowcase that your mother fluffed for you every night before kissing you good night. Once they left, you could feel me invading, and the tears would flow, staining the cotton case through to the pillow itself. I liked those tears. No offering could have been more delicious. I licked them off your pillow… from your cheeks, your lips, your eyes. Savoring their salty, fear-tinged taste, I licked you to sleep.
You should thank me. I was the only one who would ever touch you. Even when everyone else claimed to love you, I was still the only one to touch you. Every time you touched yourself, I was there – hiding in your fingers, wrapped around your skin like the lingering scent of a rose. Want to be touched now? There’s no one else who will do it – it’s just you and me. Together.
It was more fun as you got older. Feeding on your fear, that is. More pain – from your friends, your family, but never from me. I would devour you once they had finished destroying the few dreams you’d built around you. Sucking out the hope with deep strokes of my tongue. I made my home in that heavy pit of emptiness within your heart. Grown sick of closets, that’s where I felt my most comfortable – finally one with you.
Did you feel me there? Could you feel my icy touch when the one you wished to love pushed you away? Just a little push at first – a nudge, really. Then harder when you didn’t go… harder and harder, words and actions cutting you to the quick and searing your soul. Again! Again! It was good for me. Was it good for you too?
Feeling a little strange now? Don’t blame me. I wasn’t the one who placed the razor in your hand. It was slick for me though… and so sweet. The cuts from the razors left a small tinge of burgundy and that salty, acrid taste of blood. The taste was a million times sweeter than that of your tears – blood that told of the emptiness welling just beneath your breast.
You surprised me, you know, when you started to hit yourself. Just a few smacks here and there – your shoulders, your head – in an attempt to drive me away. But you can’t drive me out in such a cowardly way. So go ahead coward, bash your head against the wall; beat your shoulders; bruise your chest. Only one thing will drive me away, and that would take guts. And inverting into yourself – into that pit I made – is a coward’s way out. And it makes your blood sweeter. The smell is exquisite – blood tainted with orchids and vanilla – and I only grow stronger. I’m like an undertow – so dark, so heavy, and so cold.
What do you expect now? Standing there naked as you are, razor in hand. Do you want me to take that first cut? I won’t, you know. I’ll make you inflict that upon yourself. But when that first stroke of the razor does come, I’ll be ready. I’ll be there to lick at the blood as it drips to the floor, feeding and taking away the tears from your lips.
Trapped in my chains of loneliness and sadism, I’m all you have.
It’s almost complete, that special place deep within that only I can touch. It’s the part of you that knows. No longer lurking under beds, behind the dresser, or in the closet, I am with you – the only one who loves you. I’m the only one who aches to touch your lips, feel your breath, kiss your skin. I will feed forever with you as we are bound by a dark so heavy.
You have always thought me a monster, and I am. I am your personal monster. Your parents always told you I wasn’t real, but you never believed them. You could feel my cold icy fingers reaching for your heart in the darkness of midnight. You could feel the weight of my presence pressing down on you like that of a lover… a lover more concerned with your pain than your pleasure.
You cried tears into the pillow after your parents left you, assuring you there wasn’t anything there – that small pillow with the daisy-patterned pillowcase that your mother fluffed for you every night before kissing you good night. Once they left, you could feel me invading, and the tears would flow, staining the cotton case through to the pillow itself. I liked those tears. No offering could have been more delicious. I licked them off your pillow… from your cheeks, your lips, your eyes. Savoring their salty, fear-tinged taste, I licked you to sleep.
You should thank me. I was the only one who would ever touch you. Even when everyone else claimed to love you, I was still the only one to touch you. Every time you touched yourself, I was there – hiding in your fingers, wrapped around your skin like the lingering scent of a rose. Want to be touched now? There’s no one else who will do it – it’s just you and me. Together.
It was more fun as you got older. Feeding on your fear, that is. More pain – from your friends, your family, but never from me. I would devour you once they had finished destroying the few dreams you’d built around you. Sucking out the hope with deep strokes of my tongue. I made my home in that heavy pit of emptiness within your heart. Grown sick of closets, that’s where I felt my most comfortable – finally one with you.
Did you feel me there? Could you feel my icy touch when the one you wished to love pushed you away? Just a little push at first – a nudge, really. Then harder when you didn’t go… harder and harder, words and actions cutting you to the quick and searing your soul. Again! Again! It was good for me. Was it good for you too?
Feeling a little strange now? Don’t blame me. I wasn’t the one who placed the razor in your hand. It was slick for me though… and so sweet. The cuts from the razors left a small tinge of burgundy and that salty, acrid taste of blood. The taste was a million times sweeter than that of your tears – blood that told of the emptiness welling just beneath your breast.
You surprised me, you know, when you started to hit yourself. Just a few smacks here and there – your shoulders, your head – in an attempt to drive me away. But you can’t drive me out in such a cowardly way. So go ahead coward, bash your head against the wall; beat your shoulders; bruise your chest. Only one thing will drive me away, and that would take guts. And inverting into yourself – into that pit I made – is a coward’s way out. And it makes your blood sweeter. The smell is exquisite – blood tainted with orchids and vanilla – and I only grow stronger. I’m like an undertow – so dark, so heavy, and so cold.
What do you expect now? Standing there naked as you are, razor in hand. Do you want me to take that first cut? I won’t, you know. I’ll make you inflict that upon yourself. But when that first stroke of the razor does come, I’ll be ready. I’ll be there to lick at the blood as it drips to the floor, feeding and taking away the tears from your lips.
Trapped in my chains of loneliness and sadism, I’m all you have.
It’s almost complete, that special place deep within that only I can touch. It’s the part of you that knows. No longer lurking under beds, behind the dresser, or in the closet, I am with you – the only one who loves you. I’m the only one who aches to touch your lips, feel your breath, kiss your skin. I will feed forever with you as we are bound by a dark so heavy.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Bumba's Stomache
(African Creation Myth - Boshongo Tribe)
Pain!
Consuming pain seated deep in the pit of
This immortal's stomach, and
He did his best to be rid of it.
In a blinding burst,
Bumba belched and heaved,
Bringing forth into the void
The brightness of the noonday sun.
As the sun did warm the earth,
Drying the many waters,
Bumba's stomach still ached with
A soul-devouring pain.
He heaved and heaved again,
Creating a heavenly tidal wave -
Painting the blackness of night with
The virgin moon and diamond stars.
With one last heave,
The god's pain was no longer
For he had populated the new earth with
The leopard, turtle, crocodile, and man.
Pain!
Consuming pain seated deep in the pit of
This immortal's stomach, and
He did his best to be rid of it.
In a blinding burst,
Bumba belched and heaved,
Bringing forth into the void
The brightness of the noonday sun.
As the sun did warm the earth,
Drying the many waters,
Bumba's stomach still ached with
A soul-devouring pain.
He heaved and heaved again,
Creating a heavenly tidal wave -
Painting the blackness of night with
The virgin moon and diamond stars.
With one last heave,
The god's pain was no longer
For he had populated the new earth with
The leopard, turtle, crocodile, and man.
Pandora
(Greek Mythology)
A punishment to mankind
For the misdeeds of living forethought,
She was put upon the Earth
With just one burning desire.
Although she tried to resist
The quiet calling of curiosity,
Caution lost the battle in
The war waged within her mind.
Thus upon the earth was visited
Horrors too many to name.
Among the worse were truly evil -
Mortal pain, sickness, envy, and greed.
Cursed to know the abject grief of
Sorrow forever more,
The foolish woman did scream
Until at last a glimmer -
The escape of hope into the world -
Did give her cause to smile once more.
A punishment to mankind
For the misdeeds of living forethought,
She was put upon the Earth
With just one burning desire.
Although she tried to resist
The quiet calling of curiosity,
Caution lost the battle in
The war waged within her mind.
Thus upon the earth was visited
Horrors too many to name.
Among the worse were truly evil -
Mortal pain, sickness, envy, and greed.
Cursed to know the abject grief of
Sorrow forever more,
The foolish woman did scream
Until at last a glimmer -
The escape of hope into the world -
Did give her cause to smile once more.
Nyx
(Greek Creation Myth)
An abyssmal void-
Dark, vast, and bitterly cold -
The powerful Nyx sat alone,
No one for her to behold.
A grand idea did strike -
A beautiful golden egg she'd lay
And selflessly warm the orb,
Sacrificing herself day after day.
Years and years did past,
And still our fair Nyx
Warmed her precious golden egg
In hopes the universe would be fixed.
Until finally a large crack
Throughout the space did ring
And the two halves of the shell,
Their curvatures did bring
The atmosphere - our loving sky
And breathable, clean air;
They also brought the very Earth upon
Which the humans labored with care.
An abyssmal void-
Dark, vast, and bitterly cold -
The powerful Nyx sat alone,
No one for her to behold.
