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Endless Blue
Eric leaned against the weathered rail and gazed out at the endless blue of Lake Michigan. A whisper of a breeze lifted the edge of the green
flag over head as children's laughter wafted up from the band of pristine sand at waters' edge. Yes, the singing sands...God how I've missed you.
He sprinted down the short flight of steps where green tendrils of ivy fought back the encroaching dunes and sunk his bare toes into the warm
beach sand. With each planted step, the sand squeaked gently underfoot and he breathed the damp air in deeply.
Eric let the old beach towel fall from his shoulders as he strode boldy into the placid lake. The water was tepid yet he shivered as wavelets
lapped at his shins. Putting his hand over his brow, he surveyed the expanse of tourmaline water. Yes, I can easily make it to the third sandbar,
away from the kiddies and vacationing soccer mommies...in two - maybe three minutes. Eric focused on that foggy place where the water met the
sky and dove cleanly into the water.
Coming up for a breath, he checked his position. As expected he had surfaced just beyond the pillars marking the usual safe haven and a lone gull
astride the red and white marker gazed steadily at him in mute agreement. He felt for the sand bar with one toe and smiled as the smooth surface
met his skin. Eric stood up shoulder deep on the second sandbar and looked back toward the shore line where a young mother chased her small
toddler, her arms waving a yellow beach ring as the child giggled and splashed in the gentle surf. Eric turned and faced the endless blue again,
squinting to see the opposite shore or at least that line where water and sky collide but only that misty aqua blur greeted him. The lake was a
tease with her gentle caress and shifting hues. Fine, we'll skip the pleasantries shall we Old Blue? I'm going for the fourth
sandbar...
Eric filled his lungs with air and dove again, his taut body cutting the surface of the waves with no foam. With each long thrust of his arms
forward he counted the strokes, remembering exactly the number of kicks it took to acquire the prize, standing atop the fourth sandbar. He
stopped, treading water for a moment before extending a leg downward. And there it rested on familiar smooth beach sand. Triumphant Eric
porpoised upward and landed with a splash. Again he surveyed the endless blue but the view had not changed. The water and sky collided in an
indistinguishable mix of muted blue and the silence roared in his ears. He turned back toward the beach expecting to see that confetti of bright
umbrellas and happy people...yet only the endless blue greeted him in every direction. There, old girl. No tricks today. Where's the shore line?
The waves lapped gently against his chest as Eric spun around again trying to locate the beach. With each revolution that odd mix of sky and surf
seemed to close in around him, weighing him down...permeating the air. He looked up expecting the brilliant light of a summer sun to burn his
retinas but all that filled his eyes was endless blue...
Overhead a lone gull circled eyeing an object floating just a few feet from shore. The bird coasted silently, settling on the tepid surface only
inches from Eric's outstretched arm as he bobbed gently in the surf, his eyes of endless blue permanently fixed and lifeless as his bloated body
drifted finally back to shore...
Independence leads to death...
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Love It Back To Life
"Tell me again how it was, Mom." Sasha crouched in the middle of the street, dirty hands tucked under her armpits as she shivered in the frigid
air. Her matted brown hair hung in limp tendrils around her face. "Before the fall?" The little girl's voice on the silent streets was like a
serenade of moments remembered only when furtive sleep allowed them escape from the chaos their world had become.
"I'm not sure I can remember." Hot tears cascaded down Giselle's face as she knelt beside her freezing child. "My mind tends only to focus on
finding us food, and shelter from the cold nights. All the less lucrative thoughts are pushed out by the things we do to survive."
"Come on. One more time, please?" The little girls eyes glowed like two jade moons as she stared off into the distance.
And so it starts my precious child. The wild animal in your eyes wants out and when the madness comes....I will lose you, and your
innocence...
"Honey, don't look at them anymore. We can't bring them back. I'll tell you again if you promise only to look at me." Giselle grabbed her
daughter's gaunt face in her own icy hands, breaking child's eyes from their locked stare. She closed her own wildflower blue eyes for a moment,
trying to shut out the horror of the dozens of white sheets that littered the street and sidewalks. Friends and strangers covered where they lay,
mute reminders of lives lost. She was running out of sheets, and out of time.
