Uncertainty

It’s a fog, it’s the sea.

It is two, it is three…four?

It’s the feeling in your gut,

You’re all in,

It’s all on the line,

Heart’s on your sleeve,

And the one with the knife-blade cards

Takes a breath before

Showing your fate.

Labor Pains

There you sit, just tick-tack-typing

At your desk,

Thinking you should’ve learned to type,

As the hours slip away like

Crumpled whispers from dying lips,

Softly-rustling papier-mâché birds

Flapping off into the dark.

It’s blood and strife makes tick-tack-type, to

Get this right. Who would have

Guessed it would be so hard?

It’s just

Writing words, after all, not

Giving birth.

When I Find You

When I find you, it won’t be

Forced, but

Natural, flowing, smooth, like

A song from the practice room of lips and throat,

Now flying, long rehearsed,

At last set free, this single

Night,

No more concerned with

Intonation, but only, now,

With being.

When I find you, it won’t be

Artificial, but

Fundamental, whole, like

The dark and living earth

Beneath our feet,

Full of promise,

Life squirming between our toes,

Green and color startling forth

Like sparrows through the

Air.

Fork

I would never hurt you.

I would never do you wrong.

All I wanted was to look and see

a spark of recognition,

like a grizzled old sea dog

who locks eyes with the sea,

and sees, again, what 

made him love her first.

But it wasn’t meant to be

that easy, love,

because the road to love

is one hell of a storm, and

we, it seems, aren’t above

getting holes in our ships

on the way.

I thought we’d bind our rafts together,

sail the sea together, share our

journeys, and our stories; but

it seems we still

have some storms to weather; but

we’re going different places.

So let’s leave this desert place,

because Cupid smiles
like the Cheshire Cat,

and I must go, 

and I must go;

but I’ll look back once in my

rear-view mirror.

Because, you see, it

wasn’t meant to be,

my love.

It wasn’t meant to be

my love.

It wasn’t meant to be

my love;

but that doesn't mean it's easy.

Palms

I understand you, you

bushy-headed palms,

stretched so tall

against the sky.

My soul's moved with you,

bit by bit,

raising the tent

of the sky;

upward, toward the

stars.

You've risen above the other trees,

tall to see

beyond their crowded heads.

You long to see a

vastness

can't be seen so

low. You

miss a place to stand and

let your unobstructed gaze

touch anything,

everything,

like a shepherd patrolling

the slumbering ranks

of his fleecy white charges,

his touch like bell tolls:

"All is well."

The Best Day

So I was on Terribleminds the other day, and, yet again, got inspired by Chuck's Flash Fiction Challenge: to write a story in five sentences. I entered his contest but, unfortunately, thought of a better entry after I'd already submitted one. So here's the better one.

She was walking away for good. And it was the best part of my day.

I crumpled the eleventh beer can of the past two hours, my head beginning to turn without moving, my thoughts like a flood, uncontainable, going wherever they wanted, free range chickens pecking at my brain. 

As I halfway fell onto my bed, my knees on the steady floor, I clutched the sheets that still held her scent, like I was ivy clinging to a wall, unable to stand on its own; and I watered my handholds silently.

It was the best day.

And then there's the other version...:

She was walking away, and it was the best thing that had happened all day.
The best thing.

He was sure of it as he haphazardly crinkled the eleventh emptied beer can of the past hour or so.

The best, most amazing thing.

He was positively ecstatic as he tumbled halfway onto his bed, his knees on the ground, his hands clutching the bedsheets like ivy clamped onto a wall, too weak to stand on its own; and his eyes watered them silently.


Feel free to tell me which you prefer in the comments, because I'm stumped.

(Title Forthcoming)

I haven't written a story in forever. This post fixes that. I was over on terribleminds.com,  and I saw Chuck's Flash Fiction Challenge, and I got inspired. So I wrote a response. And here it is! (If you wanna see the post that inspired this post, see here.) Only problem is that I'm still not sure what to call it. Well, that and I don't think it's done yet. But hey, it's a start. Enjoy!

