Where Seraphs Sleep
There lies a place,
Weathered buttress,
Crag stone face,
That betrays her crumbled spoils
With velvet feather flair
Of once opulent grace,
Now evaporated air,
As vernal tidings
Give marigold kisses
Upon the crater scars
Of this ancient space,
While minutes walk
A carefree pace.
There lies a field
To which time yields,
Her waking dreams
And die cast will,
Through budding trees
And hand clap leaves,
Applauding hope
In emerald green.
Her leaves breathe peace,
Where seraphs sleep.
And Zion’s stars
Cast glittering chariots
Burning firefly gold,
Cloaked in tormentil sun,
Neon lemon bold.
From flesh to dust
With wolf leer lust,
Death pines for life,
His nightshade creep
Of eternal sleep,
Coiling serpentine dungeons
Fang dagger deep.
And my halo is nailed
To shipwrecked sails,
Though I’ve reaped the bones,
Of bygone tales,
Of courses charted
Through heaven and hell,
And suffered long
Death’s siren spell.
Yet we will tread
Those fated steps,
Up stairwell skies,
Where devils crept,
Towards Shekhinah glories,
Through sun capped flowers,
As death surrenders,
Its raven hour,
Where seraphs sleep.
Stuck under the hands
"I missed you a lot, honey!"
Okay, that is interesting. I was just walking over the metal purple benches of a park, with foods on my mouth to store it in the central storage. There was metallic ups and downs, some mountains to climb, and still I was walking steadily. But now, that is interesting!
"I missed you, too! Each day literally felt like thousand years, love. And to be honest, my lips were dying without yours. I love you, honey!"
Hi. I am an ant. And, and, and- those few lines were a lot for me. I tried to look towards them. Two 20-ish humans. White. Dressed like the ones with most extreme perfumes which makes my road signals terrible for others. What do they call it? Rich? Yes. And also educated? Yes. My other ants are lining up behind me. "Hey! You dead?" Some of them asked. I nodded my head. Not dead. Just curious. Why are they smiling? Do they already have their foods stored for the coming winter? I think, yes. They are seeming to have lots of free times for romance, even under the daylights!
"Aweeeee. I love you, too!"
Both faces just got red. There was a shiny ray of sun striking onto my eyes, and the boy's head blocked that, by moving forward to the girls'. Eyes clicked, noses came closer, and closer, and even closer. Eyes dimmed, with one hand on other's face, and with one's lips approaching others'. Lips, and lips: ticked. Ticked again. Those ticked again. And again. The boy's hand moved.
Whooh! The boy pushed harder the girl's head towards his with his hands. Ticked. Looooong ticking. The boy is moving his hand to the bench to sit up a bit and tick longer.
Oh no, that- that is a mountainous hand. That is coming, COMING, towards me, OHMYGOSH, on a high high velocity. It's gonna stuck me up. Help! Help!
"I love you, sweetheart"
The hand is really close. Eeeeeeh. Save meee. I am here! Stuck under the hands, don't kill m...
#POVSeries
#POV
#POVShorts
The Gift
Note: I mostly write, or hope to write, sci-fi or plain-old humour. However, as a challenge, I wrote a fantasy flash-fiction based on an image prompt. I hope this fits in with the brief of this challenge!
---
The tribe would never be the same again.
Kagura fell back from the crowd that watched Lephiane emerge from the top of the mountain. The strange plume that billowed from the sack behind her had stunned her. Not long ago, the two witch sisters had had one of their arguments when Lephiane was venturing across the Barren Rift.
“Lephy, please don’t go!”, she had pleaded.
“Sister, you know we are the chosen ones of the tribe”, Lephiane had argued, “We must venture for the tribe’s survival. They say the land of the Infinite People has a magical gift that has helped them survive for eons and eons.”
“But … but we have everything we need, don’t we? What’s more, we can now conjure up new things for the tribe. Things they never knew existed!”
“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that we are all dying. Fast!”
“I am working on it …”, Kagura had been hurt.
Lephiane had then held her sister close and comforted her.
“I know. I know. You are smart, brave and skillful. I am sure you will soon be able to save the tribe from extinction; one way or another. But my destiny lies in seeking wonders that exist across the lands, the waters and the mountains.”
“When will you leave?”
Lephiane had smiled as she wiped Kagura’s tears with her sash. “At the first sign of dew tomorrow. You can send me away with your new creation that always brings us home.”
“The Pathfinder!”, Kagura had exclaimed.
Now, as she watched Lephiane making her way back slowly, she was filled with dread about the new dangers that would follow. What if the Infinite People were not friendly and the tribe faced an onslaught like the last time when the long night had come? Hadn’t they been happy for so many ages just being black or white?