"I know, but sometimes the wind blows and the sheets move and I think, well I think somebody might still be alive.I believe they could be just
sleeping." Sasha's thin voice bounced back at the two from the cement walls of the abandoned building they used to call home.
"Somebody is alive. You and I are alive. We can't bring them back, honey. But I won't let the abyss have you. Here, put this on." Giselle
removed a ragged jacket from her shoulders. Tucking it around her little girl, she stopped for a moment and held her daughter fiercely against
her. She allowed the tears to fall again as she felt her daughters small arms wrap around her neck. Like opium, her daughter's embrace enveloped
her senses, and for a moment she felt the rush of life through her veins and her soul.
"Just tell me again, Mommy about something beautiful." Sasha pulled away suddenly. She stuck her hands in the pockets of the old jacket and
extracted a withered chrysanthemum. "Tell me the color this flower was. It can't remember, so you have to do it." Sasha's eyes glowed in the
twilight and she smiled, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Please. Before time goes away." Her daughter's plaintive demand echoed in
her ears.
"Okay, baby." Giselle closed her eyes.
Please, God. I can't do this. I can't watch my baby die....not like all the others. "It was crimson. Vivid crimson."
"Like blood." Sasha whispered.
"Yes, like blood. Like that red lipstick I used to wear. You know the lipstick that your daddy said seduced him into marrying me." Giselle
squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
"And the leaves." Sasha's breath was warm against her mother's cheek. "Tell me about the leaves."
"Honey, they were green like your eyes, and they smelled like summer playgrounds, Oh Sasha!" Giselle grabbed her daughter and squeezed her hard
"Don't leave me! I love you."
"I know, but you're crushing my flower." Sasha squirmed away from her mother's grip. "Look."
"Honey, its not a flower anymore. Its just a memory of something that was alive."
"Yes, it is a flower."
Giselle looked down at the chrysanthemum that rested in her daughter's hands. Blood red petals burst from a slender green stem, and Giselle could
smell the scent of summer welling up from the bloom.
"Honey! Where did you get that flower?"
"From your pocket, mom."
"But that flower was dead."
"I know. But now it isn't. I wanted to give you something, Mom. So I loved this flower back to life." Sasha's eyes sparkled and her cheeks
glowed as she smiled at her mother. "We can love it all back to life."
Giselle felt her daughter's body grow warm as she held her tightly, her daughter's voice repeating over and over "we can love it all back to
life".
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Marooned
I'd spent the bulk of my conscious life consumed by the gnaw of this inescapable moment. So obsessed I was, I had played out the graphic
scenarios in high definition detail worthy of a CSI script, complete with full color and visceral sound effects. A miscalculation on a slick,
predawn commute, caused her vehicle to flip end over end across the median as her son's scrambled eggs coated the windshield like sticky confetti.
A sudden burning sensation in her hand as she reached into the recesses of the pantry, caused her to recoil. She saw the bulbous black
hindquarters of the spider scurrying away from her throbbing digits as the widow's toxins coursed through her body. But never in my wildest
moments of neurosis or psychosis or rabid, sweat soaked sleeplessness did I ever entertain the raw terror unfolding before me. Hurtling
earthward at 600 miles an hour, I grasped frantically for something, anything to remind me of the meaning of my life but all that coursed through
my adrenalin soaked brain was a few lines from a forgettable Alanis Morrisette number: "As the plane crashed down he thought...well isn't this
nice?"
Plucked from the deck of a sinking cruise ship only to succumb when the rescue helicopter propeller clipped the disabled luxury liner's pitching
deck, a woman's body was found floating in the flotsam...
Seconds later I opened my eyes, expecting to see either God with His hands on his Mighty hips, or the complete chaos of the charred plane
scattered across the impact field. When neither vision met my gaze, I rubbed my eyes and looked again. As far as I could see, calm turquoise
water stretched toward a lavender horizon. Beneath my quivering body, warm beach sand gently shifted as I struggled to my feet. Whirling around,
my back to the expanse of ocean, I stared in disbelief at the vista before me. Tropical trees, heavy with fruit, beckoned from the edge of the
pristine beach. The verdant orchards gave way to lush, rolling hills, threaded with cascading falls and streams. The air was fragrant with the
scent of flowers. Above my head, brightly colored birds circled and glided while chirping avian melodies. I looked down the beach again.