A grand idea did strike -
A beautiful golden egg she'd lay
And selflessly warm the orb,
Sacrificing herself day after day.
Years and years did past,
And still our fair Nyx
Warmed her precious golden egg
In hopes the universe would be fixed.
Until finally a large crack
Throughout the space did ring
And the two halves of the shell,
Their curvatures did bring
The atmosphere - our loving sky
And breathable, clean air;
They also brought the very Earth upon
Which the humans labored with care.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Free Write - A "Slice of Life"
An assignation at midnight, shadows wavering like black flames coming on a warm, flower-scented breeze. His laughter was rich and thick as chocolate – as if you could pull it from the air and eat it. His voice slithered into the room, low and full of promise… silken whispers in the small hours of the night. He walked into the room, as if the air boiled invisibly around him.
She stood there at the window, beautifully silhouetted in that pure white light spreading like ice over the darkness. Not beautiful and not supremely brilliant, she was filled with something that took the place of both qualities – something best described as a profound vivacity… a continual and sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through life. She was a sexual dessert of curves and points.
She whispered a greeting, a voice so close to silence that one must strain to hear it. That whisper hovered around his body like a line of warmth, a whisper of ghostly electricity.
He went to her, filled with images of his dreams. Dreams of kissing her so hard his mouth hurt; so soft his heart hurt; so long his neck hurt; so deep his throat hurt; and so completely that nothing hurts.
Standing behind her, nuzzling into her neck, this was a nocturnal visit filled with the promise of delicious physical intimacy. He savored the very sweet taste of saliva mixed with skin – skin unnaturally soft, like living velvet. She glowed like there was an ethereal light inside of her… a light only lit by the spark of his touch.
Turning to face him, her eyes drank him down like a parched man eyes a glass of water – eyes flaming with hunger, desire, and truth. Moving to his face, her eyes softened and grew liquid, a fervent passion flaring to life.
He kissed her, his lips soft as silk; gentle as rose petals; hot as the noonday sun. His tongue was a quick wetness exploring the inner reaches of her honeyed mouth. Passion roared in his ears like great waves that crash up and over the beach, never receding but only building more with each tick of the bright night’s clock.
Something inside him melted that hurt in an exquisite way. All his longings; all his dreams and sweet anguish; all the secrets held asleep within him came to life. At once everything was transformed and everything made sense. That first kiss united their souls, the spirits entwining in the very breath they breathed. And each exhalation was a baptism in fire.
He always knew that she could change minds and alter moods with just a touch, but now he knew that she could instantly take possession of a soul with just a kiss. For in that kiss, he lost his very existence.
With a voice soft, low, and more private than the setting, he whispered that he loved her. He stroked her face softly, knowing what his mother had meant when she had told his sister that love and electricity were one in the same. With every kiss, he felt a jolt in his soul; with every whisper and touch, he felt as if he’d been shocked into life.
They sighed together, an air of breathless intensity as the night turned to dawn. The coming sun was the first blue gaze of the day. This love they shared was much like a wild rose – beautiful and calm but willing to draw blood in its defense. Tested once by a merciless man to whom she’d been betrothed, he’d already shed that blood to keep her safe. Now, as they watched the sun spread its warming fingers across the sky like pale pastel ribbons, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure they would be together.
She stood there at the window, beautifully silhouetted in that pure white light spreading like ice over the darkness. Not beautiful and not supremely brilliant, she was filled with something that took the place of both qualities – something best described as a profound vivacity… a continual and sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through life. She was a sexual dessert of curves and points.
She whispered a greeting, a voice so close to silence that one must strain to hear it. That whisper hovered around his body like a line of warmth, a whisper of ghostly electricity.
He went to her, filled with images of his dreams. Dreams of kissing her so hard his mouth hurt; so soft his heart hurt; so long his neck hurt; so deep his throat hurt; and so completely that nothing hurts.
Standing behind her, nuzzling into her neck, this was a nocturnal visit filled with the promise of delicious physical intimacy. He savored the very sweet taste of saliva mixed with skin – skin unnaturally soft, like living velvet. She glowed like there was an ethereal light inside of her… a light only lit by the spark of his touch.
Turning to face him, her eyes drank him down like a parched man eyes a glass of water – eyes flaming with hunger, desire, and truth. Moving to his face, her eyes softened and grew liquid, a fervent passion flaring to life.
He kissed her, his lips soft as silk; gentle as rose petals; hot as the noonday sun. His tongue was a quick wetness exploring the inner reaches of her honeyed mouth. Passion roared in his ears like great waves that crash up and over the beach, never receding but only building more with each tick of the bright night’s clock.
Something inside him melted that hurt in an exquisite way. All his longings; all his dreams and sweet anguish; all the secrets held asleep within him came to life. At once everything was transformed and everything made sense. That first kiss united their souls, the spirits entwining in the very breath they breathed. And each exhalation was a baptism in fire.
He always knew that she could change minds and alter moods with just a touch, but now he knew that she could instantly take possession of a soul with just a kiss. For in that kiss, he lost his very existence.
With a voice soft, low, and more private than the setting, he whispered that he loved her. He stroked her face softly, knowing what his mother had meant when she had told his sister that love and electricity were one in the same. With every kiss, he felt a jolt in his soul; with every whisper and touch, he felt as if he’d been shocked into life.
They sighed together, an air of breathless intensity as the night turned to dawn. The coming sun was the first blue gaze of the day. This love they shared was much like a wild rose – beautiful and calm but willing to draw blood in its defense. Tested once by a merciless man to whom she’d been betrothed, he’d already shed that blood to keep her safe. Now, as they watched the sun spread its warming fingers across the sky like pale pastel ribbons, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure they would be together.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Religion (a free write)
Myth based in fact? Or fact based in myth? The concept of religion is one of the oldest debates in history. Every culture in the world has worshipped a chosen god or a variety of gods and spirits, but is religion based in fact or myth?
It is a question that may never be answered because no one truly knows. No one living today has concrete proof that any one religion is based wholly in fact. While there may be bits and pieces of verifiable fact in every religious story, that is what the largely remain – a story.
Religion is mainly a moral prescription of life. In the form of fables and narrative, it gives you a how and why for living a good, just life. A comparison of today’s major religions (and quite a few minor ones) will show common themes. “Honor thyself and thy family.” “Be kind and helpful in your community.” “Do not want for more than you have.” These are some of the basic tenets of religion across the world.
And how you live your life dictates how you spend your afterlife.
What religion requires that a lot of people have lost is the ability to believe. You have to be able to ignore that tiny part of your brain that says, “Wait!! Show me the proof that this actually happened!!” Without that ability to believe – the ability to put faith in something outside of yourself – you will never be able to embrace religion. No matter what flavor is offered, you’ll find it unappetizing. You’ll be unable to find the necessary power to fully believe.
So then, it leads me to ask…
Who is the more powerful man?
He who can step outside the confines of the conventional and trust his faith in the unknown and unseen?
Or he who cannot, even for a moment, suspend cynicism and disbelief to trust in a power outside himself?
It is a question that may never be answered because no one truly knows. No one living today has concrete proof that any one religion is based wholly in fact. While there may be bits and pieces of verifiable fact in every religious story, that is what the largely remain – a story.
Religion is mainly a moral prescription of life. In the form of fables and narrative, it gives you a how and why for living a good, just life. A comparison of today’s major religions (and quite a few minor ones) will show common themes. “Honor thyself and thy family.” “Be kind and helpful in your community.” “Do not want for more than you have.” These are some of the basic tenets of religion across the world.
And how you live your life dictates how you spend your afterlife.
What religion requires that a lot of people have lost is the ability to believe. You have to be able to ignore that tiny part of your brain that says, “Wait!! Show me the proof that this actually happened!!” Without that ability to believe – the ability to put faith in something outside of yourself – you will never be able to embrace religion. No matter what flavor is offered, you’ll find it unappetizing. You’ll be unable to find the necessary power to fully believe.
So then, it leads me to ask…
Who is the more powerful man?
He who can step outside the confines of the conventional and trust his faith in the unknown and unseen?
Or he who cannot, even for a moment, suspend cynicism and disbelief to trust in a power outside himself?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Free Write - Emotions
What is it about the emotions that can dictate the very course of our lives? What is it about a smile or a laugh that touches us so very deep inside without even a moment's thought?
Emotions are a very volatile subject in many, many ways. They cause us to sing in the rain; dance on a roof; cry in our sleep; and any number of strange reactions to the world around us. They can have us singing someone's praises one moment and cursing their very name the next.
As a human being, our lives are dictated by our emotions. If you wake up happy and ready to go in the morning, even if the day is derailed for a moment, you are still ready to face the world. Yet, if you wake up "on the wrong side of the bed," everything seems to go down hill from there.
