Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

POETRY:

Images at the Close of a Day

by Roben Quill-orange

It is a nearly cloudless day. Like a scribe, a jet passenger plane’s wake draws a single line barely above the horizon. Below that line the sun has set. Above it, the few wisps of cloud lying low in the waning sky take on such a hue of rose as makes the poet write his poem, while in another place a lover grasps her mate, bringing two souls as close as they can be.


Posted on: October 25 2011

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POETRY:

G'thar

by Joshua Design Quill-yellow

There once was a city that stood strong and tall

Proud as it was, it believed in justice for all

But distraught were its citizens for there was a plague

A curse, if you will, that none dared name.

 

An evil griffen lived just outside the land.

Feasting each day upon on man

Until he could find someone to answer the riddle

Impossible it was, killed many heroes

 

The question was this:

“Poor people have it and rich people want it,

Greater than God but more evil than Satan.”

 

None could kill this demon from hell,

King of the animals and Lord of the birds,

Would not stop until one answered his tell

This beast had bested all strength with words

The only way to end his reign

Was to answer the question that drove scribes insane.

 

From across the great sea a man had heard

Of the suffering that was caused by one half lion one half bird.

Beowulf had been restless since his battle with a demon

No one dared challenge him after that victorious evening

It is said that Wyrd was with him and favored him so

And he laughed at the thought of such a weak sounding foe.

 

He made haste this voyage with five men he brought

Close friends, brothers; many battles they had fought

They only came for entertainment for they knew he would win

The great battle against a griffen.

 

After they ported in the far yonder land

They thanked the gods for guiding their hands.

But the true challenge lied ahead that no man could face

More than just strength, Beowulf needed fate.

 

King Hygelac’s thane rested in an inn

What woke his slumber was the sound of a griffen.

With a thunderous roar and a mighty crash

It burst through the wall and then began the clash.

With his lighting reflexes the hero’s sword met talon

But speed and grace was with the falcon.

He flung the sword with a flick of his claw

Beowulf struck unconscious against the wall

But before the beast would have his prey

A great sacrifice was made that day.

One of the Jutes declared, before the deadly pounce struck,

“Tell me your riddle that has defeated all luck!

I will give answer and if I am wrong

May my weak flesh be like butter to your claw!”

With haste the lion grabbed the man and took flight

Off to his dwelling in the dead of night.

 

When Beowulf awoke only four men surrounded him

They had missed the battle for they were courting women

Beowulf believed in rest before a killing

And the man that had sacrificed had stayed with him willingly.

 

When the grief in his breast turned sour

He swore to avenge by the 12th hour

They asked townsfolk where the griffen did stay

And a child pointed the path to the wicked cave.

 

The Jutes set on their journey, a monster they’d slay

But as they approached, out came the beast from the cave.

Swords brandished they waited for an attack

But then they saw their fellow man upon the beast’s back. 

 

The griffen landed before them and the man did dismount

“My name is G’thar and I have solved the riddle!” he announced

“’Nothing’ is the answer to the question posed by this beast.

Tonight in celebration we will feast!”

 

“There will be no feast for tonight, this monstrosity must be destroyed!”

Cried Beowulf, angered and annoyed

“No you are wrong brother; this animal has caused no harm

He has done no killing, only placed men under charm.

They were brought up to this summit and asked the simple question

Until one got it right all were held in his possession.”

 

At the end of this thought the Griffin let out a screech

It broke the spell and all captive men woke from their sleep

Beowulf was proud but to the new hero he bowed

G’thar the intelligent deserved a crown

For saving a village with bravery and words

Instead of brute strength, some say he had Wyrd.


Posted on: October 23 2011

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POETRY:

Perfection

by Joshua Design Quill-yellow

Her eyes shine like diamonds;/ Her hair a golden silk./ Her voice like chimes and/ Her smile a reason to kill./ But all that is on the inside, for I have never seen my beauty fair./ The one I'd walk the world wide./ That takes the very air/ From my lungs when she speaks./ Whose lips barely brush against mine;/ Slightly parted on my cheek./ The one I call beautiful, gorgeous, fine./ Yet she is so modest- I love her./ And I can call her mine./ But distance must our hearts endure./ If what's on the inside reflects on the out,/ Then my baby is perfect, there's just no doubt.


Posted on: October 17 2011

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FICTION:

Diary of a Sixth Grader

by judylady2000 Quill-orange

 Diary

           Of

                A

                       Sixth

                                      Grader

                                                By:

                                                         judylady2000 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Diary, Oct. 13, 2020

 

Today is horrible! I mind as well tell you at the beginning. Oh, by the way, if you are looking for a happy ending, this isn’t something you should be reading!

I was reading my book at school, Once upon a time, and I heard some sounds… It sounded like helicopters but millions! Everyone went to the window, even the teacher, to figure out what the heck was going on, and, you guessed it, millions of helicopters! Everywhere! I bet if you had been in space and looked down, it probably looked like we had been over run with flies! But, this scared me and the rest of the class! This defiantly wasn’t something to joke about. An alarm rang in the school, no alarm like I had ever heard and our teacher, Ms. Gilbert, yelled, “Go into your houses! Don’t come out! Run! Run!” she yelled. Everyone in my class screamed and ran into the halls. I looked for my best friend, Margaret but we always called her Meggie. When I found her, I grabbed her by the hand, “Come on, my house is closer than yours! Come on!” I yelled and I pulled her out of the school, towards my house. When we got to my house, we ran in and locked the door behind us. We were breathing hard. My heart felt like it was going to pop right out of my chest, but, it didn’t. Then, I noticed that my mom wasn’t in the house. I figured that but it scared me, “Meggie,” I asked her, shaking like crazy, “what about my mom?” I asked her. She was laying on the floor, not daring to look outside, “I-I-I don’t know… What about my mom t-t-too?” she asked, “Maybe we should call them,” I asked hopefully, she nodded and we ran for our phones. We dialed quickly but, we never got to them. The person thing on the phone said this, “We are very sorry but we have taken over the U.S.A. You are no longer to speak from phones but by mail. Gracias!” the person who said it was female and Mexican… or Spanish… I didn’t know, I just wanted to get to my mom. I started for the door but Meggie stopped me, “What are you thinking? You can’t go out there! Spain has taken over!” Meggie looked down, I noticed that she was crying. I too was crying, “They’ll come! We just have to write a letter,” I sobbed through the tears. Right then, a hard pounding came on the door, “Open up!” it yelled with a heavy Spanish accent. I ran to the door and unlocked it to meet a Spanish man, “Yes?” I asked shakily, “Who lives here?” he asked. I didn’t answer, too shocked to answer, “Names woman, names!” he yelled. I shook my head, “Yes sir,” I thought for a moment, “My mother lives here. As does my father. I live here too,” I told him, “I want names!” he yelled. I covered my ears, “Yes sir. My mother’s name is Jade Eve, my father’s being Augusto Eve. Mine is Rosa Eve,” I told him, “Who is that?” he asked. He pointed his gun at her, “That’s my friend, Margaret Talasko,” I told the man, “Why is she here?” he asked. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, “She came over when… your men’s helicopters covered the sky. I live closer so-” he cut me off, “What’s your family’s names and were do you live!” he yelled. I looked at Margaret, “I live at 563 South Gate lane. My mother’s name is Janice Talasko, my father’s name is Harrison Talasko, my two older brother’s names are Ben and Xavior Talasko. My older sister’s name is Autumn Talasko,” Meggie stood up straight and tall, “Very well,” he grunted, “I will be back,” he yelled and he walked away. I shut the door and locked it, “I want mom,” I looked at Meggie, ran up to her and hugged her, “Me too Rosa, me too!” Meggie hugged back. Now it’s late… Really late, Bye!

Love, Rosa Eve.

Dear Diary, Oct. 14, 2020

 

Diary, today is even worse! The man at the door yesterday came again with terrifying news. All of the police men and women were to be shot today. As were the fire fighters and the mayor himself! Why do you ask that this is bad? My mother is a police officer! Meggie’s mother is a fire fighter. The man had then tied us together and led us to the town hall. All of the fire fighters and the police were lined up, facing us. I saw mom. I ran up to her and hugged her, Meggie trailing behind, “Mom, I don’t want you to die! Please! Please!” I yelled, my face tear stricken, but, to my surprise, she was smiling, “Don’t cry. Just be safe. I’ll visit you in your dreams when I’m an angle. I promise… I’ll tell you how to get through. I promise. I love you, but, you must go,” she pushed me away lightly as the man pulled us back, “Mom!” I screamed. “Mom! Mom!” Meggie was screaming for her mother too but they seemed not to hear us, “Don’t do this to them!” I pleaded, “Don’t do this!” I screamed. As I looked up, there was the sound of shots being taken. The screams and cries from the crowed. As I looked up, I saw my mother die. She was smiling, but she was dead. I screamed and cried. The man took us back to my house. We were surprised to see Meggie’s brothers and sister. Meggie smiled and hugged them, as did I, “Is she?” Autumn asked. Meggie and I nodded. They all started crying, “I tried to stop the men! I really did!” I told them but it was no use. Why did stupid Spain have to take over the U.S. They could’ve taken over Russia or something. As long as it wasn’t us… I dare not tell more. I’m sorry… I’ll tell you about tomorrow… What ever sorrow it brings…