The land was white and people were black. It worked very well. The Radiant One in the sky never burned them with her wrath. They saw her walking by, watching over them serenely, where the lands, the waters and the mountains met the sky. There were no shadows to scare the little ones. There were no harsh bright surprises either.
The soft cushions that covered most of the sky were white too. Occasionally they cried along with the tribe. Often when someone went back to The Invisible One. The lament lasted weeks sometimes. They just buried themselves deeper until the crying stopped. It also gave them a chance, in a way, to get closer to those who were gone.
Lephiane was clearly visible now. Kagura retreated a step as if not wanting to meet her sister, not wanting to accept that she was back – and what gift she bore this time. She was happy with the way things were. Simple is always better. Two is better than many.
“I love this black and white world of ours!”, she almost said aloud.
The rising plume of smoke was growing in size and Kagura’s heartbeat sped up. What was about the smoke that she could not fathom? It was neither black nor white. She had never seen that shade before. She wondered if her sister had turned evil from a sorcerer’s spell. She began chanting her secret hymn to face the imminent danger.
All around her, the tribe watched Lephiane. Each of her sisters stood motionless, like they always did to receive travellers. It was a show of strength. No weapons, no spells. Just silence and a resolve to stand their ground. Then, it happened.
A faint restlessness rippled through the watching sisters. A step here, a twitch there. Soon, they were all retreating, slowly but surely. This had never happened before, thought Kagura. Lephiane was already bringing fear with her. The tribe that had lived without distress, doubt or phobia of any kind were moved. She prepared for the inevitable and made her decision.
---
“Kagura! Kagura! My dear sister!”, Lephiane broke into a run and then stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong, sis? Why is everyone retreating?”
“It’s the … the smoke!”, stammered Kagura.
“Oh this? No, don’t be afraid, dear sisters”, assured Lephiane, “This gift will free us from eternal perish. It will provide us with the magical powers to live forever!”
“How?”, demanded Kagura, “All we have ever got from these gifts is destruction and pain.”
“I will teach you how to use it! I have met wizards all over the land of the Infinite People. I know why they are called the Infinite People!”
Kagura frowned but did not retreat any further. Lephiane was now within a few hands from her. Kagura mustered up her courage and met her sister. As they held hands, as she felt her sister’s fingers curl around her palm, Kagura felt something she hadn’t ever before. It was as if she was slowly thawing.
“What’s happening to me, Lephy?”, she asked.
“This is the gift I bring”, smiled Lephiane, “We will never pass away cold and frozen.
We can survive the long white days and nights. The Infinite People keep this gift everywhere. Their homes, pathways, mountains. They even carry it with them over water. Their nights are not black anymore. They can keep away all creatures with this gift. That is how they have survived for many many eons.”
“How does the gift help them do that?”, demanded Kagura, not convinced.
“It keeps them less frozen, or warm, as they say. They offered it to me when receiving me. A warm welcome, they exclaimed. I was as fearful as I sense you are now, sister. Then, I began enjoying the fruits of this gifts, and there are countless! Do you know that we can keep this gift going forever? You can share it and it grows. Oh Kagura! We can finally see in the black nights. We can drive all the demons away that frighten the little ones of the tribe!”
“Does this … this gift have a name?”
“Fire!”, said Lephiane and Kagura knew:
The tribe would never be the same again.
One big empty promise
Subject: My ex
Rating: One star
Comments: I wavered between one and two stars - because the start of the relationship was so promising. And also, because it always takes two to tango and one star is rather letting myself off the hook. But for anyone looking for an emotionally available and caring partner - keep looking. This is not it! He's not interested in change. Every time you bring up something that bothers you, he immediately invalidates it and makes it a you problem.
Want him to go to more family events? His solution is that you have to drag him there kicking and screaming and deal with his resentful petulance the entire time you are there. He'll also hold that over your head for the next two years.
Go to something without him? Be prepared for a series of guilt inducing messages about you abandoning him and leaving him all on his lonesome - like the monster that you are.
Rude to your friends? Well he just can't be bothered to say hello. That's on you for repeatedly inviting them over.
Intimate relations? He will never instigate (but apparently if you 'grab him by the dick' he's always ready to go), he's very unbothered by your pleasure and he says if he has to wear a condom he won't enjoy it at all.
Foreplay? Not a fan. He'll spits in a bowl while going down on you (sure to make you feel hot, hot, hot)
Quality time? Him playing the PS5 while you sit there quietly.
Life admin? Your problem (he doesn't like talking to people on the phone, so enjoy hooking up the internet, dealing with the real estate agent, plumbers and any other life admin people.) It will also be your job to pay the rent and other bills
Cleaning? If you do sign up for a relationship - please make sure you have your own bathroom - because he won't ever clean it, but boy will he make it dirty.