We attach emotional significance to everything around us. Every sight, smell, taste, and touch brings back some memory of where we were and what we were doing when we first experienced that - and the emotions that surrounded us at that very moment in time. Every sound that surrounds us brings to mind a time where we were elated or crushed - and the sound will affect us the very same way.
So what is it about our emotions that make them so very powerful? What makes us so ruled by those very emotions many try to keep in check?
Emotions are a very volatile subject in many, many ways. They cause us to sing in the rain; dance on a roof; cry in our sleep; and any number of strange reactions to the world around us. They can have us singing someone's praises one moment and cursing their very name the next.
As a human being, our lives are dictated by our emotions. If you wake up happy and ready to go in the morning, even if the day is derailed for a moment, you are still ready to face the world. Yet, if you wake up "on the wrong side of the bed," everything seems to go down hill from there.
We attach emotional significance to everything around us. Every sight, smell, taste, and touch brings back some memory of where we were and what we were doing when we first experienced that - and the emotions that surrounded us at that very moment in time. Every sound that surrounds us brings to mind a time where we were elated or crushed - and the sound will affect us the very same way.
So what is it about our emotions that make them so very powerful? What makes us so ruled by those very emotions many try to keep in check?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Talent
Talent is defined by the Princeton word net as being a “natural endowment (natural abilities or qualities)”, but is talent something you’re merely born with? Or is it something you can develop over time with practice?
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Soundtrack of Your Life... Part 1
Music is an integral part of my life... of my work... of my soul and passion. Without music, I would not be able to get through even the simplest tasks of the day - and that includes my writing. In fact, odd as it may seem, I am often times struck with fabulous inspiration by listening to a slow, sappy love song. Inspiration for what? Why, for murder, of course.
Music is such a part of me that I took the time to think about what, if any songs, would be listed on the (2 disc) soundtrack to my life. This is the first half of that list:
Track 1: Barry Manilow's Can't Smile Without You
Reason Why: Okay, I admit it - I am a Fanilow. Yes, his songs are often best termed bubble gum pop, but there is no denying that Barry Manilow has changed the face of music - both contemporary and in the world of television jingles - forever more. Not only that, but who doesn't know some of the words to at least ONE Barry Manilow hit (~~At the Copa... Copacabana~~)? Can't Smile Without You is one of the very first 45s I ever owned - and it was at the tender age of 5, I do believe. The melody of the song and the simple emotion expressed by this song always can make me smile.
Track 2: Tim McGraw's Live Like You Were Dying
Reason Why: The title of the song says it all, Live Like You Were Dying. There is far too much time we spend doing things that, in the grand scheme of it all, do not matter one bit. Who, years from now, is going to remember that you worked all those unnecessary hours on projects no one cares about? The only thing that will be remembered is your absence from the lives of those you love. Instead, you should embrace today for what it is - one more day to live life to its fullest - and spend the hours as if they were your last on this earth.
Track 3: Alan Parsons Project's Oh Life (There Must Be More)
Reason Why: So why would such a sad song about a woman wondering out into the water to drown herself, make the list of tracks on the soundtrack of my life? It's there simply as a reminder - a reminder of those nights spent, drowning in my own sorrow and thinking that this was the end of something. Oh Life (There Must Be More) is one of those songs that expresses the sheer hell of a terminal case of loneliness and neglect better than any other song out there. The way the music ebbs and flows with the poignancy of the lyrics emphasizes the complete despair the woman feels... and it is a great reminder that, no matter how bleak the situation, there is more to life than what you can see.
Track 4: John Mayer's 3X5
Reason Why: This song is probably the song that made me fall in love with John Mayer's music. Sure, I heard No Such Thing on the radio and loved the song itself, but 3X5 is such a great song with such true lyrics. Why spend your life looking at what you experience as if through the filtering lens of a camera? You cannot fully savor the best of what is being offered to you. You need to put aside that lens and just experience life - experience that which surrounds you and you've always been too busy to take full notice of.
Track 5: Winger's Headed For A Heart Break
Reason Why: This song is here as a reminder of things that were fantastic but were never meant to be. It is now and forever a memory of early teenage years and a first love... of summers spent in the sun and nights spent on the phone, experiencing what it was like to truly get to know someone beyond the surface of their facade.
Track 6: B.J. Thomas's Rock And Roll Lullaby
Reason Why: Ah, the pure joy and innocence of the young! This song is not on my list because of the song itself (although it does seem to be the one and only BJ Thomas song I can stomach for more than 45 seconds). This song is a reminder of times when people were not so guarded - were not so afraid to express their emotions freely and without reserve. This song has assumed its place in the soundtrack of my life for one reason - I can remember my dad holding me when I was a toddler, dancing, and singing to this song. It still brings a tear to my eye because of that reason.
Track 7: The Beatles' With A Little Help From My Friends
Reason Why: No one gets through life without help from your friends. That's why this song has earned a place in the soundtrack of my life.
Track 8: Sting's Brand New Day
Reason Why: The sentiment of this song is a great one - no matter how hurt you feel right now, tomorrow is a brand new day. It's a great thing to remember and to live by.
Track 9: Billy Joel's You're Only Human (Second Wind)
Reason Why: This is my favorite Billy Joel song of all time - and the lyrics say it all. ~~You're only human - you're allowed to make your share of mistakes~~ No one is perfect - and you shouldn't expect to be. Allow yourself to be human and enjoy life.
Track 10: Chris Botti's Midnight Without You
Reason Why: This song is a sentimental favorite. Beautiful music, beautiful lyrics... and a heartbreakingly true message.
Track 11: Jackson Browne & Clarence Clemmon's You're A Friend Of Mine
Reason Why: How many friends have come and go in your life that you can fondly look back and say, "Oh yeah! I can remember doing that with so-and-so... and it was a blast!!" This song is in the soundtrack of my life to remind me of all the great people I've met throughout my life - and the wonderful experience it was to know them.
Track 12: Reunion's Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me)
Reason Why: Music, music, music! It's such a major part of my life, a song about music's history from about the 60s on would need to be included in the soundtrack of my life, doncha think?
Track 13: Dan Hill's Sometimes When We Touch
Reason Why: This song may not be a pulitzer prize winning ballad, but who says our favorites need to be? This song is included because it is one of my all-time favorite love songs (and believe me, I listen to enough of them). A song about a man who wants to love the woman he is with but can't quite find it in him to love her like she wants him to, this song can rip me apart and build me back up in the same breath. Plus, one of my all time favorite lyrics is in this song... I'm just another writer, still trapped within my truth.
Track 14: Dave Koz's You Make Me Smile
Reason Why: This one just has great music and is something guaranteed to put a smile on my face whenever I listen to it. No lyrics to inspire, but the music itself is beautiful.
Track 15: Elton John's Tiny Dancer
Reason Why: My all time favorite Elton John song. A sentimental edition, I have to turn this song up loud every time it comes on.
Track 16: Queen's The Show Must Go On
Reason Why: Queen is probably my all time favorite band, if someone were to ever force me to choose one. And this song - written by Freddie Mercury near the end of his battle with AIDS - is as true now as it was when he wrote it. No matter what happens to you in life, as long as you and the people who love you still live, the show MUST go on.
Track 17: Gavin DeGraw's I Don't Want To Be
Reason Why: There are people in this life that will try to force you into one category or another. They'll try to tell you who you are, what you are, and what you should do with your life... your experience... your chances. This song is a reminder that no one has the right to tell you who you are - your only responsibility is to be yourself each and every day.
Track 18: John Mayer's Love Song For No One
Reason Why: Love Song For No One is here because it's a great reminder that no matter how alone you feel, there is someone out there. You never know who it could be, how you will meet that person, or if you already know them in some fashion - there is someone out there searching for you while you're looking for them. ~~I could have met you in the sandbox. I could have passed you on the sidewalk~~
Track 19: Les Miserables' On My Own
Reason Why: On My Own is so gorgeous, so poignant, so heartbreaking. This song about unrequited love speaks to the heart of anyone who has had feelings for someone that were not returned. No matter my mood, my outlook, and who I'm with - this song will reduce me to tears each and every time.
Track 20: Les Miserables' A Little Fall Of Rain
Reason Why: We've all lost people in our lives... people we never realized were there for us until it was too late. A Little Fall of Rain is a song about that very subject. A man realizes, as a girl is dying after taking a bullet meant for him, that she has been instrumental in his life - as a friend and as someone he trusts completely. This song is a reminder to remember those people who have been instrumental in making you the person you are today.
Track 21: Meredith Brooks' Bitch
Reason Why: The word "bitch" has so many connotations - both good and bad. This song actually deals with the how a woman termed as a "bitch" can be so many things - and to the same person. When it came out, my "big bro" told me, "I heard your theme song on the radio the other day," and it's been a personal favorite of mine since I tracked it down and heard it.