Love, Rosa Eve

Dear Diary Oct. 15, 2020

I’m scared today! Today, it was just like a normal day. But, the light’s went out and we can’t use any electronics! I half way think I’m loosing my mind! Meggie is really the only one who’s keeping me sane… Her and this diary. Also, today they took away all of our clocks and calendars! I don’t know why. Perhaps they don’t want us to know what time it is and what day? Oh well, I’m glad I have this book if I didn’t, I would loose my mind! Also, today I found out that the man’s name is Fernando Rodriguez. He told us that our new ‘mayor’ is Juan Ricardo. Tomorrow we have to go to school because our teachers have something to tell us… I’m afraid that it’s going to be bad news… Hopefully it’ll be our normal teachers rather than the Spanish men. Oh, and get this, we have to wear a uniform to school or when ever we have to go there for a ‘special announcement’ I don’t even want to think what that is. He also said that on Halloween, we may dress up but we have to go to the town square for something. I don’t really know if I want to go but, I guess we kinda have to. He also asked if I were Christian, which I am and I had to come with him. I had to get a tattoo! It’s on my left arm, under my wrist. They are just numbers though. My numbers are 5589076. They asked Meggie’s religion, she’s a Jew and they didn’t take her away. I have a really bad feeling about this. I’ve been scrubbing my numbers ever sense the man left but I guess you really do have to get it surgically removed… At least I think that’s what it is… Now, I’m guessing that it’s around 9:00Bye! Love, Rosa Eve

Dear Diary, Oct. 16, 2020

Terrifying news! I went to school today and these are the exact words of what Ms. Gilbert told us today:

“Welcome back to school today kids, but, this will be your last day coming here. The school will be knocked down and used for our mayors castle. Women, you are not to leave your house unless you are pretty much the only one there. Men, you go get the groceries and other needs for survival. Women, you will make your clothes from now on. You do not make shoes. The men or women of the house will get those needs from you. Christians, stand up if you are one,” I and a couple other people stood up, “Yesterday, the Spanish guards took you to get a tattoo, correct?” we all nodded, “Do not go with them any more! If he comes, don’t get the door if you are alone. If you have someone over, have them get the door and have them tell the guard that you have killed yourself. He will probably look at you, to make sure that you are dead. To do that, take one of these pills, put fake blood all around you and on you. It will make him believe that you are dead. If you do answer the door again, you all will be taken to a Concentration camp. If you don’t know how to sew, just try. That’s all today. I bid you all a farewell and good luck!” she smiled a sad smile and she left. I looked at Meggie, “Now what?” I had asked. She shrugged. I got up and then I walked to Jay. She too was a Christian, “Hey Jay,” she looked up at me, “My number is 1309887 what’s yours?” she asked. I looked at my under wrist, “5589076,” I told her. She smiled, “Good luck,” she said as she got up and she left. I walked back to Meggie, “Ready to go?” I asked. She nodded. She got up and we started for the door to out of the school. Outside our guard came to us, “Ready?” he asked, his gruff accent scared me a bit but, I nodded. He tied our hands and he pushed us into a car. I bit my lip, stopping myself from punching him. I just looked forward as he hand cuffed us to a bar in the car. He then got into the front and started going. I thought about a movie called Salt. It was a very old movie… From when Ms. Gilbert was a kid. I had watched it once. I thought that maybe I could get a tazer and taze him but I didn’t do it… I would die defiantly. Soon, we got to my house. He pushed us out after he unhand cuffed us, “Go inside!” he ordered, “I’ll be back for you, Rosa,” he rolled his tongue extra long on my name. I just glared and walked inside, “Great! Were are we going to get a bag of blood and those pills?” I asked. Then I remembered that I had taken a couple and she had put a lot of bags of fake blood in our back packs. I smiled, “Never mind,” I said. After that, we cooked dinner and gave it to Meggie’s brother’s and sister, “Delicious!” they commented, “Thank you,” I smiled, taking another scoop full of macaroni, “It’s nothing special,” I added, “It’s better than nothing,” Xavior said. Meggie glared at him, “Well, one of you need to go and get groceries,” Meggie told them, “Why us?” he asked, “Because you’re the men of the house. Women can’t leave! And get this, we have to make our clothes!” I told him. He huffed, “Xavior, why can’t you at least act your age?” Ben asked. Ben was twenty-six years old. Xavior was sixteen, Autumn was fourteen, Meggie was eleven and I was eleven. After that, we played go fish then, we went outside in our back yard and drank some rootbeer. MMM. I love rootbeer. After that, we got ready for bed and we played Clue, it’s an old board game. We had lot’s of fun! Well, now it’s gotta’ be midnight or eleven O’clock. So, goodnight! Love, Rosa Eve.

Dear Diary, Oct.17, 2020

 

There wasn’t much going on today except that there were so many gun shots in the night that I couldn’t keep track. I’ll write tomorrow. Bye.

Love,

Rosa Eve.

Dear Diary, Oct. 17, 2020

 

Today, the guard came to my door. I took the pill and put the blood on my body. I grabbed a fake gun and shot it. Meggie put the blood on me. She washed her hands afterward and then she got the door, “Y-y-yes?” she asked, a couple tears falling from her eyes, “Rosa, where is Rosa?” he asked, “Follow me,” Meggie took the man to me. He grunted. He checked for a heart beat. Nothing. He looked at the blood, and tasted it! I mean he touched it then stuck his finger in his mouth. I almost blew my cover when he did that, luckily, I didn’t. He grunted again and tore up a piece of paper. He glared at Meggie, “What did she do to herself?” he asked, “She murdered herself. She was sick of the world and how it is and killed herself,” he looked at Meggie, then at me and his stare softened a bit, “Do you need to hide somewhere?” he finally asked. Meggie looked at him, “What?” she asked, “What do you mean?” she looked quizzically at him, “I’m really not a guard. I’m Rosa’s uncle. I would’ve hidden her today but she killed herself,” at that time, I moved, “Wait, what?” I asked, getting up, “Uncle Fernando?” I asked, looking at him. He looked almost like my uncle Fernando but a bit different. But, he nodded. I smiled and hugged him, “Uncle Fernando! What are you doing here?” I asked. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’m Spanish, “Our king sent us here to take over. When he sent me to your house, I couldn’t blow my cover outside! I wouldn’t hurt you ever. When my sister, your mother died, I couldn’t cry. But that night, I did. Then, guess what happened… Well I’d rather show you,” he got up and went to his car. I still sat where I was when he pushed mom into the house! I instantly got up and ran to her comforting hug, “Mom!” I cried tears of joy, “How?” I asked, “How?” she smiled, “The bullet just skinned my side. I acted like I died but that’s not important! When I saw Fernando, I had to fight for life. Knowing that he was your guard, I had hope. Hope!” she smiled and covered her face, “If you’re here? Where’s dad?” I asked. Mom took a deep breath and hugged me, “I’m so sorry. He was taken to a concentration camp. Meggie’s mother is actually dead though,” she added. I hugged mom as hard as I could, “He got taken away at work?” he asked. Mom nodded, “We can adopt Meggie and her family, would you like that?” mom asked. I nodded, “Yes, yes mommy!” I let go and I hugged Meggie, “We’re going to adopt you,” I smiled. Meggie didn’t smile. She just looked forward. I turned around to see a guard with a gun, pointed at Xavior. I froze. Xavior moved and the guard shot at him. I don’t know what came over me but I ran in front of him. The bullet went through my leg but didn’t break it. I’m very weak now. I’m going to sleep. Bye!

Love,

Rosa Eve

 

Dear Diary, Oct. 18, 2020

Today, I have scary news. After Uncle Fernando left, a new guard came. He asked for me personally. He then put me in his truck and I didn’t even get to say bye. I was too scared, “Were are you taking me?” I had asked, “No were in particular,” he said, with a sly smile. Oh, I was also handcuffed to a bar, “What’s your name?” I asked, “Julio Venixon,” he said. I glared, “Where are you taking me?” I yelled it this time, “Oh, lookie here, were here,” he glared at me and took me from the back and chained me, “Welcome to a concentration camp. Enjoy your stay!” he laughed and pushed me to another guard who pushed me onto an elevator. The guard in there then pushed the tenth floor. He pushed me out and right then I met the ‘mayor.’ He was small and fat. He had black hair and gleaming green eyes. When he smiled, he had one gold tooth. He had a small nose and wore a monkey suit, “Ah,” he said then he started speaking in Spanish. Although I was Spanish also, he spoke to fast so I just looked at him, with my head cocked to the left side, “So you speak English, huh?” he asked. I nodded, “You are dark complected and from my notes I have here, it says that you are Spanish, why don’t you speak it?!” he yelled. His breath stank like a dogs, “You speak to fast,” I told him in a very snotty voice, “Talking back will only have you shot!” he snapped his finger and about twenty guards came out, all armed and their guns were all pointed at me, “Now little girl, you will stay here until it is your turn to be put in the gas chamber, got it?” he hissed. Then, he grabbed my left arm and pushed up my sleeve. He looked at my number, “You are a very lucky one, girl, you will be the last to be killed,” he growled. I sneered and he pushed me backward, “Take her to her room!” he yelled, snapping once again. The man in the elevator pulled me in and went to floor eight. When we got there he pushed me in the room and locked the door. I turned around to see other people. They were like me, they were normal. I new a couple. And one of those were Jay. I smiled, “Hi Jay,” I greeted. It looked like she had been crying, but, she waved. There were two other people that I knew from in the room. One was named Sandra and the other was Poppy. Sandra and Poppy were sisters. There were three other people in the room that I had seen around the neighborhood but I had no idea who they were. So, I sat down beside Jay and I started righting in my diary. I always keep my diary with me at all times. Now, it’s… dark I guess I could say. I’m sleeping on the ground with a couple of blankets. I’m guessing it’s going to be a hard day tomorrow… Wish me luck!