There are some days when you just can’t win. Like those mornings you wake up and see the blinking face of your alarm clock silently telling you that the power went out last night, and your stomach suddenly remembers that it’s the not-so-distant cousin of a Black Hole as you realize just how late you are for work. 

Well today was just that sort of day for Hunter and his big sister, Scarlett. Except replace the power outage with a werewolf invasion, and up the dread-factor to about 157%. 

“Hunter, Scarlett! Get back inside, right now.” 

“Dad, we can help!” Scar insisted, her father’s spare axe hanging from her hand like a broken branch.

“We don’t know that, and I need you kids safe. Now get inside.”

Hunter was already there, obediently opening the trapdoor leading down to the cellar. Howls and grunting screams seeped through the walls. Scar could see the worry in her father’s eyes, the tension in his jaw. There was blood spattered on his shirt. “They got through the wall?” she asked quietly. He didn’t answer. That meant yes. 

“Stay down there until me or your Uncle Logan comes and gets you, alright?” He kissed them each on the head. “And bolt that damn hatch.” 

He didn’t look back as he hurried out the door.

“Scar, close it,” Hunter said. The noises were getting louder, or maybe the walls were just getting thinner. “Just close it.”

“But…we can help. I can help. If we just….”

“Dad said; just close it!”

The hatch came down forcefully, Scar’s arms unable to resist the sudden force.

Scar whirled and faced her brother. “Damn it Hunter! Don’t you see? You could help out there!”

“You know I can’t control it like that,” he said, his breathing shallow.

Scar’s face went expressionless, her eyes roiling with intensity. “You seemed to control it pretty well on that,” she said, indicating the closed and bolted trap door.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hunter appealed. “You don’t know what might happen.”

“Hunter, you need to be dangerous. We need you. You need to let it out.”

A scream from outside pierced through their containment, followed by an inhuman roar like a monstrous semi hurtling down a highway.

Hunter looked up at her, his wide green eyes glassy and unknowing. “I can’t,” he said, barely audible.

“They’re dying out there!”

“I can’t,” he said, barely audible.

“Well I can,” she answered, her eyes hardened and glowering, “and you're coming with me. I'm not gonna let dad die just 'cause you won't let it out."

She unbolted the latch, tossed the axe out onto the floor, then climbed the ladder, Hunter’s shirt firmly clutched in her hand. He whimpered a little, but didn’t put up much of a fight. Her face was blank. Dropping him on the floor, she turned back and shut the trap door, swiping up the axe in the same motion. Hunter looked up at her, his face pale, lips trembling slightly. “Let’s go, little brother.” His eyes got watery. She paused.

“Logan! Logan, look out!” their father’s voice cried. A roar; a snap, a crunch; a scream cut off at its crescendo, as if a doomsday symphony’s conductor had suddenly dropped dead on his podium, announcing the arrival of the apocalypse.

Everything stopped for a second, and then it moved in freeze-frame fast forward. Hauling Hunter from the floor, open door, step outside and push him forward; he stumbles and falls on the torn-up grass; she takes in the sight of half of her uncle’s face, the only part of him still recognizable in the slimy mass of pink and red, white bones poking out like fresh kindling, her father, blood-drenched, emerging from behind the corpse of a hulking dead wolf. Hunter sobbing, his hands bloody, his face contorted like paper crumpling in a fire.

And then time snapped back.

“Dad, behind you!” she screamed. He ducked and rolled to the side, rising to a crouch, face to face with another wolf. She tried to throw her axe at its head, but her arm refused. A growl and hot breath came from behind her. She fell to the ground; the axe fell from her hand. Backing away, backing away, those snarling, saliva-dripping fangs approaching steadily. From behind her, her father’s grunts let her know he was still alive; who knew for how long. Unexpectedly, an arm was under her hands. Hunter. He’d passed out. “Hunter! Hunter!” she yelled. She slapped him across the face. She shook him. She dragged him behind her, unable to stand in the face of those fangs, still approaching, unrelenting; grinning. “I won’t go out like this,” she said, her teeth gritted together like a bear trap. The teeth were almost upon them. “Hunter!”

His eyes snapped open. They were red. They were fire. They weren’t Hunter.