Track 22: Nik Kershaw's Wouldn't It Be Good
Reason Why: Who hasn't lamented, "Oh, wouldn't it be so much better to be richer/thinner/more successful/famous/etc?" We have all had those moments where we thought, "If I was thinner, life would be better," or "If I was famous, I would be okay." This song addresses the "grass is always greener" outlook of life - and how what you think would make you happy often wouldn't.
Track 23: Rascal Flatts' Fast Cars and Freedom
Reason Why: This is a love song - plain and simple. But it's a song about remembering what drew you to that person you love in the first place. It's got a great message (and the song ain't bad either ;D)
Track 24: Jason Mraz's Beauty In Ugly
Reason Why: There is beauty in all things around you - from the snail crawling across a path in the forest to the actor or actress you daydream about as you watch them on the big screen. It's quite often the everyday things that are the most beautiful to us without our realizing. This song is a great reminder to look for the beauty in everything around you - even in yourself.
Track 25: Supertramp's The Logical Song
Reason Why: Not every thing goes as planned - there are days that life seems like it's at its most complicated and confusing. This song is reminder that everyone has those days - that there are times we all feel like the world is spinning out of control and would like someone to explain to us what is happening.
So there it is, the first half of the soundtrack of my life. The second half should be coming some time very soon.
Music is such a part of me that I took the time to think about what, if any songs, would be listed on the (2 disc) soundtrack to my life. This is the first half of that list:
Track 1: Barry Manilow's Can't Smile Without You
Reason Why: Okay, I admit it - I am a Fanilow. Yes, his songs are often best termed bubble gum pop, but there is no denying that Barry Manilow has changed the face of music - both contemporary and in the world of television jingles - forever more. Not only that, but who doesn't know some of the words to at least ONE Barry Manilow hit (~~At the Copa... Copacabana~~)? Can't Smile Without You is one of the very first 45s I ever owned - and it was at the tender age of 5, I do believe. The melody of the song and the simple emotion expressed by this song always can make me smile.
Track 2: Tim McGraw's Live Like You Were Dying
Reason Why: The title of the song says it all, Live Like You Were Dying. There is far too much time we spend doing things that, in the grand scheme of it all, do not matter one bit. Who, years from now, is going to remember that you worked all those unnecessary hours on projects no one cares about? The only thing that will be remembered is your absence from the lives of those you love. Instead, you should embrace today for what it is - one more day to live life to its fullest - and spend the hours as if they were your last on this earth.
Track 3: Alan Parsons Project's Oh Life (There Must Be More)
Reason Why: So why would such a sad song about a woman wondering out into the water to drown herself, make the list of tracks on the soundtrack of my life? It's there simply as a reminder - a reminder of those nights spent, drowning in my own sorrow and thinking that this was the end of something. Oh Life (There Must Be More) is one of those songs that expresses the sheer hell of a terminal case of loneliness and neglect better than any other song out there. The way the music ebbs and flows with the poignancy of the lyrics emphasizes the complete despair the woman feels... and it is a great reminder that, no matter how bleak the situation, there is more to life than what you can see.
Track 4: John Mayer's 3X5
Reason Why: This song is probably the song that made me fall in love with John Mayer's music. Sure, I heard No Such Thing on the radio and loved the song itself, but 3X5 is such a great song with such true lyrics. Why spend your life looking at what you experience as if through the filtering lens of a camera? You cannot fully savor the best of what is being offered to you. You need to put aside that lens and just experience life - experience that which surrounds you and you've always been too busy to take full notice of.
Track 5: Winger's Headed For A Heart Break
Reason Why: This song is here as a reminder of things that were fantastic but were never meant to be. It is now and forever a memory of early teenage years and a first love... of summers spent in the sun and nights spent on the phone, experiencing what it was like to truly get to know someone beyond the surface of their facade.
Track 6: B.J. Thomas's Rock And Roll Lullaby
Reason Why: Ah, the pure joy and innocence of the young! This song is not on my list because of the song itself (although it does seem to be the one and only BJ Thomas song I can stomach for more than 45 seconds). This song is a reminder of times when people were not so guarded - were not so afraid to express their emotions freely and without reserve. This song has assumed its place in the soundtrack of my life for one reason - I can remember my dad holding me when I was a toddler, dancing, and singing to this song. It still brings a tear to my eye because of that reason.
Track 7: The Beatles' With A Little Help From My Friends
Reason Why: No one gets through life without help from your friends. That's why this song has earned a place in the soundtrack of my life.
Track 8: Sting's Brand New Day
Reason Why: The sentiment of this song is a great one - no matter how hurt you feel right now, tomorrow is a brand new day. It's a great thing to remember and to live by.
Track 9: Billy Joel's You're Only Human (Second Wind)
Reason Why: This is my favorite Billy Joel song of all time - and the lyrics say it all. ~~You're only human - you're allowed to make your share of mistakes~~ No one is perfect - and you shouldn't expect to be. Allow yourself to be human and enjoy life.
Track 10: Chris Botti's Midnight Without You
Reason Why: This song is a sentimental favorite. Beautiful music, beautiful lyrics... and a heartbreakingly true message.
Track 11: Jackson Browne & Clarence Clemmon's You're A Friend Of Mine
Reason Why: How many friends have come and go in your life that you can fondly look back and say, "Oh yeah! I can remember doing that with so-and-so... and it was a blast!!" This song is in the soundtrack of my life to remind me of all the great people I've met throughout my life - and the wonderful experience it was to know them.
Track 12: Reunion's Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me)
Reason Why: Music, music, music! It's such a major part of my life, a song about music's history from about the 60s on would need to be included in the soundtrack of my life, doncha think?
Track 13: Dan Hill's Sometimes When We Touch
Reason Why: This song may not be a pulitzer prize winning ballad, but who says our favorites need to be? This song is included because it is one of my all-time favorite love songs (and believe me, I listen to enough of them). A song about a man who wants to love the woman he is with but can't quite find it in him to love her like she wants him to, this song can rip me apart and build me back up in the same breath. Plus, one of my all time favorite lyrics is in this song... I'm just another writer, still trapped within my truth.
Track 14: Dave Koz's You Make Me Smile
Reason Why: This one just has great music and is something guaranteed to put a smile on my face whenever I listen to it. No lyrics to inspire, but the music itself is beautiful.
Track 15: Elton John's Tiny Dancer
Reason Why: My all time favorite Elton John song. A sentimental edition, I have to turn this song up loud every time it comes on.
Track 16: Queen's The Show Must Go On
Reason Why: Queen is probably my all time favorite band, if someone were to ever force me to choose one. And this song - written by Freddie Mercury near the end of his battle with AIDS - is as true now as it was when he wrote it. No matter what happens to you in life, as long as you and the people who love you still live, the show MUST go on.
Track 17: Gavin DeGraw's I Don't Want To Be
Reason Why: There are people in this life that will try to force you into one category or another. They'll try to tell you who you are, what you are, and what you should do with your life... your experience... your chances. This song is a reminder that no one has the right to tell you who you are - your only responsibility is to be yourself each and every day.
Track 18: John Mayer's Love Song For No One
Reason Why: Love Song For No One is here because it's a great reminder that no matter how alone you feel, there is someone out there. You never know who it could be, how you will meet that person, or if you already know them in some fashion - there is someone out there searching for you while you're looking for them. ~~I could have met you in the sandbox. I could have passed you on the sidewalk~~
Track 19: Les Miserables' On My Own
Reason Why: On My Own is so gorgeous, so poignant, so heartbreaking. This song about unrequited love speaks to the heart of anyone who has had feelings for someone that were not returned. No matter my mood, my outlook, and who I'm with - this song will reduce me to tears each and every time.
Track 20: Les Miserables' A Little Fall Of Rain
Reason Why: We've all lost people in our lives... people we never realized were there for us until it was too late. A Little Fall of Rain is a song about that very subject. A man realizes, as a girl is dying after taking a bullet meant for him, that she has been instrumental in his life - as a friend and as someone he trusts completely. This song is a reminder to remember those people who have been instrumental in making you the person you are today.
Track 21: Meredith Brooks' Bitch
Reason Why: The word "bitch" has so many connotations - both good and bad. This song actually deals with the how a woman termed as a "bitch" can be so many things - and to the same person. When it came out, my "big bro" told me, "I heard your theme song on the radio the other day," and it's been a personal favorite of mine since I tracked it down and heard it.
Track 22: Nik Kershaw's Wouldn't It Be Good
Reason Why: Who hasn't lamented, "Oh, wouldn't it be so much better to be richer/thinner/more successful/famous/etc?" We have all had those moments where we thought, "If I was thinner, life would be better," or "If I was famous, I would be okay." This song addresses the "grass is always greener" outlook of life - and how what you think would make you happy often wouldn't.