Holidays? Wants to stay in a five star hotel (that's way above your budget) but doesn't want to pay more than half the bill. Also, never wants to eat at normal times, so dining is an absolute nightmare
Dates? See 'quality time'
Birthday present? $5 yoga mat from Kmart (after many, many hints about wanting a yoga mat)
Bedsheets? Never changes them, not once. Will go brown unless this is also a job you are willing to take on
Night out? On the rare occasions this happens, he'll get very drunk and want to punch someone. Not you, but really anyone else. Or a telegraph pole. He also does this gross thing called 'tactical vom' where he sicks his fingers down his throat and throws up. You'll probably be giving any night out one star
New job? Right after a brief congratulations he'll go out and get a better job, with a more impressive title and larger pay check, because it's very important to him to always one-up you
Dinner with friends? Be prepared for worried looks from your friends as he continuously puts you down and says unkind things in front of them
Grocery shopping? Wants to go down every single aisle, every single time, to see if there are any special buys
Overall? One big empty promise
Positives? Is currently single, on the rarest of occasions that he cooks, it's quite delicious, faithful, handsome, funny, can be quite cute, very intelligent, but also a complete idiot
Chapter Twelve
Marshall
We still had a bit of time before the kids come home from school so we went to our local Home Depot to pick out paint and all the equipment to go with it. By the time we were done it was close to school ending. Once we got home we started to get to work. Margret changed out of her dress and into her sweat pants and tee shirt she would wear when she was pregnant. I changed as well into some old pajama pants and tee shirt before we started to move furniture and put down the tarp and get the paint ready.
By that time Mason and Morgan had come home, everything was set up. Mason was the first to speak. “Guess we should get ready to paint?” I nodded, pouring some paint into the container. “Yep. Make sure to wear cloths you don’t care about.” Once they went upstairs to change I sent a text to Charles and Beth, telling them to entertain him for a few hours while we paint the living room.
I still think he may be a little young to be helping paint. Once they came back down Margret and I shared a look before looking to Morgan. I spoke up. “Would you like to be the first to paint over his chaos Morgan?” Morgan gave Margret and I a look before giving a sad smile before taking the paint brush and looking at the wall a moment before putting the first stroke of taupe paint on the once light, powder blue wall.
With work and a few sleepless nights during the week we got the living room, hallway and Morgan’s bedroom looking like nothing happened with the exception of the new paint color. We got a new sectional couch, new TV, plate set. Anything he broke or destroyed, we got brand new. As the week went on I tried to keep Brent to the back of my mind. His behavior was so polite. The total opposite of what I was expecting.
On Thursday I checked the kill room to check the meat. Only enough for about one or two plates. Looks like I’m going out this weekend. I hated being so low.
During the week Morgan has been getting gradually better. She’s had nightmares nearly every night but Mason would help her through them. He was a light sleeper and with his room next to hers he could easily hear her cries but school is getting better, she’s starting to gain her friends back, telling them the honest truth about why she was withdrawing from them.
Which was great with their homecoming dance in less than a month. The kids were in the living room watching TV while Margret and I washed the dishes tonight. They earned some free time this week. They worked so hard. I spoke quietly, scrubbing one of the dishes used in dinner. My sleeves rolled up to my elbows.
“I’m going to have to go out this weekend. We only have about two plates left of weekend meat.”
She nodded. “I can take the kids to see your mom. I’m sure she would love to hear how Morgan is doing in school.”
“Won’t they ask why I’m not going with you guys?”
“True.”
I’ve made sure my children never see the monster.
While there is chicken or pork on their plate there would be a kidney from Joe on mine. I’ve tried to make the kill room as soundproof as possible. Margret was the only one who has seen the monster and welcomes it. “I can go out tonight. It’s Thursday. It’ll be less people, less attention.” Not to mention it’s the really despite- low-on life-won’t-be-missed-types that come out on weekdays.
She sighed, sounding worried. “Sure. Just tell them something convincing” I nodded, kissing her head. “I’ll be fine love. I know what I’m doing.” She gave a worried smile. “I know. I just worry. They're still my babies.” I smiled softly, kissing her. “They're mine too. Don’t worry. I’ll protect them with every fiber of my being.” I placed the last dish in the rack before kissing her again and walked into the living room where they were transfixed at our new TV, watching some cartoon of sorts. “I’ll be going out for a while so listen to your mom while I’m gone.” Morgan spoke first, barely looking away from the TV.
“Ok.”
Mason shrugged. “Sure thing.”
Mikey just watched the TV. I looked back at Margret with an amused smile before I got my coat and keys and wallet.