Spotting a dark object a few yards away, I determined myself to regain control of my wobbly gait, and started down the beach to examine the
object.
Walking the shoreline proved more difficult than I initially expected and after only a few yards, I found myself winded and weary. Exhausted,
I flopped down beside the object. It was ancient, decaying, and smelled like a basement. The clasp, its lock long since rusted away from exposure
to the saline atmosphere, fell apart at my first touch. For a moment, I paused. Perhaps closed boxes should remain closed. Or perhaps something
wonderful, as wonderful as this secluded shoreline, waited for me within the rotting case. I flung the lid open and peered into the container.
It was empty. Disappointed and bone tired, I shut the lid and leaned against the edge of the trunk.
When I opened my eyes again, the sun had released her throne of azure sky and left behind a night studded with myriad twinkling stars. A crescent
moon rode the gently cresting surf that lapped at my exposed toes.
"Well, you're finally awake. Thank God. Your snoring was waking the dead."
"Excuse me?" I sat bolt upright as I addressed the darkness. "Who said that?" My eyes scoured the beach and tree line for the source of the voice,
but I saw no one. I felt as though I were the only person on the planet.
"I said it, you bonehead. Who else would talk to you?"
"Not funny! Show yourself." I struggled to my feet. Picking up a jutting timber from the side of the box, I brandished it like a club.
"Okay, Tammy. Put the stick down. You might hurt yourself. Woman picks up moldy stick. She gets a splinter that festers and her entire hand rots
off. Her body was found yesterday along the shore of a deserted island."
"Stop it! I said you weren't funny. Now step out here where I can see you."
"Well," the voice suddenly sounded very near, as though it was welling up from the ground around me. Or maybe it was rumbling up from within me.
"I would, but you never carry a mirror."
"Please! You're scaring me to death!"
"Of course I am. I always have. And I always will. Come on. You didn't think you could travel without ME, did you? By the way, the box was a great
metaphor, don't you think?"
"You were in the box." I sank to my knees as the realization enveloped me like a shroud.
"Suffice it to say, you had me boxed, for a moment, but you can only go so long without me. So what shall it be today? Woman found today on a
small island. Further test results indicate she stepped on a poisonous cone shell. No, wait. Preliminary tests indicate that the woman found
today died shortly after being struck by a large piece of overripe fruit that fell on her head while she was foraging in the jungle. Oh yes, on a
deserted island."
"Shut up! Please, get out of my head." I started to sob as I rocked back and forth on that lonely stretch of beach sand.
After years of rushing and worrying, it could have been paradise for me. But, I conceded to my inner neurosis. I let the fear of death out of the
box. I can still hear her as she torments me. After surviving a horrific plane crash, the victim's body was found today. She apparently succumbed
when a rogue wave pummeled the small deserted island where she originally came ashore. A woman's body was found on a deserted island today, a
puffer fish lodged in her throat...The partial remains of an unidentified woman were found today on a newly discovered island that is populated
by a small band of cannibals. It appears they only eat brains...
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Puppies are Better
The Thing had managed to squirm out of Kara's grasp again, when the doorbell rang. Unable to answer the door herself, she yells, "COME
IN!"
Thank God, Kara thought, that would be the random axe-murderer I ordered, come to put me out of my misery.
"Hey, sweetie, where are ya?"
Damn! It's just Ruth. No chalk outlines on the linoleum today.
"IN THE BATHROOM!" shouted Kara, her voice bouncing off the walls that desperately cried out for new wallpaper.
Good lord, is that my voice?
It seemed to Kara that recently, she had two voices: Low, and Very Loud. She suddenly realized that the latter was making more and more of an
appearance as of late.
Well, get used to it, sister. I'm sure it's going to be around for at least another 18 years, unless I blow out my voice box.