He stood in front of her, facing the wolf, confident. He smirked. “Come on, little bitch. Let’s see who’s an Alpha.”  

Letter To My Someday

I’ve been waiting so long for your face.

Like a walker in the fog,

Waiting for clarity,

Stumbling.

Like the ocean for Man to look upon her

Rage and tenderness,

Her heave and swell,

And understand.

I’ve been waiting so long for your arms.

Long nights I’ve been waiting

For your arms like a favorite sweater to

Hold me in the warm familiar fresh-bread scent

Of memories and love.

I’ve been waiting so long for your kiss.

I’ve daydreamed about it,

Foolish like a schoolboy,

Idealizing with glassy eyes how

Perfect it would be;

That first of many,

Tender and subtle as a sip of chamomile tea,

True as the sunrise.

I’ve been waiting to write you poetry.

Already you’re my Muse, if such a

Word can describe you. I

Think of you when

My poems speak of love,

When my hand feels like a vacancy sign,

When things feel incomplete.

I look at the stars, and wonder what’s

Your favorite constellation,

If you’ve been serenaded by them too.

Do the stars sing for you, my Love, as they

Sing for me?

Do you dance with the wind? Will you

Kiss me in the rain?

Will you keep with me the vigil of the

Sunrise?

I’ve missed your company, my Sweet, the

April shower sprinkle of your whisper,

The wonderful sameness of your stride,

The familiar shape of your laugh.

I’ve been waiting so long for you;

So long,

And I’ll wait.

          And I’ll wait.

                    And I’ll wait,

Until you’re here, suddenly,

Delightfully,

Like the moment I finally understood,

Beyond repeated fact,

That one plus one is two.

Falling Asleep

Sliding down a spiral of diluted thought,

Slipping into pajama dreams

I fell asleep;

Gave up the phantom of control I’d entertained,

Accepting in its stead

The realization of anything and

Everything,

Dropping finally into a sea of

Phantom flames, whispering

Secrets.

we watched the stars

we walked in the dark to the football field

raised our eyes to the sky

she’d never seen a shooting star

i don’t know what we spoke of

but it was pleasant just to have her near me

when we touched she touched me back

we broke the rules and climbed the ladder

concession stand conquered

and laid down

side by side

and watched the stars

and while we spoke

a burst of brilliance broke across the sky

and shared its light with our hearts

she saw her star

and i found mine.

The Night I Was a Ghost

The moon was bright and captivating, but I hadn’t noticed it yet. My thoughts were scattered, so I abandoned them and set out to pursue some peace of mind. My comfy and comforting blue-and-white unbuttoned plaid, flapping in the wind, like a cape, like my wings. The moon made it luminous.

I followed no path but the one of the moment. My steps were as fickle as the wind. Left, right, forward; slipping, walking. The moon was low and huge and glowing, shining through the branches. The random radiance of the lightning was a pleasant distraction. Imprecisely, I knew I wanted to see some vastness; somewhere open and alone. The Lookout. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the moon.

Up the damp dark hill, two people holding hands ahead, course change. Perhaps by the graveyard, the smaller lookout.

Spider webs’ snares, sneaky spinners’ closeness, stay away from the trees.

The mysterious, tugging moon. Another hand-clasping couple. Slightly exasperated, another detour, away from my new destination. Went another way, “let’s not be creepy,” self-made path behind the graves, glimpses of silver-white blaze through the trees. No vantage point perfection, sweaty summer air. Dissatisfied homecoming strides.

Desire grasped at the exiting fancies of an echoing large unpeopled scene. No rest for my spirit. Half empty peripheral parking lot, head down, but the moon shone down and I saw it, magic and bright, unobstructed. Then I went home.

Look

Love should have no cares but gazing,
Deep
Into the eyes and, therefore, soul
Of the Beloved,
And have no satisfaction
But to see therein
Its own reflection.

Jack's Lantern

Jack ran as if he could feel the devil’s breath on his neck because, frankly, he could feel the devil’s breath on his neck. There was nothing quite like a hefty dose of fear and adrenaline to make up for all those cigarettes and procrastinated workouts. Running for your life is one thing, but running for your soul is quite another.