Track 23: Rascal Flatts' Fast Cars and Freedom
Reason Why: This is a love song - plain and simple. But it's a song about remembering what drew you to that person you love in the first place. It's got a great message (and the song ain't bad either ;D)
Track 24: Jason Mraz's Beauty In Ugly
Reason Why: There is beauty in all things around you - from the snail crawling across a path in the forest to the actor or actress you daydream about as you watch them on the big screen. It's quite often the everyday things that are the most beautiful to us without our realizing. This song is a great reminder to look for the beauty in everything around you - even in yourself.
Track 25: Supertramp's The Logical Song
Reason Why: Not every thing goes as planned - there are days that life seems like it's at its most complicated and confusing. This song is reminder that everyone has those days - that there are times we all feel like the world is spinning out of control and would like someone to explain to us what is happening.
So there it is, the first half of the soundtrack of my life. The second half should be coming some time very soon.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Free Write (10Jan09 16:36) - Loneliness
You hear people comment that "it's darkest just before the dawn," and, while that may be true - that everything seems its most desolate just before the dawn breaks through, it seems to me that the most lonely time of day is that time right at sunset. It's that time the world is calming for the night - settling down for a slumber meant to renew and refresh the bleakness of a sun-baked landscape.
It's that moment, when the sun settling into the horizon sets the sky ablaze with a bounty of colors too beautiful to be real, that the realization of how alone you may or may not be sinks in. You watch the canvas as it's being painted, longing for that special someone with whom to share that moment - only to find yourself irrevocably and totally alone. Alone in the majesty of a night symphony that was written for two - and only being played for an audience of one.
Putting pen to paper only soothes the ache that is building in your soul for a short while - soon you're wanting to cry out to the world, denounce just how unfair a hand circumstance has dealt you in that moment. Longing to share that moment - that most intimate of moments - with someone who turns your world upside down... and unable to do so. You continue to put pen to paper, hoping - no, praying - that it will quell the yearning you feel; quench the fires burning within you and feeding your passions.
And does it?
For a while. But it's a temporary fix - a band-aid for the larger problem you face each and every day. What is it about that person that makes you freeze? What is it about him that keeps you unable from finding your voice? What keeps you from singing his name from the rooftops, alerting the media... telling him?
Is it fear? Lord knows we've been hurt before - oh yes, but then what man, woman, or child hasn't? Hurt is a normal part of growing and changing in this life. It's the hurts and disappointments who make us what we are - stronger beings capable of handling the most insane circumstances imaginable.
Is it the finality of it? As if just uttering those words - asking a simple question or making a simple statement - means you can never take them back? Who would want to? Who would choose to take back words so simple, so meaningful - straight from the heart?
So what is it? What dictates this oddity that, if left to paper or screen, the words flow freely... yet remove those media where you are faced with the situation at hand (no defenses, no barriers, nothing left to get in the way) and the words freeze. And, not normally one to allow intimidation (or fear or whatever is keeping you from doing this) to rule your life, you meekly accept it as the norm - you never once question anything aloud, only in your head and in the recesses of your being. You never once say, "Why don't we..." and instead just keep on with the way things are.
So what makes this one act so impossible to perform?
It's that moment, when the sun settling into the horizon sets the sky ablaze with a bounty of colors too beautiful to be real, that the realization of how alone you may or may not be sinks in. You watch the canvas as it's being painted, longing for that special someone with whom to share that moment - only to find yourself irrevocably and totally alone. Alone in the majesty of a night symphony that was written for two - and only being played for an audience of one.
Putting pen to paper only soothes the ache that is building in your soul for a short while - soon you're wanting to cry out to the world, denounce just how unfair a hand circumstance has dealt you in that moment. Longing to share that moment - that most intimate of moments - with someone who turns your world upside down... and unable to do so. You continue to put pen to paper, hoping - no, praying - that it will quell the yearning you feel; quench the fires burning within you and feeding your passions.
And does it?
For a while. But it's a temporary fix - a band-aid for the larger problem you face each and every day. What is it about that person that makes you freeze? What is it about him that keeps you unable from finding your voice? What keeps you from singing his name from the rooftops, alerting the media... telling him?
Is it fear? Lord knows we've been hurt before - oh yes, but then what man, woman, or child hasn't? Hurt is a normal part of growing and changing in this life. It's the hurts and disappointments who make us what we are - stronger beings capable of handling the most insane circumstances imaginable.
Is it the finality of it? As if just uttering those words - asking a simple question or making a simple statement - means you can never take them back? Who would want to? Who would choose to take back words so simple, so meaningful - straight from the heart?
So what is it? What dictates this oddity that, if left to paper or screen, the words flow freely... yet remove those media where you are faced with the situation at hand (no defenses, no barriers, nothing left to get in the way) and the words freeze. And, not normally one to allow intimidation (or fear or whatever is keeping you from doing this) to rule your life, you meekly accept it as the norm - you never once question anything aloud, only in your head and in the recesses of your being. You never once say, "Why don't we..." and instead just keep on with the way things are.
So what makes this one act so impossible to perform?
Friday, January 9, 2009
Free Write (09Jan09 23:48) - Springtime in Alaska
Spring is also when Mother Nature renews herself, painting the canvas that winter so carefully stripped just months before. Bees buzz happily from one flower to another, collecting nectar for coming larvae; ants studiously move to and fro, beginning to rebuild food stores depleting by the harshness of winter; flowers, trees, and other plants go into full bloom, displaying colourful foliage to warm your heart. Sounds wonderful, beautiful even, doesn't it? Like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting, almost?
Unfortunately, that vision ends when springtime comes to Interior Alaska. Spring here is a very ugly, dirty time of year. Now, before you can turn on me, oh Constant Reader, and tell me that there is beauty in everything surrounding you, let me describe a typical Interior Alaskan spring day for you, shall I?
The weather is unlike any you have ever experienced. It can be well below zero one moment (yesterday morning at about 4 a.m., it was -10F) and well above zero the next (the high temperature yesterday was a scorching +41F and it's about +31F out there right now). The sky can be clear and beautiful, allowing you to bask in the sun - not a cloud in sight to obscure your view. Then, in a few hours' time, a chilled wind can blow in a snow storm of blizzard proportions, blanketing everything in a gentle white misery once again.
When the temperatures do rise and the sun is beating down upon the ground, a winter's worth of snow and ice melt, running into the dusty, dirty street. The daily melt freezes over night, leaving a skating rink on the ground - ice several inches thick and dangerously slippery.
And what does that melting snow reveal while it's melting? You get to see a season's worth of neglect by the supposedly caring citizens of Fairbanks. Gravel and residual sand and ice from the Dept. of Transportation trying to improve the intersections pools together on the street corners, causing other slippery hazards. Trash and debris casually, thoughtlessly dropped over the course of the long winter months' reappears, bringing with it the depressing reality that these caring citizens do not care as much as they claim.
Once the snow melts and the ground reappears, you are left with a large, borough-wide marsh. Mud and bog are the prevalent landscape, trapping you with cold, insidious fingers that grab onto your shoes or boots and hold you fast until you either abandon your footwear or dig your way out.
Springtime in Alaska - definitely not what your creative writing teacher ever discussed when he/she talked of the beauties of Springtime, eh?
Unfortunately, that vision ends when springtime comes to Interior Alaska. Spring here is a very ugly, dirty time of year. Now, before you can turn on me, oh Constant Reader, and tell me that there is beauty in everything surrounding you, let me describe a typical Interior Alaskan spring day for you, shall I?
The weather is unlike any you have ever experienced. It can be well below zero one moment (yesterday morning at about 4 a.m., it was -10F) and well above zero the next (the high temperature yesterday was a scorching +41F and it's about +31F out there right now). The sky can be clear and beautiful, allowing you to bask in the sun - not a cloud in sight to obscure your view. Then, in a few hours' time, a chilled wind can blow in a snow storm of blizzard proportions, blanketing everything in a gentle white misery once again.
When the temperatures do rise and the sun is beating down upon the ground, a winter's worth of snow and ice melt, running into the dusty, dirty street. The daily melt freezes over night, leaving a skating rink on the ground - ice several inches thick and dangerously slippery.
And what does that melting snow reveal while it's melting? You get to see a season's worth of neglect by the supposedly caring citizens of Fairbanks. Gravel and residual sand and ice from the Dept. of Transportation trying to improve the intersections pools together on the street corners, causing other slippery hazards. Trash and debris casually, thoughtlessly dropped over the course of the long winter months' reappears, bringing with it the depressing reality that these caring citizens do not care as much as they claim.
Once the snow melts and the ground reappears, you are left with a large, borough-wide marsh. Mud and bog are the prevalent landscape, trapping you with cold, insidious fingers that grab onto your shoes or boots and hold you fast until you either abandon your footwear or dig your way out.