As she turned her attention back to The Thing, she could hear the footsteps of her best friend thudding down the carpeted corridor. Soon, Ruth
appeared at the doorway. She was very attractive, decked out in one of her work ensembles, looking every bit like a picture ripped from the pages
of a Dillard's catalogue.
Ruth surveyed the battleground. The bathroom had taken a direct hit, as debris consisting of towels, clothes and diapers was scattered everywhere.
Kara was kneeling on a bath mat, which barely kept her knees out of the water that seemed to be rising right out of the tile floor. Her uniform of
the day, an old sweatshirt and jeans, was covered with water stains and soapsuds. She had her back to Ruth, and was struggling with The Thing in
the bathtub: her infant son.
"So, how goes it?" Ruth asked. The question hung in the damp air, swirling around Kara's head, mingling with the tendrils of steam that rose from
the bath water. Kara bit the inside of her cheek, stifling the response welling up in her throat like bad Mexican take-out looking to get
out.
"Life is good," was the response that eventually came up. She hadn't bothered to turn around, as she locked a slippery arm around the squirming
infant in the bathwater. As she reached for a bottle of soap, the child slipped from her grip again. This time, his china doll face disappeared
below the suds-line, a submarine in the process of crash-diving. Kara muttered a half-swear (Oh, God Da-), as she plunged her hand underwater,
and plucked the sputtering child out of the water by one of his soapy legs.
"Nice," smiled Ruth, wiping an errant soap bubble from her unblemished face. As she watched her best friend struggle with the now-screeching
child, she found herself quietly shaking, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "The kid's not a carrot, you know," she said, jokingly,
"You don't have to kill him on my account." She watched Kara clumsily try to wrap the squalling baby in a fraying yellow bunny print towel.
"Need some help?" she offered.
"Yeah, hand me the baby muzzle over there." Kara freed her hand long enough to flail it in the direction of a small purple pacifier on the floor
in front of the toilet.
"Eeeww!" The sound oozed out of Ruth's mouth, as she picked the pacifier up by its tether, letting it swing loose between her thumb and
forefinger. "You mean this thing that was touching the floor?"
"Yeah, sure," replied Kara, "You think the floor is worse than listening to this?" She snatched it from Ruth's grasp and plunged it into the
child's mouth. As she attempted to rearrange the towel, the infant plucked the offensive piece of rubber with a balled-up fist, and launched it
into the air. It made a sick plooping sound as it landed inside the toilet bowl: A three-pointer for The Thing.
"Oh, yeah, give it to him now!" Ruth blurted out, all restraint gone. Her laughter echoed in the bathroom, mixing with the screams of the child.
The sounds seemed to compose some cruel song, dedicated to Kara, number one with a bullet.
Ruth sensed something in the sudden stillness of her friend, and slowly stopped laughing.
"Here, gimme the little troll. You look like you could use a break. Grab yourself a brewski, why don't cha?"
Kara offered up her child to Ruth, as she sacrificed her grip on him. "Thanks," she weakly smiled, as she climbed off the bathroom floor and made
her way towards the kitchen. She swallowed hard, trying to contain herself. Her coffee colored eyes already had rings around them, and she didn't
want to stain them with the tears that she felt pooling around their edges.
Okay, girl, pull yourself together, she thought, you are fine. Remember, life is good, right? You can do this mom thing. It's instinctive,
right?
When she reached the kitchen, she jerked the handle on the refrigerator door. Brushing her auburn hair from her eyes, she passes a quick glance
upon its contents, and eyed her prize. She pushed aside a pizza box, the remnants of last night's dinner.
You know, Kara thought, they should make pizza boxes with days of the week on them, like the underwear. That way, you could tell how old the
pizza is. "Hey honey, is this Monday's dinner, or Wednesday's?" "Check the day on the box, ya dork." Yeah, now THAT'S a million-dollar idea. Have
to remember that...
She retrieved two black and gold cans from a torn-up box, and closed the door. She entered her small, ill-furnished living room, and was greeted
with the sight of Ruth, sitting in a scuffed-up rocker, holding a dry-diapered and pleasantly quiet baby in her arms.