Love,

Rosa Eve

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Dairy, Oct. 19, 2020

It’s officially been two whole days in the concentration camp and I’m still alive. All night and day there’s screaming. I’m terrified for me and my family. We have three meals a day, all they are, are cheese, bread, and some meat. To drink all we have is dirty water. For warmth at night, we have blankets but they aren’t very warm. Today, I found out that I could make a fire. That’s what I’m righting beside. The nice warm fire. If the guards found out about the fire, we would be shot down immediately. All I have for friends are Jay, Sandra and Poppy. Sandra and Poppy are nine and they always stay in the corner. Jay and I stay in the middle and my other roommates stay on their bed. I don’t know why they get the bed. I asked them once and all I got was a punch in the face and a, “Because we are going to die before you!” and after that the finger. It wasn’t very good. After they punched me, I punched them back of coarse. I gave her a bloody lip and nose. I was pretty proud of my self except that I’m pretty sure that I broke a finger doing that. Now I feel pretty bad. Tonight, I don’t hear as many screams as I did yesterday but it’s only eight. After a while I’m afraid that I’m going to loose it on Jay or Sandra and her sister. I’m always shaking and I’m usually screaming to get out. I think I’ve gone insane. But, I keep wondering if that’s a good think. I keep thinking that if the guards think I’m insane, they won’t kill me but rather take me to an insane asylum. I know that’s not true but it was worth a shot. Sometimes I feel like I’m hearing voices in my head and out. When I go back to see my mom do you think she’ll still love me? I hope so. I really miss her… Her, Uncle Fernando, Meggie, Autumn, Xavior and Ben, and Meggie… Defiantly Meggie. I found a rock today and I started, or tried, to dig myself out. Every time that a guard isn’t here, I’m going to try to dig out. At least I have a little hope. Jay and everyone else has been praying so hard to Jesus I think that he’s getting overwhelmed up there. I’ll know soon enough though. I’ll probably meet him. Wait Rosa, don’t think that way… Ok, I’m tired and the screaming has started once again… Wish me good luck… Lot’s of luck. Loads of it. Millions and millions of it… Jeez, what’d I tell ya? I’ve lost my mind… I think I forgot it at the house, or in the elevator… I don’t know… I hang my head in shame… Oh what ever, goodnight!

Love,

Rosa Eve

Dear Diary, Oct. 20, 2020

Bad news. They took Jay away for her to die! That means that it’s getting closer to my turn. Every time the ding of the elevator dings, I freak out. Even now I’m taking deep breaths. My hole get’s bigger and bigger. I think I’m half way through it. I hope. I don’t want nine-year-olds to die. Not for a good reason, like if they killed forty people, then yeah I wouldn’t really mind if they died but not this way! I keep wondering what my mom and they rest of my family are thinking about now… Every time I close my eyes, I see fire. I don’t know why but it’s terribly scary. Five minutes after Jay left I swore I heard her scream. I keep wondering what’s going to happen to me. I’d rather be killed in fire rather than a gas chamber. Eww… Anyway, We have a window but it has bars on it and I scream through it to mom until I’m hoarse. I lost my voice today from screaming so much. Oh well. It’s getting late and the fire is almost out, night.

Love,

Rosa Eve

 

Dear Diary, Oct. 21, 2020

I’ve been here for four whole days. They haven’t taken Sandra or Poppy yet. Last night they woke me up, they had a bad dream, so I sang them a Spanish lullaby that mom use to sing to me. After that, I had so much energy I woke everyone up at the break of dawn to work on the whole. At breakfast, we had bread, cheese, ham, and dirty water but we kept working at it. I sang Spanish songs while I worked. Now, I swear that we are three quarters into the wall. At lunch, we stopped, beads of sweat falling from our foreheads. We ate lunch, took a nap, and started working again. Now, I can see daylight from it. I believe that we will be finished by tomorrow morning! I’m so excited! I’m so home sick that I’ve almost be throwing up! I’ve been gagging a lot though. And crying. When I’m not working on the wall, I’m in the wall, my knees to my chest balling. I mean, it’s not even funny. When I started, everyone would giggle but now they don’t. They know how serious this is now. So do I. I’m so excited to get home that I think I’m going to work on it right when I’m finished with this diary entry! My gosh I’m so excited that I can’t write any more! Bye!

Love,

Rosa Eve

Dear Diary, Oct. 22, 2020

I worked on the wall last night and I’ve almost gotten far enough that I can put my arm out! I’m very excited. When everyone else woke up, we worked on it again. Now, I can put two arms out! We ate our breakfast, worked on it, ate lunch, worked on it, ate dinner and worked on it. Now, we can fit totally out of it!!! I’m so happy! Tonight, we are going to put all of our bed sheets out of the window, tied together and climb down it. We are about to tie them together. Wish me luck!

Love,

Rosa Eve

 

 

Dear Diary, Oct. 23, 2020

We got out! I’m home right now, I’ll tell you how the night went:

We tied the bed sheets together and tied the top part to a bar in the room. We dropped the bottom to the ground. Luckily, it made it. I went first, then the other girls, then Sandra, and lastly Poppy. We all made it down safely but one of the guards outside saw us. We started running away. They were too slow. I smiled and high fived everyone. When we were out of sight of the guards, we hugged each other goodbye and bided them good luck. When the coast was clear, I started running home. When I got there, a guard saw me and I started pounding on the door, “Let me in!” I screamed. When they did, I hugged mom instantly, “Rosa!” she cried out, “I thought you were gone like your father!” she hugged me and so did everyone else. Meggie looked at me, “My prayers were granted,” she smiled and I hugged her, “I never thought that the Jew God would grant your prayers for a Christian,” I whispered in Meggie’s ear. She giggled, “He cares for everyone,” Meggie whispered back, “I figured,” hugging her harder. Then came the pounding of a guard, “Open up!” he yelled. I new that yell. I opened the door to be greeted by Uncle Fernando, “Uncle Fernando!” I hugged him. He lifted me up on his shoulder like I was a young girl. Or, a younger girl. He smiled, “How did you get out?” he asked, “I dug a hole in the wall,” I told him. He smiled and he let me down, “Thank you,” I said, hugging him once more, “For what?” he asked, “Everything!” a couple tears fell from my eyes, “Oh, well then your welcome,” he hugged me hard, “I’m your guard from now on,” he hugged me even tighter. I looked him in the eyes, “That’s perfect. Oh, I forgot to ask, how’s Aunt Havana?” I asked. He smiled, “Perfect,” he looked at everyone else. Well, that’s it for this diary entry. Can’t wait to hear for the next!

Love,

Rosa Eve

Dear Diary, Oct. 24 2020

Guess who showed up at my door today! Ms. Gilbert! She came with her mother, Kristy. Kristy had gray hair and green eyes. She was thin but not as thin as Ms. Gilbert. I found out that her name is Elizabeth Kathleen Gilbert. I told her that I wanted my daughter’s name to be Elizabeth. It was a beautiful name! Now, it felt like life couldn’t get any better! But, the ‘mayor’ knocked on the door. Kristy got the door. He pushed her aside and went straight to me. He put a gun to my head, “You escaped. Today you were supposed to die!” he hissed. His breath still smelt like dog, “Do you ever brush your teeth?” I asked. He glared at me, I glared back then punched him in the gut, “I will kill you!” he gasped out, looking for his gun, “You wouldn’t kill a princess, would you?” I asked. Yes, I’m a princess in Spain. My mom is a queen and so was my dad, “Did you say princess?” he asked, looking confused. I nodded standing up straight and my chin up, “Yes, it is I, Princess Rosa Havana Eve, princess of Spain,” I said all of this in Spanish, “Prove it!” he yelled. I went into my room and grabbed my normal princess dress. I grabbed my gloves and my earrings. I also grabbed my crown. I did my make up and I put my heels on. I walked forward to the ‘mayor.’ He looked star struck, “What’d I tell you?” I asked him in English. He looked at me then he bowed down, “Princess, I’m terribly sorry taking you to a concentration camp,” he said in Spanish, “You will pay for what you have done. You will let all of the Christians go and leave back to Spain,” I said this all in Spanish, “Yes, yes princess. Your wish is my command,” he said in Spanish yet again and walked backwards out. Then, he stopped, he looked at me then at mom and back at me, “You aren’t the princess! The princess declared that we take over the United States!” he yelled. His face went pink with anger, “Well,” I didn’t stand tall any more, “my mom is still the queen!” I yelled. At least that was true, “But she married a peasent rather than the prince of Mexico!” he yelled. Mom glared at him and said a couple cuss words in Spanish then she punched him in the face, “That prince wasn’t anything but stupid. If I would have married him, he would be dead from age!” mom yelled. I had heard that story many times. The prince was fifty and mom was nineteen. The mayor seemed to growl, “He would have made Spain much better!” he whispered, “Father! How dare you say that!” I gasped. I was related to this blob? I couldn’t believe it, “That was a secret,” he hissed. Then, I punched him in the mouth. He lost his golden tooth and four other teeth, “Get out of our house!” I yelled. He huffed and walked out, stomping. When he was out, he snapped. Then, guards grabbed everyone, “What the?” I asked, “Let me go!” I yelled. We all screamed and kicked, “To the gas chambers!” he yelled. I was sick of hearing about the gas chambers. I really didn’t want to go. I’m not there yet but I will be… Great. Good bye. I might not reply tomorrow. This may be my last entry… I hate thinking that… Bye.