I kissed Margret goodbye one more time before going down to the garage and starting the car before driving down the road. I drove for about an hour, just outside of Long Island going to one of the dive bars. It was a little hole in the wall type bar. I parked and sighed.
I left around 6PM; it’s going on 7:30. Prime hours and not too many people. Good. I was never a fan of crowds.
I got out a bat. It was small, blunt and made of solid wood. I felt unsafe using chemicals like chloroform. There was too much possibility it could end up in the meat and I wasn't risking that. Blunt is the way to go. Simple, no chemicals, and because what I have is small I can easily fit it into my jacket pocket and if found out I can claim it’s for self-defense.
I loosened my tie to look like I got off work, untucked my shirt a little, ruffled my hair then walked in with a hunch. Like I’ve had the worst day of work. This part of getting the meat was always exciting. I normally act like a guy getting off the worst workday of his life but with a horrible, verbally abusive wife and kids that don’t give a shit if I live or die. It was a good lie.
And if that didn't work I’d move to faking an injury and needing help. That was an easy one.
I put a frown on my face as I walked inside. Rock music playing from the jukebox as a few bickers and losers watched me walk in. I slumped up to the bar, sitting on the stole, and my head in my hands. The bar keep walked up to me. His voice sounding like he smoked twelve packs a day. “Bad day bud?”
I groaned. “The worst. You would not believe the day I’m having. Do you have any whiskey?”
“Shot?”
“Make it two.”
“Coming up.”
It wasn't long before someone came up to me. A woman, late 20’s with black hair and the sluttiest outfit I had ever seen in a while. Nothing but a tube top showing off her belly button ring with a mini skirt with fish nets and little black boots. “Rough day sweetie?” She said, chewing her gum obnoxiously.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just awful. And I don’t even want to go home.”
She frowned. “Oh? Why’s that?” I shook my head, faking like I don’t want to talk about anything. Playing hard to get.
And she took the bait beautifully. “I don’t like going home either. It’s lonesome.”
I smirked weakly. “Beautiful girl like you, bet you got all the guys coming after you.” She smirked but there was sadness to it. “Who says they stay?” My two shots of whiskey were put in front of me.
I handed her one. “My wife. She’s...she’s not very nice. I can never do anything right for her, according to her. We got into a fight and she told me she’d rather me die on the street than come home.”
She sighed, lifting the whiskey shot into he air. “To never going home.” We clinked our shot glasses together before taking the shot. It burned going down but it felt so good.
I made sure to seem eager, kissing her like a man dying of thirst. She tasted like wax and lipstick and whiskey. She was thin but not to the point it was dangerous. I pinned her against the brick wall of the bar outside, cupping her breast and grinding against her. It would be a lie to say the situation itself didn't turn me on. If this had been Margret we would already be in the car rutting like rabbits with a second round.
The only thing I was eager for was her blood on my blade. She moaned and smirked and once I pulled away I lead her to my car at the far end of the parking lot where nobody else parked. She giggled. “Ooh a little privacy.” I smirked, holding her hips.
“Let’s make my day a little better. Pull your skirt and fish nets down and bend over the car.” She seemed to love the dominance, doing as she was told. I was painfully hard but I would resit what was so graciously being offered. I would wait until I got home and ravage Margret like it was our wedding night.
I did slip in two fingers inside her for show, making sure to keep her nice and distracted. She moaned against the car, gripping it. I was getting my bat out of my jacket pocket. I kept going until I felt her come on my fingers, clenching down, nearly screaming in pleasure.
Once the orgasm was over she looked dazed and confused and high. I took a quick look around, seeing nobody around for miles then lifted the bat, quickly bringing it down on her head. She jumped but it was a good hit, she was nearly unconscious but nearly isn't good enough. She mumbled, unable to crawl away with her world literally spinning around her. “Baby?”
I ignored her, bringing the bat down again, this time she was out cold. I place her skirt and fishnets where they should be before opening my car trunk and lifting her into it and onto the tarp that was always in there. It was just easier always having it and easier to excuse if police caught it.
I drove the hour home where it was going on midnight. The house lights were turned off with the exception of Margret’s bedroom and Morgan’s. I vaguely wondered if she had a nightmare and if Mason was helping. No time to waste. If I wanted to ravage Margret tonight I had to take the body to the kill room. She was still out cold which was good. I hated when they woke. It was a struggle to get them unconscious again. I easily carried her to the kill room, laying her on the metal table. I strapped her down, cut off her clothes to be burned.
I sent a text to Margret that I was back with the meat if she wanted to check it out in the basement before turning on my music. Classical. Mozart was my favorite. A few minutes later there was the click, click of heels coming down the stairs. I turned to see her. She almost frowned. “Oh. Poor girl. She looks young.” She walked over, inspecting her.