Visions of pizza-box calendars danced out of Kara's head, as it filled back up with the reality of her situation. She placed her beer on the
coffee table, and walked to Ruth with the other.
"Puppies are better," she quipped, as she popped the can and handed it to Ruth. "Do puppies have Frito feet? I don't think so."
"Well, do babies have puppy breath?" Ruth took a small sip of the beer, then placed the can on the coffee table. "Come on, Kara," she smiled, "look at him. What's his name? Lee?" She sniffed at the baby's toes. "Mmm. Baby soap."
"No, his name's Les, as in less money, less time, less sex -- "
"Less loneliness? Less 'no meaning' to your life?" Ruth's tea green eyes softened, as she looked into Kara's bleary eyes. "You are living every
little girl's dream, ya know. A job, a home..." She looked down at Les's angel face again and smiled. "A family..."
"A leaky roof, a loser husband, six months of unemployment due to pregnancy, and a screaming ball of testosterone that needs feeding all the
time." Kara flopped down on her well-worn couch and popped the top on her beer. "Yeah, I still say puppies are better."
"I thought you wanted this baby," Ruth whispered, as she nuzzled Les' furry little head.
"I wanted a girl."
"Maybe he'll be gay."
Kara smirked. "Thanks, Ruth. You always say the right thing." She chugged down a big gulp of her beer. "'Every little girl's dream,' my
ever-widening ass. Boobs down to my friggin' knees, my stomach looks like I burned it with the iron, I never sleep through the night...What
century are you living in, anyway? I could have had a career, for god's sake. Every girl's dream? Every girl's nightmare's more like
it."
"Uh huh," Ruth said, still staring at the gift in her arms. "Look, you have a job again. You own the leaky roof. Steven is not a total loser. You
had sex at least once...I've got the proof right here." As Ruth gently rocked in the chair, Les started to make happy and contented bubbly noises.
Ruth smiled. "He sounds just like that old coffee percolator my grandmother used to have. Can't be all bad, right?"
She looked up at Kara, who was wiggling the tab on her beer can. "I never figured you to take a ride on the Pity Express. Oh, and by the way, I
can see your knees. Wrinkles, yes. Nipples? Not a chance."
Kara nodded as she took another swig of beer. Ruth looked back down at Les.
"Babies make you immortal, right? Part of you is gonna be around forever in your kid, and your kid's kids." Ruth nuzzled Les nose-to-nose. "Tell
me you honestly hate this little guy's guts."
Kara guzzled the rest of the beer in two quick gulps. "Well, I'll tell ya, now I understand why some animals eat their young." A loud belch
escaped her lips. "Ow, that was a good one. Let's see if that lives on forever."
Ruth smiled. "In a couple of years, your boy here will think that was pretty funny." She stood up with the cooing child nestled in her arms like a
favorite doll, and walked over to Kara. "I gotta go. Got some single career woman stuff to do. And you? Well, you've gotta chill, girlfriend.
Don't be so serious. Babies grow, as do mothers. This will all be funny someday, especially when they've moved on and the memory of this is all
you'll have."
"Will that happen soon?" Kara asked, putting the empty beer can on the table, "'cause I could definitely use some chuckles right about
now."
Ruth smiled at Kara, as they passed the now-sleeping torch of the future between them.
"I'll call. We'll do lunch." The clichéd line, told in a sarcastic tone, was followed by the sound of the front door closing.
"Yeah, lunch," said Kara, to no one in particular. For a moment, she sat on the couch, staring at the doorway that her friend had just used to
escape her world. Then, she stared down at the small bundle in her arms. She kept staring, as tears from her eyes gently splashed upon his placid,
cherub face. She clutched the baby tight against her chest.
"Puppies are better," she whispered.
And then the sobbing began in earnest.
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Robbed in the Hood
Perhaps it was the heady thought of Guiness chilling in the refrigerator at home. Perhaps it was the wafting aroma of green chile carried on the
evening air. Perhaps I was exhausted after a week in corporate hell. Whatever the reason, my usual diligence failed me as I slipped from the
protective circle of light in the parking lot and into the unknown.