Love,

Rosa Eve.

Dear Diary, Oct. 14, 2029

I know I haven’t written in here for nine years but I’m still alive and twenty years old. Xavior and Ben died in the gas chambers. Meggie and I work together as teachers, teaching students about what’s not called WW|||. Also known as Muertes principales. It’s Spanish but everyone knows what it is. I was in the middle of it. Mom died a couple years after Ben and Xavior because a guard killed her. Autumn is still alive. Uncle Fernando went back to Spain to Aunt Havana. I’m married to Kenny Montana. Meggie is married to Mason Black. I have one daughter and one son. They are twins and six months old. The girls name is Elizabeth Jade Montana and the boys name is Augusto Xavior Montana. We also call Elizabeth Beth and Lizzy. We call Augusto Gus too. Meggie has one daughter named Monica Janice Black. I have six horses. I still have my tattoo and I sometimes get interviewed on T.V. It can get annoying once and a while but I got use to it. I still own my ‘young years’ house. I sometimes swear that I can hear mom’s voice but I’m still a bit insane from the concentration camp. Oh well. Now that I’m older, I won’t write in here any more. Who ever finds this, I hope you’ve enjoyed my story.

Love,

Rosa Eve ‘Montana’


Posted on: October 16 2011

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POETRY:

The Eternal Presence of You

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

Water slowly pools

in the corners of the window

where a misty dew appears,

sprinkling remembered visions

of unspoken yesteryears.

A spring of rain

falls onto the empty ground

once overflowing with foliage -

now a blank canvas

saturated with the eternal presence of you.


Posted on: September 20 2011

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POETRY:

Left you in the field

by fire Quill-red

The stars tangled when you were born,

now your the victim of every song.

Dark colours you reflect makes a better side of me.

Your eyes are flawless but your soul is cursed,

bitter sweet when your mouth's in a twist.

Will tears fall when you are laid to rest.

 

Well im glad that you agree,

it brings comfort to a weaker side of me.

 

You hold all the things you love in the one hand,

who will hold you in theirs.

You burn files hastefully before you read them.

You sat alone in the field were i left you,

words and pictures flying everywere.

 

I heard your doing okay now ...

well thats out of the way,

somehow?!

 

 


Posted on: September 14 2011

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POETRY:

theory's and answers of the living

by fire Quill-red

Blinded i walk on the narrow log,

branches of memories break and fall dissapearing into the winds of the abyss.

Many have fallen without choice,

does this scare me?

 

Are nightmares memories of past, future, are they warnings from god,

inspiration from satan?

I will stand soldier, i will stand.

For i know the right choice, the choice has been made by a path of ritiousness.

I am a symbol, a instrument.

I am broken but strong and able.

I seek myseriousness, but honesty through love.

I am a complicated design fighting for a simple answer.

 

Few... find the answers through lives of intellectual mobility.

Does this scare me?

 

And few set examples but are remembered forever!

 


Posted on: September 14 2011

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FICTION:

Arachnafelorpion

by SephiPiderWitch Quill-yellow

 

 

The tiny figure slipped demurely from the shadows of the building, hesitantly, like a mouse, darting glances about for the dangers potentially lurking in every corner, then shot across the alley and slipping back into the shadows of another building.  She looked about her for an exit, a sanctuary at the least, so she could gather her thoughts for her next move, preferably one that would offer a true escape.  Out of the corner of her eye, she spies a door about halfway down the alley, just slightly cracked open.    She rushes quickly to it and peers into the darkness beyond, then slips inside and pulls the door closed behind her.

 

They lumbered noisily into the alley, debris crashing about them in their invasion and sending scurrying the scavengers of the night.  The smaller, weasel faced one diving into the trash bins, tossing its contents in a torrent above his head before leaping back out.

 

“Not here, m’lord!”  he squeaked as he landed on the ground beside his companion.  A grimy creature who promised to smell as fetid as he looked, his long beak nose the sole feature visible under the dirty single lamplight of the alley.

 

“Well, she has to be here somewhere, Allbritch, you worthless pile of worm dung!”  the other yelled.  He was as massive as his partner was slight.  A giant lumbering creature shrouded in a long dark coat, with arms hanging unnaturally long at his side, with massive hair coated knuckles balling into fists just below the sleeves. 

 

“She turned this direction.  There’s no where else she could be.  Keep looking, dammit!”  Then he slammed one of his massive fists against the wall, opening a gaping hole in it, sending his weasel faced companion darting through the rest of the alley, peering in corners and testing doors.

 

Desolinia stood with her back and hands pressed firmly on the inside of the door, taking deep slow breaths to slow her heart thundering in her chest and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light within.  Gradually, the geography of the inside began to take shape and her chest began to relax somewhat.  It was an abandoned warehouse or factory of some sort, broken machine skeletons and crate remnants scattered throughout.  She made her slow way across the room, making sure to take inventory of all potential hiding places and potential exits.  As she crossed into the growing darkness on the other side of the room, she spied a door at the far corner.  She bolted toward it, excitement racing through her veins, only to discover it firmly bolted shut with iron bars and heavy locks. 

 

She sunk to the floor desolate.  She was so very tired!    She had meant no harm when she opened the gate into that room.  All she had wanted was to take a small peek around and spirit away before anyone had scent of her being there.  And she would have done so if the small thing hadn’t looked at her so imploringly.  She had never seen the like of it in any of the books she had ever browsed nor any story that had been told her.  A sprite-like whisper of “something”, the creature glimmered in frantic sweeps within its enclosure, begging freedom and being dimmed by the loss of it.  How could she refuse such a plea, how could she turn from offering aid to such a one?  So, she stole quickly across the room and released the latch on its cage. 

 

Like a firefly, it burst out and into the air, a trail of sparkling dust weaving behind it.  She giggled softly at the spectacle, her ears filling with the sound of tiny bells showering around her head.  Then gently, it lighted upon her hand and set a bag and a stone in her palm then vanished from sight.  She fingered the stone softly before slipping it into her pocket, then tied the bag to her belt, its size and weight expanding as she let it drop.  A knowing smile crossed her face, “a fresh magic bag!”  It seemed fortune was smiling on her this day. 

 

Just then she heard the voices above and started.  She had tarried to long, they would catch her scent.  And there was no telling what they would do when they discovered she set their “pet” free.  Quickly, she made for the gate and did her best to cover her trace as she fled.

 

She had been fleeing from them for days, maybe weeks.  Sometimes she had thought she had eluded them, no sense, no trace of them in the vicinity.  But, just as she was about to relax and loosen her guard, she would spy one of them around the corner, at the edge of her eye.  So far, the bag of tricks had kept her safe, kept her one step ahead of them.  A small pinch here, a slight dip there and she would “shift”.  She lost track of how many forms she had taken, each one taking a toll on her waning energy. 

 

And now here she was, trapped, in this abandoned building; they, close on her heels.  They wouldn’t lose her scent this time, this she knew.  She heard the small one as he entered the building, his nasally breathing whistling in the air.  The thundering bulk of the other followed right after and she looked frantically about her for a place to hide.  They would surely find her where she was if she didn’t. 

 

She spied a gaping opening at the end of the hallway and crept slowly towards it and slipped inside.  It was an old service elevator, the floor creaking slightly under her weight.  She froze in the corner, fearing more movement would stir another sound sure to expose her.  At least she could hide for a time in here, as she waved a concealing door in front of her.  It wouldn’t offer protection for long, she knew.  Her magick was almost gone.  But, maybe there was just enough time.

 

Slowly, she reached into the bag.  It was almost gone!  She wondered if she had enough for one last “shifting”.  She pulled the stone out of her pocket and held it tightly.  She had never figured out what its purpose was.  Maybe just something to hold on to, something of substance.  It glowed faintly in the darkness.  “Hmmm?”  she thought, “its never done that before!”  Now, to the form.

 

She thought deeply on the memories of the beasties and creatures of fantasy, searching for the right one, the right combination that would make this work.  She heard them approaching, it was only a matter of time before they figured out that the only place left to look for her was in the elevator and the door in front of her was as insubstantial as the air it was woven from.  But, summoning a creature from story or mythlore was most dangerous.  One need rely on the accuracy of the telling and hope that there did not exist an older, more dangerous version that might emerge in its stead. 

 

Their footsteps approached nearer and she stilled her breath and willed her heart to soften its beating.  She could smell the rank staleness of them.  There is nothing so vile as the scent of stolen dreams and magicks left to rot upon a trophy cord.  Softly, she drew in her breath and wishpered a prayer to her spirits and released her substance to their will.