I spoke. “She is. 28, going on 29. Her parents disowned her for her being Bisexual and before that barely had any family to speak of. No brothers or sisters. No aunts or uncles. Lives by herself. No pets. No close friends. Barely makes ends meet. Normally resorts to protrusion but gets regular checkups. She clean.”
“Sounds more like a mercy then a murder.”
I turned to Margret, kissing her hard and holding her close. She melted into me I pulled away. “I’m sorry. I had to do some things with her I didn't like. It was a good distraction while I hit her with the bat.”
Margret just gently shushed me, her slim fingers trialing over my jaw and lips. “You can reclaim me later but right now you don’t have any food for the weekend. Text me when you’re almost done and I’ll have myself ready.” I kissed her again before she pulled away, walking back up the stairs, closing the door. I got in my gear. It consisted of a large black, full body, faux leather coat with full sleeves with gloves with a plastic head visor to keep any blood splatter away from my face.
I looked over to see the girl looking around or attempting to, she still seemed woozy. “Wha..? Where?” I walked over, gently shushing her just as Margret shushed me. “Hey, don’t fret. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”
She looked terrified. “T-Tiffany.”
“That’s a beautiful name Tiffany and I’m so sorry.” Her eyes watered over, her head shaking no. Her black hair swaying back and forth with her head. “No. No. I don’t want to die.” I ignored her plea, getting a meat clever from the wall. She was crying but trying to speak, her voice thick and cracking. “What are you going to do to me? Why? ” I positioned myself at her head, the knife over her neck with a feathers touch. “I’m going to eat you.” I sliced her head clean off her body in one swift chop. Made her death as painless as possible. Her head thudding into a wide bucket below the table.
I started to skin her body, starting with her arm. I made an incision down her shoulder, doing it in parts, seeing the meat of her muscles show through. Once all the skin was off her arm I threw it into the bucket with her clothes to be burned. There really isn't any nutritional value in the skin; it’s the muscles and organs that have the protein.
I started taking the muscles off carefully, cutting it off the bone with a smaller knife and place it in a bucket that will be food. It was near 3AM. Three hours of cutting and skinning and blood draining and harvesting organs. Another hour of burning was needed to be burned in the incinerator I had installed as well. The room soon became red with her blood. Dripping off the table, pooling. Her head still lying in the basket at the head of the table. I cut off all the meat and tissue, cleaning it down to the bone.
I set all the meat aside in their own bags so I could clean the blood with the large shower hose and a bit of bleach. I took off the coat and gloves and goggles and mask and sprayed them down as well, leaving them hanging to dry. I took the scraps, her head and cloths to the incinerator. I placed everything that was in the bucket in there then closing the door, pressing the button, starting the fire inside. I set the meat into bags and into the freezer before going up the stairs but not before looking back, making sure everything was clean as when I came down here at midnight.
Once I made it upstairs, just awake enough to ravage Margret, I walked in our bedroom, seeing her lay out on the bed, naked as the day she was born and fast asleep. I closed our door. I walked slowly, not wanting to wake her. It didn't seem to work as she moved, waking, seeing me as I took my tie off. She sat up, looking at me worriedly.
“You have meat for the weekend?” I nodded, throwing my tie to the desk. “Yeah.”
She got up, bringing the sheet with her, holding it around herself. She never liked walking around naked. “You ok?”
I let out a breath, looking away. “How could parents just disown their child for being who they are? I could never do that to any of our kids. I don’t care if Mason would want a boyfriend or Morgan wants a girlfriend or if Mikey grew up to be a ballerina. I just want them happy.” She nodded, wrapping her arms around me, holding me close. “I know sweetie.”
I held her, kissing her head. She looked up at me with a small smirk. “So about that claiming?” Then it softened. “Another night?”
I nodded. She smiled, kissing me before going back to sit on the bed while I finished undressing. Once I was done and got my teeth brushed I climbed into bed, holding her close and inhaling the smell of apples and home.
A New York joke
"New York is ugly and lousy anyway."
Marx would have thought so too- just too much traffic, cologne and suits I couldn't afford to buy for mum's funeral. Lol.
I trip. The soda can mocks me too.
I sit at the bus stop. At least, that one doesn't discriminate. Looking left, I see frowns, obviously fake smiles on these faces, and I return to glance at my left.
This can't be what bad breath smells like. This is foul.
"Oh!" I say aloud by mistake as I look at the homeless guy who asks to sit next to me.
"I'm supposed to look like New York, but you don't look like Paris either. Bad day?" He asked.
"Yeah, ugly day."