Springtime in Alaska - definitely not what your creative writing teacher ever discussed when he/she talked of the beauties of Springtime, eh?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Imagination - a Challenge
Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will. - George Bernard Shaw
When you were a child, were you ever told that something was "all in your imagination"? Maybe you were scared of the monster you were convinced was under the bed, or you saw something and made up a story about it that just grew and grew in the telling. Well, now that you're all grown up, I've got news for you. Everything is in your imagination. If you can imagine it, you can create it. And if you can activate your imagination in a positive way, you'll go a long ways toward turning your dreams into reality.
Too often, as adults, we use our imaginations to picture our fears. How many times have you imagined all the things that could go wrong in a given situation? You end up with a sense of paralysis or doubts before you've even started. I know that feeling myself. So instead of using your imagination negatively, turn it around and imagine a positive outcome.
If your imagination seems a bit rusty, here are some simple steps to help you kick-start those creative juices.
1. Think about what you want to happen. Decide exactly on the outcome you want.
2. Picture it in your mind. What happens? What do you do? See all of the details — what you're wearing, where it takes place, who is there.
3. Hear what you and others are saying. Think the thoughts and experience the feelings you would have in these circumstances.
When you were a child, were you ever told that something was "all in your imagination"? Maybe you were scared of the monster you were convinced was under the bed, or you saw something and made up a story about it that just grew and grew in the telling. Well, now that you're all grown up, I've got news for you. Everything is in your imagination. If you can imagine it, you can create it. And if you can activate your imagination in a positive way, you'll go a long ways toward turning your dreams into reality.
Too often, as adults, we use our imaginations to picture our fears. How many times have you imagined all the things that could go wrong in a given situation? You end up with a sense of paralysis or doubts before you've even started. I know that feeling myself. So instead of using your imagination negatively, turn it around and imagine a positive outcome.
If your imagination seems a bit rusty, here are some simple steps to help you kick-start those creative juices.
1. Think about what you want to happen. Decide exactly on the outcome you want.
2. Picture it in your mind. What happens? What do you do? See all of the details — what you're wearing, where it takes place, who is there.
3. Hear what you and others are saying. Think the thoughts and experience the feelings you would have in these circumstances.
Free Write (08Jan09 09:02) - Musing About the Future by Looking Into the Past
I can see it… dusty light filtered in through a grease stained window, illuminating the cracks and crevices worn into the faded linoleum by class after class of hormonal teenagers, each trying to carve his/her own niche out of the cold, unfeeling concrete walls of the high school.
I can hear it… the muffled sneakers of some ne’er-do-well running down the hall, away from the fire alarm he just pulled to get everyone out of class, his laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. On the stairs, a couple is hidden from view, tucked into that space under the stairs – dreaming and discussing a possible future that neither of them will realise because they will be broken up in a week.
I can smell it… lunch time fare sent to tantalise and tease your appetite – more likely to tease your gag reflex into vomiting before you could choke down one bite. Sweat, stale and acrid, wafts up from the carpeting and floorboards – sweat shed in the pursuit of knowledge… the pursuit of life… the pursuit of love.
Fast-forward… the sights and smells have changed. The grease stained windows have been replaced by elevators and pool tables. The dusty light is now filtered through tiny portals to the outside world instead of large gateways. Traipsing over faded linoleum to get to class has been replaced with hikes through the trees and snow, uphill and down, to try and make it to a 10:20 lecture.
No longer do the ne’er-do-wells run down sun lit hallways into the annals of infamy. Now they have all night drinking binges, their laughter replaced by slurred words and the sounds of vomiting at 2 in the morning. Slurred words are gradually replaced by the groaning and cursing at the effects of a hangover.
The smells – ahhh, how they tug at your heart, reminding you of a simpler time. Those smells of the hallowed concrete halls would be welcome as the foul smells of the dimly light commons assault your nose and stomach. The bland food and days’ old grease would cause your stomach to somersault like you’d been on a rollercoaster for years.
I can hear it… the muffled sneakers of some ne’er-do-well running down the hall, away from the fire alarm he just pulled to get everyone out of class, his laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. On the stairs, a couple is hidden from view, tucked into that space under the stairs – dreaming and discussing a possible future that neither of them will realise because they will be broken up in a week.
I can smell it… lunch time fare sent to tantalise and tease your appetite – more likely to tease your gag reflex into vomiting before you could choke down one bite. Sweat, stale and acrid, wafts up from the carpeting and floorboards – sweat shed in the pursuit of knowledge… the pursuit of life… the pursuit of love.
Fast-forward… the sights and smells have changed. The grease stained windows have been replaced by elevators and pool tables. The dusty light is now filtered through tiny portals to the outside world instead of large gateways. Traipsing over faded linoleum to get to class has been replaced with hikes through the trees and snow, uphill and down, to try and make it to a 10:20 lecture.
No longer do the ne’er-do-wells run down sun lit hallways into the annals of infamy. Now they have all night drinking binges, their laughter replaced by slurred words and the sounds of vomiting at 2 in the morning. Slurred words are gradually replaced by the groaning and cursing at the effects of a hangover.
The smells – ahhh, how they tug at your heart, reminding you of a simpler time. Those smells of the hallowed concrete halls would be welcome as the foul smells of the dimly light commons assault your nose and stomach. The bland food and days’ old grease would cause your stomach to somersault like you’d been on a rollercoaster for years.
Free Write (08Jan09 02:58) - Rollerskating
I hadn't wanted to go. Roller skating was for the young, and besides - I hadn't been on a pair of skates in years. But, it was eighties night at the roller rink, and my friend had pulled me out of the house. She said it was because I needed to get out more, but I knew she just didn't want to look foolish by herself.
We arrived just after things had gotten underway. She paid our ways in, and we headed towards the skate counter. I chose skates over rollerblades because I just never got the hang of those damn blades. Finding a secluded corner, I watched the skate floor as I began to change into the skates.
The colourful lights, revolving disco ball, and music was like a time machine. Suddenly, it was 1984 and I was ten years old again. I sat there, letting the sounds of Raydio's You Can't Change That wash over me like a piece of watered silk and decided I had to get it over with.
Upon unsteady ankles, I skated my way to the floor. I took one tentative step and then another out onto the hard, polished wood... and immediately fell on my ass. Laughing to myself and glad to have gotten the night's first humiliation over with that quickly, I got up and brushed myself off. I hugged the wall for a bit until it started coming back and then made my way for the main floor area.
It was exhilarating - out there on the skate floor again, a gentle breeze flowing through my hair. And the music!!! I hadn't heard most of these songs since I was in elementary school. They were well loved old friends - ones that had whetted my taste for music as a young child and got me interested in all types of sound.
She waved at me from across the rink, already having found this cute blonde to skate with her. He was holding her steady, trying to keep her from falling, and they were laughing. Oh ho, I thought. She had an ulterior motive for wanting to come out tonight. Then I laughed because I would have done the same thing.
We had probably been there for forty-five minutes when the first slow song made an appearance. I was about to go sit down and take a breather when I saw you across the floor. You had this slightly puzzled look on your face, as if not quite sure how you had wound up at a roller rink on a Friday night.
I liked what I saw. Dark hair, tall but not too tall - nice body. I was intrigued but ignored the urge to go ask you to skate. Instead, I made my way to the snack bar. Buying a bottled water, I sat down in a horrid plastic seat and watched the cozy couples out on the floor. I sat there, waiting for the moment a faster song would come on and I could make my way to the floor again, but there was the most unsettling feeling of being watched from across the rink. I glanced about, but all I could see was you. Surely you weren't watching me, I told myself. Must just be my imagination.
Finally, Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name came on, and I skated out to the floor again, grateful that the romantic music was over with. Time seemed to fly as I rounded the rink that night, feeling like a child again. As Tainted Love began playing, I tripped over my own toe stop and went down on the floor, taking some poor soul along with me accidentally. I assessed my injuries, concluded all I had hurt was my pride, and went to get up. A hand appeared in front of me, and I accepted the offer of help. As I got up off the floor, I looked up at my rescuer - right into your eyes. I was stunned. From across the rink, those eyes had been interesting. Up close, they were deadly - the type of eyes you could fall into forever and not care.
"Sorry for the collision," I mumbled, quickly releasing your hand as soon as I was up. "And thanks for the help." Before you could answer, I was off skating again.
I turned on my skates, moving backwards for a bit and watching you out of the corner of my eye. My heart felt as if it was stuck in my throat, and there were butterflies churning in my stomach. Never had one touch so effected my senses. But I didn't even try to work up the courage to talk to you - my friend had always been the pretty one of the two of us. I had accepted that and knew the likelihood of some guy coming up to talk to me while she and I were out together was slim to none.
I kept to myself, skating until another slow number came on. As Double began singing about The Captain of Her Heart, I exited the floor and retired once again to the snack bar. I watched her out there on the floor with the blonde and felt a pang of jealousy that it wasn't me out there with you.
The music changed. Air Supply's Even The Nights Are Better - that definitive skating slow song - came on, and I looked up to find you. You had disappeared, and I sighed softly.