 

A soft twitter-giggle echoed gently through the elevator shaft.  Desolinia was no longer so timid.  Her spirits had served her well.  She rather liked this new form.  Seems they fashioned her out of some of her favorite creatures, the sleek feline body, all these wonderfully tactile legs and such a tail!  That barb could slay her most formidable enemies   Now she supposed she needed to give herself a name.  Hmmmmm????  A knowing smile spread across her face . . . . . Arachnafelorpion!  Desolinia giggled again and began to draw herself further up the shaft by her silken thread.  She could hear their distant voices cursing her below.  She had found a form even “they” couldn’t pursue.  She placed the stone back in her pocket and leapt out of the top of the shaft.  It was a bright sunny day out.  She figured she had earned the right to enjoy some of it.

 

Persephone May 16, 2010

 

 

 

 

 


Posted on: September 11 2011

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NON-FICTION:

The Absolute Secret to Producing High Word Count

by R. W. Scott Quill-green

I'd guess I've heard as many "clever" ways of managing ones' writing as anyone. I've tried quite a few, and it all comes down to white rice... and what you do to make it tastier.

I think what we really want to know is either how to get into, and stay in the "zone", or what in the world to do when we have a daily output goal, and are not in said zone.

If we look closely at the tips, the tricks, the techniques, the tools, the best they can all do is to add some variety--for awhile--to what is arguably the most difficult and solitary vocation a person can embrace.

I think of the scene in Douglas Adam's "Hitchhiker Guide to the Galaxy" where the reporters are asking Deep Thought the answer to "Life, the Universe, and Everything."

The computer stalls. The people urge it on, saying,"... you know the answer, then?"

The computer says, "yes, but I don't think you're going to like it."

The people persist. "But there is an answer? A simple one?"

And the computer says, "...yes, but I really don't think you'll like it."

"It doesn't matter," the people cry, "tell us..."

Is there an answer to getting the required word-count each and every day? Yes there is, but you won't like it.

You sit down and write until you've reached your daily goal.

There. Said you wouldn't like it.

Writing is like white rice. You can eat it plain, or you can buy programs, take courses, sit cross-legged and chant mantras, all to make it taste better, or you can just sit down and eat it.


Posted on: September 09 2011

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POETRY:

Unhealthy though True!

by vishal Quill-red

A beutiful morning makes a call for three,

A breakfast, a tea and not the air which is smoke free.

Sorry for the pollution which I cause to the still air,

But I think the nature demands smoke to be there.



The food I take breaks the fast I adhere,

Also helps me to fill my potbelly.

But never gives me the thing I want actually,

Goddamn, I want a real Delhi-Belly.



Who cares for food with Hygine and health,

Never want a food that gives me strength,

No need for a Breakfast of burnt brown bread.

I need a food my brain wants and thus I create.



A taste of my own is what I create,

Its not like I'm not eating 'coz I'm shy,

You must be listening my mind cry,

I want the spiciest Bheja-Fry.



Note:- Delhi Belly is Diarrhea usually people get by eating Unhygienic food in Delhi.

  Bheja-Fry is a dish prepared by hard frying the goats brain with many spices (famous in Mumbai).




Posted on: September 09 2011

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FICTION:

Ghost Story

by SephiPiderWitch Quill-yellow

Lamia walked quickly down the lane,  Epona at her side, strutting in that cute way she had, tail fanning in the air and ears perked for every sound.  Pulling her cloak tightly about her as a chill wind picked up and etched against her skin. Not very fashionable in this age, but she had never much cared about fashion. It kept her warm, even through the winds, and she felt protected in its heavy folds. She glanced about her as she walked to see if any were marking her journey into this night. She was fairly certain no one would, at this deep hour and on this night of all nights. They would be huddled in their houses summoning prayers and wards against their fears of this night. She watched anyway, for the stray eye peeping from behind a curtain or through a cracked door. As it was, the people thought her wanderings odd and she preferred them to know as little about them as was possible. She saw no need to further stir their superstitions and fears unnecessarily. That, as well as her preference to keep her life as private as possible.

 

The night was clear save for a few wandering wisps of clouds dancing across the black blanket of the sky. The moon, not yet risen, lay hovering just below the horizon waiting for the proper moment to announce itself. Full, it would be and the closeness of its orbit promised it would light the sky and bathe the earth in silver showers.

 

She approached the gate just as the first glow illuminated the horizon before her. She paused for a moment to take in the birth shimmer, then reached out and opened the gate. It gave way with a slight moan and she looked again over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard it.  Quietly, she entered onto the narrow pebbled path and made her way along its twists and gentle hills, pausing every now and then to touch a headstone here, whisper a greeting to another off to the side, and listen for the soft replies.

 

Lamia took her time, breathing in the damp smell of decay mixed with the wild growth. She could feel about her the slow churning of the old and discarded into the new. The sleepy whispers of those who rested here were slowly beginning to awaken, and she listened quietly, a light smile on her lips as she took in their soft murmurs.

 

The veil was thinning already. She must hurry! She approached the large hill at the center and paused for her first look this night at the majestic tree on its crest. The patriarch, they called it, older than any could remember, older than their grandparents could remember. She called it the Spirit Keeper. Faces seemed to loom from the surface of its massive trunk, ghostly, surreal and changing with each shift of light upon it. It was as if all those who made their rest here had passed through it, leaving just a shade of themselves within it before moving on. At least it was so for those that had found the will to move on. Others tarried, out of confusion, fear, or desperation to cling to what was once theirs, but no longer could be, and some simply because they liked it here. And a small few because there was still something they had to shed before they could move on.

 

She climbed to the top of the hill, up to the base of the giant oak and placed her hands gingerly upon its surface. A gentle tingling sensation spread into her hands and up her arms. She had lost count of how many times she had stood in this same place, begun this ritual; it never seemed to lose its impact on her. She smiled at the deep lulling sound she heard in her head, that she knew to be a welcome. Then she sat her pack down at its base and began.

 

The small blanket was laid down first. Her welcome gift into the world, her mother’s as well, stitched with prayers and spells by her great grandmother. Next, came the candles. Six of them this night. The count was always different, but always just the number it should be. She needn’t know why, she would before it was done. She lit them one by one, offering a prayer with each one. Then she sat down on the blanket and removed the bread and cheese, placed them on a napkin, then her thermos. She opened it and poured herself a cup, brought it to her nose and let the warm vapors fill her head with the deep aroma of herbs and spices. She took a small sip, then picked up the bread and cheese and leaned back against her tree to watch the moon’s ascension.

 

The air seemed to still as the orb grew in its ascent Vaporous forms rose gently from the ground, like smoky tendrils of a cigarette on a lonely night. They hovered quietly just on the edge of her vision, sharing in her watch. Their quiet revelry carried into her and united her with them. She never felt alone when she was with her spirits, unlike how she felt when she was surrounded by the living world.

Lamia knew her kind were few, those that walked between the worlds, never truly belonging to either. But, it was only the living that feared that in her, thought her a witch, or worse, a necromancer. She did her best to fit in on the fringes, immersed just enough to appear acceptably eccentric. She made the obligatory appearances, though it drained her each time. Their chatter, from their minds as well as their mouths, rattled her. They seemed never content, never at home with the life they had, the place they had.

 

It was only here and away from the workings of the world that Lamia could feel at peace. The spirits, her spirits, were never in a hurry. Each moment took as long as it needed to. Each passage would happen when its time had arrived. And until then, they just existed in what was. Graveyards weren’t haunted as people often thought. She knew that if the spirit travelled here with its earthly body, it was ready to lay that other life aside. It understood that those things that most thought important in the world of the living became trifles when the flesh had become discarded. But, a few things still remained. Love always carried with them between the worlds. It was the thread that most often held them connected to the world before. And it was also the hardest to convince them that they would still have after they cut that thread to travel beyond.

 

The moon had fully risen now, its massive globe filling most of the sky just before her. She rose to bathe in its glory, then turned her head at the sound of soft laughter at her side. She joined in the laughter as she watched the child spirit chasing the moonflies in the darkness. She hadn’t seen this one before. How curious! Thought she had few dealings with the people, it was a small town and everyone knew of the birthings and passings of all its members. She knew older spirits to lay quietly for many years before coming forth from their earthy slumbers, but a child rarely tarried for long. Especially one as young as this one was! A tingling spread along her spine and Lamia knew this was the one she was sent for this evening. She motioned the young spirit over to her and sat back down to wait.

 

The child shade made her way slowly over, pausing every now and then to take a close look at something that caught her attention. Lamia smiled in amusement at the realization of how much like living children child spirits were.

 

They found her the next morning slumped against the tree, the hood of her cloak blown away from her face and her hair making streamers in the wind. The burnt out candles in a half circle in front of her. And in the center of them, a pile of flowers, all of them different, as if each had been brought from a different place and offered by a different hand. A couple of the women crossed themselves at the scene, but all lent a hand in carrying her body and gathering her remains to take back to town.

 

They buried her at the base of the great tree. They placed her on the bare side where nothing had ever been known to grow, away from the other graves. Unsure, they had to bury her in hallowed ground, but fear made them keep her away from the others. They placed a small headstone on her grave that read, “Lamia of our town. Born, we know not when. Died on this spot on, her body laid where its spirit left it.”