"Think you'll take two cents from this homeless man?" He asked with a lean smile.
I laughed. Couldn't resist the urge.
"You know what 'ugly' spelt backwards is?" He asks.
"Uhmmm, no" I reply as I try to make sense of it.
"Surprised you took me seriously enough to think about it. You see, ugly is not pretty, but it doesn't mean it's devoid of meaning."
"Whoa." He was impressive.
A paradox
The way I see it, there are two types of nothing. One is relative, the other is perpetual.
Neither of them truly exist. You want to get technical? A bit of logic and poetry can help to explain.
If we’re talking about an absolute void of nothingness - complete nothingness witnessed by no thing and nobody, it wouldn’t matter if it existed or not. Nothing is there to experience it. It’s truly a crazy thing to think about, but if ‘nothing’ existed then it wouldn’t ‘exist’ in the first place. Existence is a word used only by those who exist.
If there were an outside observer, then the very word “nothing” makes it something; it’s still a place being observed.
Still with me ? Good.
Now, since we live in a universe, with energy, matter, and observers, the word “nothing” is an incorrect word to use. It’s more of an exaggeration. Some quotes that resonate:
“Nature abhors a vacuum” - Aristotle
“Nothingness not being nothing, nothingness being emptiness.” -Isabelle Adjani
In addition to that, “the usefulness of a cup, is its emptiness.” - Osho
Our laws of thermodynamics essentially state that a complete void of nothingness is impossible. Even in the depths of space, it’s not nothing. It still has the slightest temperature, and light waves travel its boundaries endlessly.
There is no such thing as a total absence of anything. Darkness? Just an absence of light. Evil? Just an absence of good. Cold? Just an absence of heat. But -30° C feels warm if you just experienced -40°. Every evil person has a chance to do good. Even the darkest night will always yield to light.
To get more personal, we all have a void within us. I find mine when a lover breaks my heart. When I experience true loneliness. When I drink or indulge in drugs, my emotions fade away. When I fail repeatedly, I feel worthless. If I have nowhere to belong, I feel as if I’m a waste of space.
But I am still me, I am still here, and I still feel even if it’s not much. This void I find within me is a canvas. Waiting for my direction, waiting for me to paint the most beautiful picture I can.
You see, there is no such thing as nothingness, so long as there’s a word for it.
Black And White
Cade let his arm fall slack, almost dropping the extra six inches of steel that extended forth from his loosening grip. He holstered the gun and surveyed the carnage before him. The church was riddled with corpses and viscera. He couldn’t help but wonder if God himself would be satisfied with this bloodshed, or if he would demand yet more.
He cast a glance to the altar and saw the monster himself, terror filling his tear-filled eyes, clutching the podium like his God would strike down this invader and save him from his fate. Just like he had saved the rest? Cade stepped slowly between the pews and down towards the twisted creature that was clad in black and white and covered in sin. He reached for the rope at his belt, and the creature snarled and whimpered before launching itself at him in a fearful frenzy.
Cade stepped aside and it fell to the floor behind him. He began tying the rope around his arms and legs. “You have soiled this holy house of Go…!” it screamed as Cade forced the rope around the creature’s neck and pulled it tight, cutting off any other worthless words from spilling from its maw. He leaned down and spoke into its ear with chilling calm.
“God ain’t here, Padre. You and I both know that. Don’t we?” he said in the low gravelly voice of someone who had found no reason to speak in some time, as he began dragging the monster towards the open doors of the ruined church and into the streets.
The people of the town who had refused to raise arms against him gathered around. Cade felt the evil in himself rising, as if called to waking by his actions. He thought about the things this creature had done to good people in the name of it’s unholy God. He thought about the sight of his wife and son’s charred cadavers and felt a tear stream down his face, though his face remained implacable. He wanted to enact horrible deeds against this killer, but that would do nothing but drag his soul into perdition right alongside it.
The people watched as the demon in their midst was dragged by a rope to the hanging tree in the center of town. A place where they had watched so many a man and woman “sent to God”. Cade inspected the faces of these people around him, and he saw fury in their eyes. Whether it was for him or his prey, he didn’t know.
Cade dropped the rope and allowed the demon in disguise to writhe along the ground as he stepped up to the tree and looked out once again at the faces of those complicit in the death of the only light in his world.
“If you’re wantin’ some last words to your flock Padre, best get to speakin’.” he said.
The preacher only managed a choked gurgle as he tried to claw at the section of rope wrapped firmly around his throat.
Cade nodded. “Par for the course, I suppose.” he said.
“Means about as much as the rest of the bile you spew.” he muttered to himself before stepping over to grab the end of the rope and slinging it over a thick bough of the tree and hoisting with every bit of strength he had left.