A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my gloom. "Excuse me, but would you like to skate?"
I looked up in surprise - and it was you, smiling at me. That smile filled those eyes, making me want to just stare into them all night.
"Huh? Me?" Yeah, real smooth, I told myself. "Uh, sure."
I took your hand, and we made our way to the floor. Getting out onto that rink, I felt as if my heart would slam right out of my chest. My palms were a little sweaty, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stay up on all eight wheels.
My friend saw us and winked at me.
We skated out there to that slow, sappy song - skated as if everyone else had disappeared into the night. I was reluctant to release your hand when the song ended. My grip began to relax, and you looked at me. "Want to go somewhere and talk," you asked.
I looked into those eyes and couldn't say no. We exited the floor and found this little corner away from the speakers. We introduced ourselves and began talking. We talked the rest of the skate session, never quite making it out on the rink again. After the session had ended, we left for this little coffee place to continue our talk. Grabbing a table in the back, we drank coffee and talked the rest of the night. It was almost as if we had known each other for years.
As the sun came up, you drove me back to my place. We exchanged phone numbers and sat there, neither one of us knowing what to do next. I moved my hand to open the door, meaning to get out and go inside the small house I was renting. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned over and kissed you - a soft first kiss in the pre-dawn blush of a steely sky.
"Call me later," I said and got out of the car. Smiling to myself and humming that Air Supply song, I let myself into the house and closed the door, collapsing against the back of it - a huge smile plastered on my face.
We arrived just after things had gotten underway. She paid our ways in, and we headed towards the skate counter. I chose skates over rollerblades because I just never got the hang of those damn blades. Finding a secluded corner, I watched the skate floor as I began to change into the skates.
The colourful lights, revolving disco ball, and music was like a time machine. Suddenly, it was 1984 and I was ten years old again. I sat there, letting the sounds of Raydio's You Can't Change That wash over me like a piece of watered silk and decided I had to get it over with.
Upon unsteady ankles, I skated my way to the floor. I took one tentative step and then another out onto the hard, polished wood... and immediately fell on my ass. Laughing to myself and glad to have gotten the night's first humiliation over with that quickly, I got up and brushed myself off. I hugged the wall for a bit until it started coming back and then made my way for the main floor area.
It was exhilarating - out there on the skate floor again, a gentle breeze flowing through my hair. And the music!!! I hadn't heard most of these songs since I was in elementary school. They were well loved old friends - ones that had whetted my taste for music as a young child and got me interested in all types of sound.
She waved at me from across the rink, already having found this cute blonde to skate with her. He was holding her steady, trying to keep her from falling, and they were laughing. Oh ho, I thought. She had an ulterior motive for wanting to come out tonight. Then I laughed because I would have done the same thing.
We had probably been there for forty-five minutes when the first slow song made an appearance. I was about to go sit down and take a breather when I saw you across the floor. You had this slightly puzzled look on your face, as if not quite sure how you had wound up at a roller rink on a Friday night.
I liked what I saw. Dark hair, tall but not too tall - nice body. I was intrigued but ignored the urge to go ask you to skate. Instead, I made my way to the snack bar. Buying a bottled water, I sat down in a horrid plastic seat and watched the cozy couples out on the floor. I sat there, waiting for the moment a faster song would come on and I could make my way to the floor again, but there was the most unsettling feeling of being watched from across the rink. I glanced about, but all I could see was you. Surely you weren't watching me, I told myself. Must just be my imagination.
Finally, Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name came on, and I skated out to the floor again, grateful that the romantic music was over with. Time seemed to fly as I rounded the rink that night, feeling like a child again. As Tainted Love began playing, I tripped over my own toe stop and went down on the floor, taking some poor soul along with me accidentally. I assessed my injuries, concluded all I had hurt was my pride, and went to get up. A hand appeared in front of me, and I accepted the offer of help. As I got up off the floor, I looked up at my rescuer - right into your eyes. I was stunned. From across the rink, those eyes had been interesting. Up close, they were deadly - the type of eyes you could fall into forever and not care.
"Sorry for the collision," I mumbled, quickly releasing your hand as soon as I was up. "And thanks for the help." Before you could answer, I was off skating again.
I turned on my skates, moving backwards for a bit and watching you out of the corner of my eye. My heart felt as if it was stuck in my throat, and there were butterflies churning in my stomach. Never had one touch so effected my senses. But I didn't even try to work up the courage to talk to you - my friend had always been the pretty one of the two of us. I had accepted that and knew the likelihood of some guy coming up to talk to me while she and I were out together was slim to none.
I kept to myself, skating until another slow number came on. As Double began singing about The Captain of Her Heart, I exited the floor and retired once again to the snack bar. I watched her out there on the floor with the blonde and felt a pang of jealousy that it wasn't me out there with you.
The music changed. Air Supply's Even The Nights Are Better - that definitive skating slow song - came on, and I looked up to find you. You had disappeared, and I sighed softly.
A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my gloom. "Excuse me, but would you like to skate?"
I looked up in surprise - and it was you, smiling at me. That smile filled those eyes, making me want to just stare into them all night.
"Huh? Me?" Yeah, real smooth, I told myself. "Uh, sure."
I took your hand, and we made our way to the floor. Getting out onto that rink, I felt as if my heart would slam right out of my chest. My palms were a little sweaty, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stay up on all eight wheels.
My friend saw us and winked at me.
We skated out there to that slow, sappy song - skated as if everyone else had disappeared into the night. I was reluctant to release your hand when the song ended. My grip began to relax, and you looked at me. "Want to go somewhere and talk," you asked.
I looked into those eyes and couldn't say no. We exited the floor and found this little corner away from the speakers. We introduced ourselves and began talking. We talked the rest of the skate session, never quite making it out on the rink again. After the session had ended, we left for this little coffee place to continue our talk. Grabbing a table in the back, we drank coffee and talked the rest of the night. It was almost as if we had known each other for years.
As the sun came up, you drove me back to my place. We exchanged phone numbers and sat there, neither one of us knowing what to do next. I moved my hand to open the door, meaning to get out and go inside the small house I was renting. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned over and kissed you - a soft first kiss in the pre-dawn blush of a steely sky.
"Call me later," I said and got out of the car. Smiling to myself and humming that Air Supply song, I let myself into the house and closed the door, collapsing against the back of it - a huge smile plastered on my face.
Free Write - 08Jan08; 0022
Peacefulness. A feeling of complete contentment and total peace washes over me as I pull up to the door. It’s been a long day, and I need the comfort of a home that’s never been a reality before now.
I walk through the door, and you’re there. Just one smile from you, and the evils of the world melt to nothingness. I cross the floor, and we embrace – passionately, but one meant to soothe the soul.
After dinner, we retire to the bedroom. We crawl under the covers and just lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking… sharing with one another… dreaming.
Out the window, the sky is painted hues of red, orange, and purple. The wind is blowing through the trees and creating a symphony of its own.
As hour after hour pass, the sky slowly fades from its prismatic hues to deep inky black. Stars, far too many to see all of them, twinkle and shine through the window – showcasing their powerful beauty and gentle grace.
As evening turns to night and night turns to morning, we talk until sleep can no longer be staved off. Then, still wrapped in one another’s arms, we drift off to dream … dream of waking up with one another to maybe repeat the mystical feeling of truly knowing another’s soul again.
I walk through the door, and you’re there. Just one smile from you, and the evils of the world melt to nothingness. I cross the floor, and we embrace – passionately, but one meant to soothe the soul.
After dinner, we retire to the bedroom. We crawl under the covers and just lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking… sharing with one another… dreaming.
Out the window, the sky is painted hues of red, orange, and purple. The wind is blowing through the trees and creating a symphony of its own.
As hour after hour pass, the sky slowly fades from its prismatic hues to deep inky black. Stars, far too many to see all of them, twinkle and shine through the window – showcasing their powerful beauty and gentle grace.
As evening turns to night and night turns to morning, we talk until sleep can no longer be staved off. Then, still wrapped in one another’s arms, we drift off to dream … dream of waking up with one another to maybe repeat the mystical feeling of truly knowing another’s soul again.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Long Lost Art of the Free Write
I took a creative writing class in high school as an English elective. I knew I loved to write, and I thought that it would be an easy way to get an A.
One of the exercises we had to perform daily was called a "Free Write". This was 10 to 15 minutes of time set aside at the beginning of class to get the creative juices to flow. It has been years since I thought of this technique, and it was with no surprise when I found myself sitting here in front of the monitor tonight, having taken a most unfortunate nap earlier and feeling increasingly ill, that my mind returned once again to this exercise.
The goal of the free write is to just write. There is no subject, no constraints, and no restraints on what you can write about. You're just supposed to open your mind and either put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard for the time allotted. Tonight's time was 10 minutes to just ramble on about the first idea that popped into my head.