The next spring in the bare place where they had laid her, a blanket of flowers had sprung up, though all swore they had not planted a single seed. And every year thereafter, the flowers came back.

 

It is said that if you visit her grave at the right time of day and look up into the great tree and turn your head just right, you can see what looks like the hood of a cloak lifting up between the higher branches and the soft features of a woman’s face peering out from underneath, a taproot cascading down like a wayward tendril of hair. And on a night when the veils grow thin, when there is just the slightest of breezes in the air, if you find a place to sit under that great tree in the center, you might catch a stirring of low voices caught in the wind. And if you listen quietly, you might chance to hear a gentle woman’s voice beckoning to those that can’t find the way.

 

SephiPiderWitch

09/08/2011

 


Posted on: September 08 2011

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FICTION:

The Promise

by SephiPiderWitch Quill-yellow

 

They arrived late in the night, at a time when even the moon had wearied of casting a glow. They knocked sharply at the back door, their feet making rough scraping sounds in the dirt and gravel outside. She opened the door quietly and they handed her the coarse-hewn wooden box without ceremony. She took it with trembling hands and set it down just inside the door, closing them outside without a word of farewell. Her knees began to buckle under her and she slipped to the ground, a weight descending all around her like a leaden cloak. She wrapped her arms about the box and the tears flowed, swiftly moving to wracking sobs that convulsed through her body. She slowly pulled herself up and forced herself to breath in some calm and will herself to open the box and pay witness to what lay there.

 

The shreds of what was once a dress met her fingers first. She remembered this dress, remembered the time she had stitched it together so many years ago. Its color now faded and stained, its form beaten and shredded, in pieces many too small to even yield a proper cleaning rag. Within the folds of the fabric, a couple of articles of jewelry met her fingertips. A ring that had been in the family for as long as could be remembered. She closed her hand about it and summoned the image of the first time she had seen this ring, on her grandmother’s hand when she was but a small child. How it had sparkled in the sun, dazzling her eyes and drawing her close to her grandmother’s sleeping side. And when she saw that the ring had slipped from her grandmother’s hand in her passing and onto her mother’s, she began to yearn that one day it might pass to her. She remembered the anger she felt the day it finally slipped from her mother’s hand and was not hers. She covered her face with her hands, the ring making a deep indent in her forehead from how hard she pressed it against her skin as she cried. It was hers now, with a passing as weighty as the loss.

 

She picked up the other item, a simple gold cross on a leather cord. She remembered the day it was hung around her neck, in front of the whole town. She remembered her form laid out in her long white gown, her arms outstretched and it felt as if she would never move. She had become a bride that day, a bride with no husband who would keep her bed warm at night or plant in her children to love. But, she glowed when she turned to look at them after rising and the cross was placed about her neck. Her mother had let the ring slip from her hand that day and given it to her even though it was against the rules and unlike what the others wore. But they allowed her it, or at least chose not to say nay. Both of these tokens, she pocketed to later put in her treasure box.

Gently, she lifted the shreds of the dress from the box and buried her face in them, breathing in her smell, her fears, her courage, her memory. Then slowly, she set it down at her side, tucking stray edges and softly patting it down.

 

She looked again into the box. There was a smaller box in the corner and she lifted it out. A deep wash of fear hit her as she held it before her. She didn’t want to learn what was inside, but she had made a promise and a promise must be kept. So, she took a deep breath and lifted the top. A bloodied kerchief lay folded inside. She touched the edges with shaking fingers, parting it open. A small nest of scorched human hair lay within. The sobs began again and she dropped the box, sending its contents tumbling into the larger box. Underneath, as the last of the contents fell, a small pile of papers cascaded down. She gasped softly as she recognized the hand that had penned the writing on them. Carefully she gathered them up and looked at them and knew the entire tale was there. She folded them gently and placed them in her waistband and closed everything else back in the box.

 

Tomorrow, she would give the remains the burial they had refused her. Tomorrow, she would be ready to speak what must be said.

 

She pulled herself wearily to her feet and headed to her room. Tonight though, she must read the rest of the tale.

 

Sephi'PiderWitch 2009

 

 


Posted on: September 08 2011

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NON-FICTION:

To Know or Not to Know - Spare Me the Bloody Details

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

     We claim we should be privy to the facts, spared no details, and fully informed.  Facts flood our computer screens, blackberries, and cell phones faster than Speedy Gongolez on speed.  But, is knowing the whole truth and nothing but the truth really in our best interest?

     I can think of a few instances when knowing the whole truth would have caused me unnecessary worry - like the time when my friends told me to wait for them to pick me up at midnight at the bus station where I was dropped off after visiting another friend.  Years later, I learned that I had been waiting in an area designated as the murder capital of the world.  But, without that knowledge, all seemed uneventful and calm as I patiently sat on a comfortable bench at the bus stop, admiring the soft sway of the tropical palms, completely obvious to the fact that I could have been murdered at any moment  I find this humorous now.  But, at the time, had I known this fact, my anxiety would have gone through the roof causing me probable hypertension and a possible trip to the emergency room.  Then there was the time that a close relative suggested that I walk home from my cousin's house at midnight, since it was a mere two blocks from home.  The next day I found out that Son of Sam had committed his last murder in the surrounding neighborhood.  I recently decided to forgive my relative, as friends reminded me that I would not have been considered a target, since I wasn't sitting in a parked car with a boyfriend.  And, did I really need to know, as I fell blissfully asleep on my loved one's shoulder that a mouse had scurried past his opened eyes?  He knew better than to have subjected me to that truth.  Hence, I found this out years later when I witnessed my first mouse staring at me from the top of my stove.  Since then, I have been on constant mouse alert - something I would have done much sooner had I been told the truth earlier.  There was also the time I had too much knowledge regarding some famous serial killer who made animal noises to lure his victims to the window where they would meet their demise.  Having been armed with this information at the time, I was completely horrified when I was awakened by a loud MEOW sound coming from my bedroom window.  I immediately thought, "you're not going to get me, you no good serial killer", as I woke up all my family members with a hysterical demand to call the police immediately.  Somehow, they were able to stifle my instability, but I slept with one eye opened that night only to learn the next morning that the supposed serial killer was a male peacock that came to admire his plumes in the mirror left outside against the garage door.  I would have still been alive even if I had never known of Mr. Serial Killer's existence and he had been trying to lure me to the window with his pretense of being a fatal feline, as I am not the naturally curious type and would never have ventured out of bed.  I would have remained blissfully asleep, none the wiser, and my family would have been spared the unnecessary drama.

     So, while it behooves all of us to be informed of the facts, we would probably sleep a lot more peacefully if we were spared all of the details.  Too much truth is not good for the soul.  We must fight the urge to Twitter and tell and puke and purge, so we can be protected from too much truth.

     I feel privileged to have been born at a time when many things were left to the imagination and the facts still educated and informed.  I look forward to learning innovative ways to shield myself from too many details and will continue to change the channel if the commentary has too many adjectives.


Posted on: September 06 2011

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NON-FICTION:

How Many Times Can a Person Fall in One Night

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

     For reasons that will never be able to be explained, on one evening, I had an uncontrollable urge to Google Grandma Moses and learned that she died at the age of a hundred and one at Hoosick Falls Health Center where she had been a patient after a fall at her home.

     And then, I was standing in my own kitchen, when for no apparent reason, my fifty one year old leg failed to support me, causing me to collapse onto the hard, cold floor.  I had fallen and could not get up.  I knew that old people did this kind of think regularly, but I didn't realize that I had become old.  I knew that I could no longer reach for things in the back seat of my car without straining my stomach, but I still considered myself middle aged.  So, there I lay, all alone on my kitchen floor.  The pain of my medium sized bruised butt radiated throughout my body.  I started crying - not because the pain was unbearable, but because my body, that I had fed yogurt and cheese to, on a regular basis, had literally let me down.  I finally stood up after the fourth try and looked at my face for signs of aging that I may have missed over the years.  Maybe I was really older than I thought and was in denial.  I walked back and forth in my living room a few times to make sure I still had intact vertebrae that would keep me erect before daring to venture into the concrete jungle known as outdoors.

     I refused to waste another moment wondering about the status of my stature and so I walked like a young middle aged person pretending to be thirty five and made to my car unscathed.  I pulled into the parking lot of my destination, feeling completely back to normal and had almost forgotten about my fall, when I noticed a seeding looking male walking towards me.  I accelerated my pace when all of a sudden, I tripped over a crack in the cement and once again fell on my behind.

     The sordid looking man was coming towards me at rapid speed and since I couldn't stand up faster than he was approaching, figured this was how I was going to meet my maker - lying on a cold cement parking lot with a bruised behind.  "Are you okay?" the man wanted to know as he leaned toward me in an attempt to help me off the ground.  Suddenly I was standing faster than an ignited firecracker while saying, "I'm fine - I don't need any help, but thank you anyway."  I seemed miraculously cured as I sprinted into the building in front of me.

     What was going on with me?  Did I have osteoporosis?  I have been having major aches and pains everywhere lately.  I was probably getting punished for not taking the calcium that my doctor advised me to take years ago.  Why didn't I listen?  That was it - my bones were crumbling like cake I tried to eat earlier that afternoon.