He heard no screams of shock from the crowd around him. Nobody tried to stop him or save the preacher. They all just watched the so-called man of God, as his face turned blue, and his tongue became swollen within his throat. They listened to the gurgles and the silent pleas in his bulging eyes, to them and his God.
Cade didn’t know if they had seen the truth in their sinful ways or if they simply didn’t find the strength necessary to stop him. He felt his muscles strain and his own strength waver as he continued to hoist the preacher, holding on until he felt the last of the life within the evil bastard disappear.
Finally, he felt the rope go taut and still. He released the weight all at once and turned around to see the lifeless corpse of the preacher, just as ugly on the outside now, as he had always been within.
Cade, without looking away, undid his holster from his belt and allowed the gun to fall to the ground before turning away without a word, and disappearing into the desert beyond.
Footprints in the sands
I firmly believe that we never hear a song twice. And I don't mean, that it's the first time you hear it that matters most. It's the time that you heard it, really held it, within a circumstance that sets the music for you, fitted like in fine jewelry. That gemstone, that cameo, or picture in the locket, becoming surrounded by auditory gold, or silver if preferred.
Then, with every glance back at the music, we see it as if turning in another light...
yet, somehow, that most significant instance, is there in the tint of the shadows, or highlights, and becomes a near or distant accompaniment... as mood that goes with, in the background.
We seldom sang at home. It turned out that was a great regret, to our adults. Our dad sang us songs sometimes. Our mom once confided, when we were grown and on our own: "I thought for sure having two girls meant there would be constant singing around the house..."
She never sang. We dare not either, except in private, where there were no adults to criticize. (I make a point now of singing loud with my little boy, and my heart cheers and flutters at every attempt of his to follow along with lyrics, to hum a tune, or invent his own songs. I want for him to know that freedom of spirit.)
Criticism was taken very seriously in the household, immediate and extended family, as an art form in itself in the oratory tradition. I understand now why mom held her tongue rather than be scolded and reminded that her tastes were too common.
I'm listening now to Diana Ross and the Supremes and remembering the grimace that passed across faces. No one wants to be shamed of the music that finds resonance within themselves; for reasons, more oft than not, hidden or incoherent, and psychologically complex.
As I'm dwelling on music that moved, emotionally or intellectually, impacting our path in some way, I can't help go back to this one song involuntarily, that on hearing once as a teen, I could not listen to again, but would shut it off, or walk away. I have blocked the title, and the artist, only to say it is a commonly played 80s tune by a rock band with female vocalists, and it must have been, objectively speaking a powerful number, to have that gripping effect on a young person. I had trouble wrapping my mind around the moral implications, the ethics, and where I would place myself into the situations of any one of the characters that would be involved. It was story song, a rock ballad. (I am leaving no clues here, so don't trouble the mind in trying to retrace any leftover grains.)
I won't listen to it even now, yet I commend the impact. That is art, isn't it? and we remember the footprints in the sands of memory long after they have been wind swept and near irrelevant. Things change. They certainly shift. A little bit of sensory input, goes a long way, many a times.
I've never been to a grand concert... It would terrify, I imagine. Once, on impulse I bought tickets to the unlikely proposition that 10,000 Maniacs was to play live at our nearby ski and summer resort and conference center called with southern homeliness Mountain Creek. That was very bold of me, but familiarity built up confidence, and I sometimes make a gamble on odd chances. Tickets, for me and my sister; we never went. The concert was "canceled" a day or two before, and it took months to get a refund. Maybe cynical teenage imagination was at play, but we decided somebody had swindled a quick loan from the community... it was quite hard to believe that our little locale would be visited by any such name brand in music, just too good to be true...
https://youtu.be/c0b7ltFrB34?si=yZZz542f3eufMGef
As a theme, I've been drawn to songs about the passing of time. Maybe it's because the first cassette I ever owned was Cyndi Lauper's 1983 She's So Unusual album, and my favorite track was Time After Time.
https://youtu.be/lx8-95fPjHc?si=uEe9FB3qZCnDqi6P
I remember receiving the cassette soon after starting school, so I would say I was six or seven years old. By that time mom had already run off from our home twice; with us and without us, children. The tune has continued to grow in meaning for me.
Eventually, I did some church choir singing, and to this day those hymnals, memorized, are among the most comforting musical tunes for me. I'm thinking of songs like Here I am Lord; On Eagles Wings; and Amazing Grace, among others.
I'm trying very hard to think of a song or album that I felt initially one way about, and then, on rehearing, changed my mind... and it must have happened, but apparently nothing that strongly felt, as I am not recalling. Maybe I feel less dismissive of Frank Sinatra or Linda Ronstadt or similar voices that I thought, early on, lacked depth... unfair judgements, immature, and I chide myself against these notions, nowadays.