The previous post is the result of that time. I know where the idea came from - a moment of personal tragedy showing up in my subconscious when I closed my eyes. What resulted, however, could be the beginnings of two different story directions. It's amazing what one little kernel of inspiration can do to light that spark of imagination.
If you're feeling the need to write but are feeling blocked, I suggest you try this technique. Just choose an amount of time in which you're going to write - 10, 15, 20... maybe even 30 minutes. Close your eyes for just a moment or two to see what prompts you to start typing. And then just write. Write what flows into your head. Cause it to flow onto the screen or the paper like a river flowing into the ocean. Don't stop to look at it ... don't take a moment to reread it. Just write. There will always be time later on to go back and look at what inspired you at that particular.
The object is just to write... to live once more within the circus of your imagination.
Free Write (06 Jan 2009 23:35) - Murder or Cure?
He laid back on the table, staring at the cold, sterile surroundings. A sense of unease built within his chest, and he could barely contain the tears. 54 years on this earth had boiled down to this - some stranger filling his veins and his body with poison.
She smiled at him, trying her best to reassure and to comfort. Fitting the the needle into his arm, she was careful to ensure that she'd tapped directly into the vein. There was no room for error... no recourse for missing her target. Adjusting the line, she opened up the lock and let the fluid flood the line.
He closed his eyes, terror washing through him. Memories of time spent with his wife and kids floated past like a slideshow, each moment more precious than the last. Could this really be it? Had he actually reached the end of the line? If he could do it all again, he knew he'd make sure that he spent more time with the ones he loved... ensure he took advantages of each opportunity life presented him and not squander away the time like some cricket in the sun.
The first drop hit his veins and burned like some sort of acid eating away at him. It flowed from the tubing into his arm and through his body, filling him with the most deadly type of poison. He tried to make the most of it, but his mind would not allow him to concentrate on the positive. Cold dread filled him, and a tear slid down his cheek.
The burning sensation spread through. At first just an unpleasant warmth, it quickly spread into an ingulfing inferno. His body became feverish, and he felt as if he'd be consumed in flames at any moment. Biting his tongue, he refused to give in... refused to admit to the sheer agony that was consuming him from the inside out.
The foul fluid spread through his arms, his chest. It spread into his neck and stomach. Fiendish fingers reached out and prodded at soft tissues; they poked at his organs. He tried to curl into the fetal position and was stopped by the apparatus. Wishing for a mercifully swift death, all he could do now was wait.
But wait for what? What was standing on the other side of this doorway opened before him? Sweet relief? Or dark agony?
She smiled at him, trying her best to reassure and to comfort. Fitting the the needle into his arm, she was careful to ensure that she'd tapped directly into the vein. There was no room for error... no recourse for missing her target. Adjusting the line, she opened up the lock and let the fluid flood the line.
He closed his eyes, terror washing through him. Memories of time spent with his wife and kids floated past like a slideshow, each moment more precious than the last. Could this really be it? Had he actually reached the end of the line? If he could do it all again, he knew he'd make sure that he spent more time with the ones he loved... ensure he took advantages of each opportunity life presented him and not squander away the time like some cricket in the sun.
The first drop hit his veins and burned like some sort of acid eating away at him. It flowed from the tubing into his arm and through his body, filling him with the most deadly type of poison. He tried to make the most of it, but his mind would not allow him to concentrate on the positive. Cold dread filled him, and a tear slid down his cheek.
The burning sensation spread through. At first just an unpleasant warmth, it quickly spread into an ingulfing inferno. His body became feverish, and he felt as if he'd be consumed in flames at any moment. Biting his tongue, he refused to give in... refused to admit to the sheer agony that was consuming him from the inside out.
The foul fluid spread through his arms, his chest. It spread into his neck and stomach. Fiendish fingers reached out and prodded at soft tissues; they poked at his organs. He tried to curl into the fetal position and was stopped by the apparatus. Wishing for a mercifully swift death, all he could do now was wait.
But wait for what? What was standing on the other side of this doorway opened before him? Sweet relief? Or dark agony?
The Race
Tabitha ran as hard as she could, trying to make it before they caught up with her. If they did, she was as good as dead.
How could I have been so stupid, she thought to herself. These people where not the type you normally associate with, you idiot. And now look at yourself.
She was penniless, hungry, and cold. Her last sanctuary had been a 200-year old Catholic church, but the church now lay in ruins – a bomb had brought the beautiful old building and most of a city block down to rubble. Her heart raced, her pulse pounded, and she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
If only I had listened to him, she thought. If only I had taken David’s advice at face value instead of scoffing at him. I would not be in this mess right now.
And a mess it was. She heard hounds baying in the distance and the constant hum of suv’s getting closer. Hastily, she turned into a thickly populated forest and ran – ran for her very life.
A shot rang out through the chilly night air. “You can run, but you can’t hide, Tabby,” a voice called out. “You know we’ll find you like we found your friend Davy.” The voice was mocking, purposely trying to goad her into making a mistake. “You know, Davy’s head will look real purty hangin on my wall next to your daddy’s.”
Tabitha bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, biting back the comment she had want to throw into his face. She continued on, determined to keep her location a secret when she was so close to the border… so close to being free from their tyranny.
Thud! Her foot struck an outreaching branch, and she tumbled to the ground. Trying to move, she realized the fall had broken her leg and she could go no further. Trying to slow her erratic breathing, Tabitha laid there on the cold, hard ground and waited… waited for the men who were hunting her.
She heard them drawing closer, almost right on top of her. The dogs they were using were sniffing the air and leading the bastards right to her. Breathlessly, Tabitha waited for the moment they’d find her… the moment she would cease to exist.
“Good evening, Tabby,” the voice mockingly greeted her. “I told you that you couldn’t hide from us.” There was a pause as he let the severity of the moment wash over her. “And now you know what we have to do. Such a waste really. If you had only agreed to his terms, he’d have left you alone.”
Tabitha heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back. The barely audible click as it locked into place made her tremor with fear. The man placed his finger on the trigger and aimed, looking down. Sweat poured down Tabitha’s ashen face, despite the chill of the night. He stood there, sites locked on her for what seemed like hours even though she knew it was only moments. Then, he started to swear.
Tabitha looked at the ground and grinned. She had made it across the yellow border after all – that border that signified the end of the course – and was now free and clear. She grabbed a long, sturdy stick that had been lying next to her and got to her feet, supporting her aching leg with the stick.
“When will you ever learn, Vlad? When will you learn that things aren’t always what they appear to be?” With that, she limped off into the moonless night.
How could I have been so stupid, she thought to herself. These people where not the type you normally associate with, you idiot. And now look at yourself.
She was penniless, hungry, and cold. Her last sanctuary had been a 200-year old Catholic church, but the church now lay in ruins – a bomb had brought the beautiful old building and most of a city block down to rubble. Her heart raced, her pulse pounded, and she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
If only I had listened to him, she thought. If only I had taken David’s advice at face value instead of scoffing at him. I would not be in this mess right now.
And a mess it was. She heard hounds baying in the distance and the constant hum of suv’s getting closer. Hastily, she turned into a thickly populated forest and ran – ran for her very life.
A shot rang out through the chilly night air. “You can run, but you can’t hide, Tabby,” a voice called out. “You know we’ll find you like we found your friend Davy.” The voice was mocking, purposely trying to goad her into making a mistake. “You know, Davy’s head will look real purty hangin on my wall next to your daddy’s.”
Tabitha bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, biting back the comment she had want to throw into his face. She continued on, determined to keep her location a secret when she was so close to the border… so close to being free from their tyranny.
Thud! Her foot struck an outreaching branch, and she tumbled to the ground. Trying to move, she realized the fall had broken her leg and she could go no further. Trying to slow her erratic breathing, Tabitha laid there on the cold, hard ground and waited… waited for the men who were hunting her.
She heard them drawing closer, almost right on top of her. The dogs they were using were sniffing the air and leading the bastards right to her. Breathlessly, Tabitha waited for the moment they’d find her… the moment she would cease to exist.
“Good evening, Tabby,” the voice mockingly greeted her. “I told you that you couldn’t hide from us.” There was a pause as he let the severity of the moment wash over her. “And now you know what we have to do. Such a waste really. If you had only agreed to his terms, he’d have left you alone.”
Tabitha heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back. The barely audible click as it locked into place made her tremor with fear. The man placed his finger on the trigger and aimed, looking down. Sweat poured down Tabitha’s ashen face, despite the chill of the night. He stood there, sites locked on her for what seemed like hours even though she knew it was only moments. Then, he started to swear.
Tabitha looked at the ground and grinned. She had made it across the yellow border after all – that border that signified the end of the course – and was now free and clear. She grabbed a long, sturdy stick that had been lying next to her and got to her feet, supporting her aching leg with the stick.
“When will you ever learn, Vlad? When will you learn that things aren’t always what they appear to be?” With that, she limped off into the moonless night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)