                Of course, none of this was going through Jack’s head at the time. All he was concerned with at the moment was trying not to trip and drop his makeshift, hollowed-out vegetable, aglow with the mysterious ember from below. Without its light he would be lost in these depths forever. In all likelihood, it was his first, his last, his only shot at freedom.

                It was strange to think what strange succession of events had brought him to this death chase. It hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal to go into the cave. After all, it had been for a good cause, or at least it had seemed that way at the time. Lily’s hair had seemed all but luminous in the moonlight. But it was not his privilege to touch that glowing hair. That belonged to Vincent. All that was beautiful belonged to Vincent. Vincent, with his perfect white teeth, his charm; oh, why did he have to be so good-natured? If he’d been some kind of jerk, Jack wouldn’t have felt bad at all about trying to steal Lily away from him. But if he’d been a jerk, then Lily wouldn’t have been with him in the first place. It was all very frustrating.

                They’d been friends for some time, Jack and Lily. But it hadn’t been until she and Vince were official that Jack had finally realized how he felt about her. It wasn’t until she was out of his reach that he realized how much she meant to him, how much he had valued their time together. Oh, irony. So when they were on a walk, the ever-present Vincent tagging along, of course, and Lily’s ring had rolled down into the cave, Jack didn’t give a second thought about going in after it. Vincent had hesitated, and Jack leaped at the prospect of distinguishing himself. Vincent probably didn’t even know the story behind the ring. He probably didn’t realize what it meant to her. But that was a truth to be discovered and subtly exposed later, in the hope that she would finally realize how much more in sync she and Jack were.

                The cave was cold. Jack felt no doubt that, if there had been light, he would have seen his breath crystallize and fall to the ground before his very eyes. He shivered as he bent down stiffly to feel around for the ring. Soon he was on his hands and knees, his body racked by the arctic atmosphere, but determined not to emerge without his quarry in hand.

                Just when the numbness of his extremities was beginning to make its way toward his torso, he found the ring. Letting out a relieved sigh, he muttered, “Thank God,” only to hear a voice whisper darkly into his ear: “You won’t be saying that again anytime soon.” Jack screamed. 

                Afterward, he wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone just what happened next, only that it happened quickly. He felt a strong hand grasp his wrist, while others pushed him from behind, deeper into the darkness, away from the moonlight at the cave’s entrance. He stumbled, but instead of falling to the ground he found himself caught in an endless plunge into darkness. Terrified, he tried to scream, but the cold had become so great that he felt as if his voice had been frozen inside his throat.

                Finally, he hit the ground. For all the distance he felt he’d fallen, the impact was significantly less than he’d expected. But maybe that was just because he had little feeling left.

“What’s this?” a second voice inquired, surprised.

“What’s it look like, half-wit?” the first responded.

“No need to get huffy,” the second said defensively, “I’m just wondering why you brought a live one. Isn’t that ‘against the law’?”

The first voice laughed derisively. “As if that stopped any of us before.”

The second voice laughed along with the first.

“Wait,” it said, its tone suddenly serious. “What’s that in its hand?”

“What?” the first asked, trying to mask his concern.

“Get that away from it!” the second yelled, its voice abruptly booming like a thunderstorm.

                Though Jack had no idea what was going on, he knew that he wanted to keep the ring. It was Lily’s. He slipped the ring over his pinky with the last bit of dexterity left in his hand. Suddenly, to his surprise, he could move. He was still freezing cold, but he was no longer paralyzed. He opened his eyes and saw the outlines of ugly creatures, and all around there were dim blue flames. But instead of projecting warmth, this fire was colder than the wind in winter. “Grab him!” one of the creatures yelled. From nowhere, a hundred hands seized him, and before he knew it he was in a cell, and the door was closing behind the last of his captors. The frigid fire was here too, and sharp-edged icicles hung from the ceiling. He sat shivering in the corner and wondered what was to become of him. Eventually he started to doze off. Somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, he thought he heard Lily’s voice calling him from a distance. He would have responded, but he wasn’t awake enough to move his mouth. Suddenly, unexpectedly, something hit him on the head and thudded to the floor. It was a turnip.