It takes quite a lot of vulnerability to create songs, lyrical or instrumental, of every kind, especially as a cohesive body of work. Yes, there is music that doesn't suit the moment, but it ought not be dismissed altogether... Or deemed as good or bad. I've tried very much to be open to all music and to its ability to nurture our soul along the journey. We are blessed, when we can turn and return to music again, if only reliving it in our hearts.
Mission Critical
The drink is delicious, and unlike anything I’ve ever had before. The bartender says it’s a national specialty. The fact that I get to charge it to the company makes it even better. I lean back and savor it, mentally thanking the anonymous courier for setting the drop-off at a plush bar rather than by a dumpster in the alley.
I was on my third when the job arrived in the form of an SD card tucked into a napkin under a cocktail that the bartender said was courtesy of the man in the booth. I looked. He was a bit of a parody of a spook in a suit, trench coat, and dark glasses, but he tipped his wide-brimmed hat at me as he slid out of the booth and walked out the door, and I decided that after years in the business one had to develop a sense of humor about all this subterfuge.
I stuffed the package in my pocket as I sipped the drink. It was tart, pleasant, and was a dusty maroon color. “Farier grapes, only grown on the foothills in this county,” the bartender remarked as he saw me examining the drink. “Local specialty.”
I nodded, finished the drink, closed out my tab, and headed out. I took the short walk to the hotel to sober up, turning my collar up at the chilly sleet but leaving my head bare. It’s late, but there are plenty of passersby and the canals are lit with strings of light. I feel a bit like a shadow lurking under the vitality of the city.
My room is a suite with a kitchenette that’s well stocked for a weeks’ stay. I hang up my coat and toss the SD card on the desk. I will open it up shortly, but not right now. I can feel the 16-hour flight catching up with me, and I know that there are hundreds of pages of data waiting for me there. Data that requires a clear mind.
I lay down - just for a moment, I tell myself.
I open my eyes in the passenger seat of a car and am immediately thrown against the window as the driver executes a sideways drift. Several cracks of a high-caliber rifle sound and the back window shatters. A shotgun lands on my lap as the passenger window rolls down.
“Help me out here!” the driver yells. He swerves into oncoming traffic and back out again. A series of pileups blockade the road, but our pursuers are still behind us.
My preferred weapon is not the shotgun, but I move as if it is. I lean out the window and catch glimpses of metallic high rises and flashing billboards before my eye catches on the black tinted SUV coming up alongside. I fire and the round punches a starburst pattern into the windshield. I duck back in to reload, and when I peek out again, the SUV is still behind us. I fire a second at its right wheel, and the tire bursts, sending it into a tailspin.
The driver executes a hard right turn and guns it the wrong way onto an onramp. A cacophony of angry honks pursues us onto the highway, but the SUV is gone. My teeth rattle as we bump over a meridian. Then we merge and it’s abruptly peaceful again.
I sit back, staring ahead, heart pounding as much from the confusion as the exchange of gunfire. The sudden peace was unnerving, and it reminded me that I had no idea where I was.
“What’s your name?” The driver says suddenly.
“Uh…” I am aware that I have a cover identity as much as a real one, but right now neither come to mind. I feel as if my brain is suspended in molasses.
The driver takes this in stride. “Have you seen the news today?”
“No,” I say more definitively. I was in the sky for most of today.
A panel opens on the dashboard. An orange sphere rises out of the space. It looks at me, like a blinking eye on a stalk. Below it is a section of folded black rubber that makes a faint shushing noise as it expands and contracts.
“Huh.” I should find this strange, but the blinking sphere is mesmerizing.
“There was a house fire.”
I don’t respond.
“The whole family escaped, but they left the dogs behind.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. I look out the window and get a faint impression of a city, advanced and futuristic, but also gritty and hard-boiled. This is definitely not the city I fell asleep in.
I turn to look at the driver for the first time. He’s a man in his thirties, with cropped brown hair and stubble on his chin. Sharp eyes squint at the road from underneath a heavy brow.
“This isn’t real,” I say to him. I try the door handle, but it’s locked.
He glances at me then back at the road. “How do you feel about the dogs?” He asks as if I hadn’t spoken.
The bellows pump. The sphere makes mechanical clicking noises as it continues to blink at me. I pull and pull at the door handle. The man continues driving calmly.
“This is a dream,” I say. The door handle snaps off. I look at my hand and see that it isn’t flesh, but a silvery metal skeleton that flexes under my gaze. I look over my shoulder at the driver.
“Gotcha,” Deckard says, with grim satisfaction.
I wake up.