I'll just swing into the first available space and sprint into the store. Seemed like a logical concept in my tiny villa - only a few blocks away
from my house. I'll only be a moment.
Lost in my reverie of a worry free weekend, I sauntered across the parking lot, never noticing the three figures lurking only a few steps from my
car. In a rush of sneakered footsteps and a flurry of arms I suddenly found myself sprawled face down on the pavement - my molesters receding into
the darkness with my purse and my pride in tow.
"You sorry sonsabitches" In an adrenalin induced panic I sprang to my feet, my head snapping right and then left as I scanned the parking lot.
Then the nausea hit me. All my unfinished ideas were in that notebook. What was I thinking, taking my bag into the store? Hot tears welled
unbidden in my eyes and I brushed them off angrily. Thank God I wasn't stupid enough to toss my damn keys in my purse.
"Excuse me Ma'am. Are you ok?"
"Back off, jerk. You have no idea who you're messing with." The sentence spilled from my lips before I could stop it as I
spun around, keys brandished in my fist, prepared to pummel the living crap out of who ever just called me 'ma'am.'
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." The young man stared intently at me, his jade eyes flickering as they reflected the parking lot lights.
He reached out his hand in greeting.
"Don't think so, Son. I'm only stupid once." I shook my keyed fist at him with all the venom my quivering flesh could muster after face planting
in the parking lot.
"Well, I just saw what happened. I can help you. Do you need me to call some one? Your knee, well it looks pretty messed up." He let his hand
fall to his side.
"I'm fine." I spat, jaws clenched. I took a breath and looked down at my kneecaps. Maybe he noticed they were shaking so violently they were
slamming together. A trickle of bright red blood wound its way from my knee to my ankle, and an angry patch of rashy flesh covered the top of
my foot. "Well, I'm fine except for missing a shoe."
"Its over there." He pointed a few feet away. "I really want to help you." He stepped toward me.
"You know what? I'm fine. I'm just gonna get in my car and drive home to my husband who is expecting me any time, and knows exactly where I am
right now. So, thanks but no thanks." I straightened my frame and stomped backwards toward my car with all the force and authority I could muster
as the young man continued to watch me intently. I threw myself into the drivers seat, slamming on the door lock mechanism, and revved the engine
as I turned my lights on. Then I shot my most venomous look at the young stranger still standing in the parking lot. The slightest hint of a smile
played at the corners of his mouth as he raised one eyebrow and held a finger to his lips. He then bowed deeply and sprinted off in the direction
of my attackers, his oversized green hoodie billowing out behind him like a cape. Jerk! I bit my lip and threw the car into reverse, hearing a
dull clunk as my back tire rolled over the shoe I'd neglected to retrieve. Damn shoes. Damn purse. I'm such a dumbass.
I held back the tears until I was safely nestled in my familiar spot on the couch, chilled Guinness in hand. Then the sobs came as I recounted
the events for my husband and children.
"Did you kick him in the ass, mom?" my younger boy piped up.
"Don't say ass. And no I didn't." I took a gulp of foamy stout.
"So what did this kid look like? Maybe I will run into him at school tomorrow." My hulking teen smacked his beefy fist against his palm in a
threatening motion.
"Um yeah. Four against one. I don't know. He looked kinda like Robin Hood. You know, mysterious eyes, quiet demeanor and a great big cape like
sweat jacket. Forest green."
"Sure, mom. Robin Hood swipes your purse in the parking lot. Mom, robbed in the hood!" The conversation dissolved into giggling as someone
suddenly knocked hard on the front door.
"Who the hell is that at this late hour."
"Maybe its Robin the Hood." My younger boy pulled his knees up under his chin and rolled on the floor as he laughed.
"Don't laugh at your mother. Honey, I told you you shouldn't carry your whole life around in that giant bag lady thing." My husband pursed his
lips and sighed.
"Yeah, well my life is over now, huh. Get up and see who it was, Son."