                “Jack!” Vince’s voice called, slightly more distinct than Lily’s. Dazed, confused and freezing, Jack focused on the turnip. He’d never seen one quite so large before. For a brief moment, he thought about eating it. He had no idea how long he’d be down here. But he hated turnips. And as he stood up to walk over to it, his head knocked against an icicle, knocking it to the ground. It shattered, and one of the shards impaled itself in the vegetable. It gave him an idea: he would make a lantern! It was dark down here. The fire was mysteriously stingy with its light; though you could see it clearly enough in the darkness, it only vaguely illuminated its surroundings. So he wrapped his handkerchief around half of the ice shard, grabbed the turnip with his numb hands and set about carving a lantern.

                Once it had been carved to his satisfaction, he used his foot to knock an ember out of one of the fires around him. Even though the fire itself was colder than ice, he was still skeptical about touching it. But once the ember was separated from its fellows, it began to lose the little light it had. “Crap,” he muttered. He reached down and tapped it with his fingertips. It felt like an ice cube. But as he picked it up gingerly, he felt its cold begin to diminish with its dull blue glow. Intrigued, he brought it closer to his face. To his surprise, as its light went out entirely, it began to get warm. He saw his frosty breath touch it, and it started to look more and more like a living coal. In fact, he had to drop it into the turnip soon afterwards, because it started to hurt his hands. He blew on it, and it glowed brighter and brighter, and got hotter and hotter.

                That’s when he heard the scream. “Kill it!” it screamed.  “Aaaaaugh, it’s alive! Kill it, kill it, kill it!” The first voice was joined by others, and they were moving toward the cell door. Their feet began to make the floor shake. Jack shrank back into the corner furthest away from the door. But then, somehow, over the din, he heard Lily’s voice calling again. She sounded worried. He could just see her face, crinkled up so endearingly, her eyes wide with concern. What if she goes into the cave? he wondered to himself. That thought was enough to motivate him to action. The coal glowed even brighter. By its light, he saw a hole in the wall. Just as the pounding feet and angry voices were getting far too close for comfort, Jack kicked at the wall. It crumbled just enough for him to squeeze through, though he got very cold once again, because he had to get through the freezing flames.

                He didn’t wait around to hear the anger of the creepy little demons. He took off down the nearest upward-oriented corridor. Soon enough, he heard footsteps behind him. His orange, glowing turnip lit up the way, helping him to avoid obstacles. But even without light, whoever was behind him seemed to be gaining on him. There was a point where he was sure he felt its rank breath on his neck, and he would have screamed if he’d had the breath for it.

                Just when he thought he couldn’t stay ahead for even one more step, he saw moonlight ahead. All thoughts of failure fled, and he ran with renewed vigor. He laughed raggedly, gasping out a taunt to his pursuer. “You’ve failed! You…you…can’t stop…can’t stop me!” With a snarl, he saw something fly past him and appear ahead, blocking the beautiful moonlight. He skidded to a halt, his lamplight falling on the imposing figure before him. “Can’t stop you?” the figure asked calmly. It leaned in toward him. “I could break you,” it breathed. Jack’s lamplight flickered. “Drop the lamp,” it continued. “Even if you get out, you know she’ll never be with you. That boat sailed a long time ago; your time passed. You let it slip through your fingers, like you’ve done so many times before.” He felt as if something was dying inside of him. His lamp grew dimmer. He fell to his knees, the familiar cold beginning to grow again. “No,” he protested half-heartedly. “No, I…she…sh…she’ll never love…me. She’ll never love me.” His voice cracked. He could almost hear the smile on the creature’s face. “Yes, you’re right; she’ll never, ever love you. Now, drop the lamp.”

                “Jack?” her voice called faintly. He looked up slowly. He could hear the tears in her voice. “Jack, where are you? Come back.” He stood back up, his face more determined. “I know she might not ever love me back,” he said softly. “But I don’t care. At least I’ve loved; at least I’ve lived. And I won’t stop. You won’t stop me.”

The coal glowed bright as Jack walked up to the moonlight, and the shadowy figure held its arms up to shield its face from the heat before retreating back into the cold, dead abyss.