"Dang mom, we're just joking." My older son uncurled himself from beside me on the couch and walked the few steps to the front door. He opened it
wide and peered out into darkness. "No one's here, Mom. Hey is this stuff yours?" He turned to face me, my stolen purse dangling from one finger
as he clutched a pair of new shoes in the other.
"My purse." I snatched the bag away from my child. Rifling through it, I found everything in place, money, credit cards and my precious notebook.
A page fluttered out of the notebook as I flipped through the pages. It came to rest on the floor.
"What's that, a love note? Dear, ma'am - here's your purse. You'll find all is in order. I hope the shoes are to your liking. Best
regards...Robin..."
"Gimme that!" I snatched the note away from my younger boy. Robin? Suddenly the image of a jade eyed, green clad young man flooded my memory. I
smiled as I stared out my open front door into the darkened night. Thank you Robin. Where ever you are.
Back to Top
Soul Disease
The needle sank deep into her veins. She braced herself against the whirring machinery as the back of her throat started to burn.
Was prayer at this point frivolous?
Full circle view of an inner life she could not see progressed as she held herself immobile against the tremors that begged release in her war
ravaged brain.
Hope is food for children and I have grown gaunt as an adult imbecile.
"Okay, we're all done. You can get dressed and leave when you're ready."
Father, I'm not ready.
Her legs shook as she dressed herself quickly, poised to flee from the physical reminders of potential danger; but her outer calm was a
masquerade transparent in her mirrored reflection. She looked away, fighting unbidden tears.
Waivering faith is an indulgence too rich for my shallow palate. I am no longer immune to the fear.
She smiled politely at the faceless desk drones as she exited the building. Could they see she was afflicted with a soul
disease?
There is no heaven in the hell of a double mind.
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Wild Child
Once upon a time a wild child sat at the entrance to the great cave of secrets. Chained to the damp entrance by heavy metal bound to her
ankles -- she cried -- collecting her tears in a small stone box. Every night -- the ogre came. A pale worm like wraith -- to feed on her tears. If
her salt offering was not bitter enough -- the wraith beat her, tattooing words of sadness and despair across her back in a secret sonnet of pain.
So bitter her tears became she was almost blinded by the acid in her own soul. She could no longer see the sunlight in the full of the day, so she
waited until the sunset. Cowering against the wall of her dank prison cave, she listened for the lioness that roared in the forest below her stale
dungeon. She called to the lioness, begging each sunset that the fierce feline would come and eat her whole, rip her apart so that she could at
last feel the sweet release of death. Soon even her call became hollow and lonely like the memory of a birdsong on an abandoned windowsill. Her
bitter tears became caustic, burning her cheeks. The ogre delighted in her pain, licking her tears until the wild child's face was no longer
recognizable.
And so she lay on the floor of the cave, her pool of tears slowly dissolving her flesh and bones until she was but scars and sadness. She barely
heard the hushed breath of the lioness when she came -- hungry and hunting for the song bird that no longer sang on sweet nights when the sun
dipped down into the lush cover of green forest.
"Wild child, do you not know me?"
"Is it you my lioness? Come to put me out of my pain? Please make my death quick" The wild child closed her eyes -- waiting for the strong bite of
the lioness around her throat.
And the lioness responded. Licking the wild child softly -- slowly caressing every inch of the child's scarred body, healing the years of torment
and pain with her gentle pink caress.
"Open your eyes, wild child."
As the child opened her eyes the fresh vision brought new tears of sweet rapture to her once scarred face. The once ragged flesh clinging to her
bones had been healed, and covered with tawny, soft feline fur. Swollen hands and feet were now strong -- powerful paws with claws of steeled
ebony. As she sprang up the chains that had trapped her fell away and she caught her own image in the eyes of the lioness. She too was now a
proud, strong cat -- lithe and muscular.
"My lioness!" The wild child roared -- passionate and sweet -- resonating through the old lionesses heart.
"Yes, wild child. You have found your truth. Now you are free from pale ogres that haunt you in the night -- swallowing your bitter
tears."
And the cats slipped shoulder to shoulder melting into the warm summer sunset -- forever safe in the lush cover of the forest.
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