     I had met my quota for falls for that day.  The next day I was fraught with fear of falling and was determined to solve the mystery of my unexplained dropping to the ground.  My mother came up with an immediate explanation as she decided that my shoes were the cause of my instability.  I felt immediately relieved upon hearing this possibility, but at the same time, I really liked those shoes that may have broken my lower back.  No, it couldn't be them.  I hobbled to the room where my potentially pernicious shoes waited for me to slip my forgiving feet into.  I stepped into the shoes and as I walked back and forth on the living room floor, my feet very obviously rose out of the soles.  As usual, my mother had been right.  Despite my sadness that I needed to discard my favorite shoes, I felt an immediate sense of relief that I was not struck by some age related bone decaying disease causing me to fall before my time.  

     I have not been able to actually throw the shoes away, but have managed not to put them on my feet and have not even thought about them until writing this story.  Now, I can't get them out of my head and feel like I may want to give them another chance.  If I do decide to wear them, I will make sure that I'm in front of the Walking Store where the healing soles of the Mephistos lay.

 


Posted on: September 06 2011

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POETRY:

~Love With No Escape ~

by The Golden Poet Quill-red


I’m all alone without you. In a world with no Escape. Feelings of fear and disappointments that controls my every move. I feel as if my heart has been crushed into small pieces of glass. Only to be put back into my body to allow my death to complete it’s course. What is a Man If he himself Can’t hold his head up to face the world. He’s Nothing but a bitterness Soul. Trying so hard to hide the way I feel. Only to be trapped inside with the feelings of defeat, hoping that soon you’ll realize just how much love I hold inside just for, hoping soon you’ll return that same love back to me. Still for this I cry. I haven’t eaten Nor Slept in days, and now my body feels drained, and depressed from feelling unloved by you, for it’s only A matter of time That I Meet My defeat in death. Only you can feed my Heart, My soul, My Love, and My whole being for my forever survival of this lonely world, as tear Drop runs down my face, I’m only left with worlds to say. Here I am waiting for our special day that we’ll be together Sprouting our own little family someday, Still I’m all alone without you In a world with no Escape. Feelings of fear and disappointments that controls my every movement. I feel as if my heart has been crushed into small pieces of glass. Only to be put back into my body to allow my death to complete it’s course. Oh, When Will I meet My Escape From this Depressed World of being left alone without you. Never until your love return to the fullest to me. Until then I am weak. Sometimes When I’m around you I stand without words to speak. Having to find myself having to break through the silence with a quick smile, or laughter. At times my thoughts will appear to come together give my mind words to stay to you just how it is deep down inside my soul how I truly feel about you. but yet, I find that those thoughts are just afraid to leave my mouth to tell you I love you. Or even, I want you in my life forever. Wanting so badly to start a new life with you. Listen to the words of a Poet. Our love could bring comfort to each other surrounding our heart, Our mind, and our Soul. Leaving Our love with no Escape so that no others can take it’s place. Finding myself falling for someone such as you. Hoping, and wishing Our love comes true. Finding Our love with no Escape together forever until death do us part. Love is a way of holding what is true in our heart forever leading to true happiness of our soul. Love with no Escape is love that is unbeatable, heart touching, refreshing to the soul, Undetermined where life will lead it, unconditional, and life saving as to making a difference in each other lives. I’m all alone without you. In a world with no Escape. Feelings of fear and disappointments that controls my every movement. I feel as if my heart has been crushed into small pieces of glass. Only to be put back into my body to allow my death to complete it’s course. Love with no Escape is our love that no one can take apart leaving no lies to end us wrong. Together for ever we will forever be. Listen to the words of a poet. Until our love combine with peace. I’ll leave you with my words to think of. As I laid down in my bed each night I think of you. I can’t sleep, I toss, and I turn. Why is this? For I’m thinking of you. I hope and wish that our love will come true. I will always love you with love with no Escape.

The Golden Poet
Cornelius G. Cole
C


Posted on: September 04 2011

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POETRY:

~I can not be read~

by The Golden Poet Quill-red


Life has its ways of showing us its natural colors and ways of doing things of purpose. You see it for what it really is. You grab on to it. Life is grand! Most people you see are the same. You can walk with them, hold on to them, feel them, and sometimes think what they are thinking. Sometime even feel their internal vibes. Hearts of quietness and loneliness to the soul is what I feel. Most people at their will want nothing more but to understand how I feel, and understand what it is that I’m thinking inside of my quiet little box of my mind, but I won’t let them. For I work way too hard for them to start understanding me now. Even I don’t understand who I am! At time I gives clues as to some of things that I want some people to know of me. But yet, never to give them the whole piece of the puzzle. Like some people I do have my expectation as to what I do feel that people should know of me. Quiet, loving, willing to do anything to get the job done right, determined, as well as very motivated. How I feel is how I write and how I write is what’s inside my soul. The world may read my words, but not my internal vibes. For this I can not be read. I can not be read because I choose so. It is easy to read other people, for they let their guards down wanting to be read hoping to be loved by everyone. Not knowing that not only will most people not love them, but they will hate them as well. For their expectation of themselves are different as to what people are seeing of them. Their internal vibes are showing too much. For this, I closed mine off! Coming from a place of abuse has taught me to stay within myself. Hidden away from the world looks of anger. Why do we anger with no reason for them. We lie and cheat others just to get a head in life. Forgetting about the things that really matter the most, and that is to love! Love one another as if they were you yourself wanting to be loved!  For these are the things that keeps me from wanting to be read! Staying safe, staying strong, and living along with happiness to keep my hopes and dreams of becoming a real man of myself! For these reason I can stand alone and say! I can not be read at least until I am ready to be read. Some my judge me for my ways of thinking, and so I’ll leave them with one thought to the mind. When you see me what do you see, or what you feel? Is it love, is trust, or is it the way I feel inside. Don’t worry I all ready know, because I can not be read.             

 

Cornelius G. Cole
The Golden Poet
 C
                        



Posted on: September 04 2011

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POETRY:

~In the mind of a black man ~

by The Golden Poet Quill-red

   
In the mind of a black man there are memories of our yesterdays of the pass. Our hard work leads us to temptation of unwanted gratitude, and pleasant achievements. All in all it’s what we thrive, and live for. What is a man with no thoughts of achieving his up most desires of the future, and what is a man if he sees no tomorrow in his pathway of life. God made our journeys in life to be achievable not to be breakable. There for we must run to achieve the unthinkable. Dreams of laughter, dreams of tears, dreams of sorrow, and of dedication are the dreams that will indeed find their way into our hearts, yet we must continue to march on a journey of continuance to achieve our dreams to the end. Brown eyes, blue eyes it doesn’t matter what color our eyes are or the color of our skin. All that really matters is where our journey ended us up at during our last breath of life. We try so hard to look at other people dreams trying to see through their eyes that we forget to look through our own eyes so that we can remember what it was that we had dreamed up for us, so that we can become even more of achievers in our own way of life’s journey. Black may be more beautiful on our skins, but in my mind I see breath taking achievable moments and more laughter’s  to my heart as well as joy to my soul in my future. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done in my pass all that really matter is where I end up! That’s at the top of my achievements and to the top I go…
    
Cornelius G. Cole
The Golden Poet
C
      


Posted on: September 04 2011

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POETRY:

~ Do You Remember How We Met ~

by The Golden Poet Quill-red

Do you remember how we met? So many years have pass by since then. We never thought our love would have last so long. Through pains and tears we still manage to stay together as one soul one flesh. I remember watching you from a distance hoping and wish you just look my way, and see the love that I held inside for such a special woman. I must have followed you around for hours without you even knowing I was there. You were a new student to a world of cooking, and still you stole my heart before you even got started. Days and week had passed and still, I’d follow you around hoping and wishing you would just look and see me there. Watching at amazed how God himself blessed me just by seeing your face. Still more Days and week had passed, but this day faith have prevail. Soon a day of excitement had come upon my heart, when prom night drawled us close. We danced our first dance together that night, God touched our hearts, and the love we combine, so deep, so passionate kept us together in love from the start. With just one dance we both knew in our hearts that It was mint for us to be together with nothing to tear us apart. Finally the days would have passed, and the day had come when we would leave the school of cooking but to our heart we would not depart. I bought you bus ticket taking you from one state to another just to come live with me in a world of destruction only for a few months. We both quickly packed up our bags and left a state of devastation and cruel ship. We thought things would get better little did we know. Life was of pains was just beginning. Throughout our years We fought  through the hardships, tough times, and deceit of other people, and yet We’re still together remembering our times falling in love with our hearts tied together. Not a moment of our life would I even change. Being together with you is like miracle of endless life to receive, and I have all the life I need with you by my side. Do you remember how we met? It was then you took my heart away. I’ll never ask for it back. Even if death ends us both. Do you remember how we met? It was then I seen my first Little White Angel, so bright so beautiful, Sweet, and soft as the clouds of the sky Because,  I remember how we met I gave you the key to my heart , my soul, my life being.  You were the joy I need to survive in world thats broken. The sun I need to over come my Darkness, the cloths I needed to cover my un-cloths heart. Most all you as beautiful then as you are now inside and out. I love you Dear with each breath that I take, because all together I remember how we met…

 

Cornelius G. Cole

The Golden Poet

C


Posted on: September 04 2011

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POETRY:

~ Forbidden Love ~

by The Golden Poet Quill-red

 

  I lay awake in my bed at night thinking and fighting, but still can't sleep. My Soul Cry’s Out wanting take my Middle night rest, but I can’t. Tossing and turning Fighting Myself to pull the cover over my head, Finally I SCREAM!!! Only to be heard by me only. I Can’t stop myself from thinking thoughts that controls me. Trying to hold back the tears, trying to throw away my fears, but not being able to deal with uncontrollable desire of the presents that I’m feeling towards you. How come is that I can feel your presents, but your not here? Sweat Falls off my face, My body temperature is rising again, hands are shaking, and My throat is filled with lumps! Anxiety of the night is Starting to kick in. Day break is finally At Near. For morning is Here. Why did I Stay awake All night? All Because of a Forbidden Love. Her walk, Her Smile, her laughter is as water falling in a rain forest. Lips of a Bright red Rose and Body fragrance Which takes my breath away. The Only Thing is your forbidden. Love has its ways of bringing life to a soulless heart even breaking through the unbreakable of the minds that’s never seen love before yet, your not mine to love. Your in love with someone Who don’t even love you back. In return he breaks your heart like broken pieces of glass that cuts through the finger tips during pick from a shattered heart. In time your heart will heal, but my heart awaits until it to will have you. Just think us two Walking alone the beach during the mid Day After Noon! As The Sun Starts to Set. Only to be taken away by lights of candle light dinner then movie. Still you’re the Forbidden Love which taken all my life being away. I keep telling myself that soon someday our love will collide, But then Those Two Simple word Continues to surrounds me. you’re the Forbidden Love. If only I could hold you in my arms for one night! One night could tell that our love could combine together. With a love so Strong Only God himself could tear it apart In Death do us part. Walking under the Moon light, Stars of the night fall, and sun set of the ocean blue is what I long to do with you. Why can’t you see that he’s no good for you? Do you Not see that love is Only in the horizon of the sunset of the hearts of love? You and I could light The Sky without any misconception to tear us apart! Why are you  The Forbidden love? Therefore, I’ll leave you with my words. Keeping In Your mind. My tenderly hand Touching To your face, Touching you with the touches of My finger tips ever so slowly. Making your Body Quiver Slowly from side to side, Only Wanting more and more of a touch so sensational, led only by the tips of my finger tips. Breath taken endurance in Your Mind Wanting me to Continue. Your thighs squeezing together without let up. All your Clothes are on the Floor. My lips to your lips, My kisses to your everywhere parts. Making you want me even much faster then what we are going to do! Love making Souls Combining together by our heart of the Souls, Our Candle light by our bed side are most out. Still you want more love make tenderness from our soul. Morning comes again and yet we’re not done. For we both know that We just Begun doing the impossible. Breaking  the breaking waves that’s been keepping us apart. Our Forbidden Love That Have now cease to be. By love making tenderness which takes your breath away so, Until that day does come I’ll Keep you in my Heart as Forbidden, For You are My Forbidden Love.

 

Cornelius G. Cole

The Golden Poet

C


Posted on: September 04 2011

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POETRY:

~ Circumstances ~

by The Golden Poet Quill-red

What love is this which thinks she knows me? For this reason She try’s to love me. My little heart must first take a stance. For she doesn’t know of my circumstances. All in all some may think its cute. To see a woman heart played like a flute. Its cold outside as snow fill the air. I can’t help but to notice. She’s giving a glare. It’s the look in her eyes the switch in her hips.  That has this poor Guy doing flips. She now has my heart as if I’m dancing. Keep in mind I have  circumstances. With the swiftness of hear moves I’m feeling tipsy. I’ll run the other way she wont even miss me. With my broken Heart that has been torn in pieces. Lied to, Stomped on way to many times. I had to leave her in behind. I can’t take these Chances. For she doesn’t even know of my circumstances. Being drained from running it is now time to stop and rest. To clear my head from her tactful mess. What love is this which thinks she knows me? For this reason She try’s to love me. My little heart must first take a stance. For this She came and found me with her circumstances. She been hurt in ways that gave note to my heart. Melting away this poor guy’s blocks. That’s been blocking the way for her not to take part. We both have been hurt in ways so we now start talk. Still I’m thinking of running the other way. For I feel that its time for us to depart. Yet with my mouth I say let us both take a little walk. Now we both know each other circumstances. To love with our hearts. With smiles and laughter that fills the air. I wonder if she would she let me kiss her anywhere. I lean in to give her a quick kiss on the face. She quickly runs Spraying me with mace. Days later as my eyes healed by being mace. She quickly reveals her face. Screaming you don’t even know my circumstances. At times like this I would try and run away.  Still understanding her makes me want to stand in my place. With tears falling down her face. I finally ask her. Why don’t you please tell me all of your very own circumstances. As she says to love me for who I am. And I’ll do the same. As we now both have the same last name.

 

 

Cornelius G. Cole

 The Golden Poet

 C


Posted on: September 04 2011

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POETRY:

Leavin' on an Astral Plane

by R. W. Scott Quill-green

(With most sincere apologies to Peter, Paul and Mary)

 

All my keys are blank, my ink won't flow,
I can't write, it's become a chore,
I hate to think my writing skill's gone dry.
But my head is achin', it feels worn,
My agent's screamin' and I'm feelin' torn.
My muse is gone; I feel like I could die!

Please help me, don't write for me.
Tell me you'll inspire me.
Help me like you did so long ago.
I'm searchin' all through my brain,
I don't know if I can write again...
O' muse I have to know.

There's so many times I've played the clown,
Hit the heights, and hit the ground,
But alcohol, it was just a fling.
Every time I write, I write for you,
When ideas come, they come from you,
If you'll come back, I'll do anything.

Please help me, don't write for me.
Tell me you'll inspire me.
Help me like you did so long ago.
I'm searchin' all through my brain,
I don't know if I can write again...
O' muse I have to know.

Now the time has come at last,
I need an answer, I need it fast,
I need to know, O' will you stay with me?
I dream about the days to come,
When I won't feel like a bum,
About a time that I won't have to plea...

Please help me, don't write for me.
Tell me you'll inspire me.
Help me like you did so long ago.
I'm searchin' all through my brain,
I don't know if I can write again...
O' muse I have to know...


Posted on: September 02 2011

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FICTION:

Brain Disturbed

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

     All seems calm as a storm brews in the cerebral cortex of the unsuspecting brain that rests on a pillow of impending nails.  Shadowy figures dance before half opened eyes as a needle prick teases the upper right lid.  Flashing lights swirl together and burst apart in a kaleidoscope of distorted snouts of old men with rotting teeth.  The reverie shocks the matter into a crushing reality as the vice tightens and startles the skull into a throbbing ball of lead.

     Barometric pressure fuels the beast, steaming the brain into a poisonous cauliflower, waiting for tortuous vessels to unravel by the healing hands of the medicine man.  The swollen lobe lays, like an expanding sack of sand waiting to be torched.  The hammer that pounds morphs into a Phillips Head that churns and screws its pointy pike through an avalanche of sludge.  A poker dipped in molten lava spears the sclera, coursing cornea and perforating pupil.

     Thousands of healing hands glide over the ravaged mass of morbid matter.  The mending force leads to a den of Opium.  Excavation begins as the moment of normalcy arrives.  Gratitude is expressed to the heavens above and to the brilliant inventors of the little white pill, with vows to never eat pizza or chocolate again.  But, the pain gods know better and they hover with a sinister smile.


Posted on: August 31 2011

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POETRY:

Spring

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

The bareness of winters white

has given rise to springs delight

as beetles follow lady bugs

to trenches filled with worms -

where hearts of five come alive

with each and every squirm.

The working ants march to hills

where soils rich with daffodils

filled with buzzing bees that hum

fron Azaleas to Chrysanthemums.

The songs of springs rebirth resounds

as roots of branches drink

creating pastures far and wide

from natures nutrient ladened sink.

The chirping wakes the morning bloom

as dawn speckles shades of blue.

The rainbows eyes collide with dew

to greet the budding leaves

with grassy lands of green surprise

as forests fill with trees.


Posted on: August 30 2011

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NON-FICTION:

My Migraine - Revisited

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

     A needle spears my brain in the middle of the night, or so it seems.  My peepers expand slightly as I realize it's only a matter of moments before I will be kicked out of bed by the storm about to rage through my cerebral cortex.  Consumed by exhaustion, I want to believe that the hurricane is a nightmare, so I pretend the vortex of swirling lights in front of my closed eyes is but a dream.  My perceived reverie becomes all too real as the crushing force of a lead balloon propels me out of my comfortable bed.  I stagger to the kitchen - my tortured brain willing me toward the pill that will eventually restore order to my electrical circuitry.  I grab a bag of frozen mixed vegetables and wobble to the easy chair to wait for redemption.

     I'm stretched out waiting to be rescued as the barometric pressure fuels the beast and steams my brain into a poisonous cauliflower.  I wait for tortuous vessels to unravel by the healing hands of medicine man.  A glance at the digital device tells me another thirty minutes of suffering can be expected before the vice releases its grip.  Until then, I can only pray to the pharmaceutical gods to hurry up and work their magic.

     I lay, like a sad sack, saturated by melting veggies, too weak to execute my fantasy of baking my head in a nice hot oven, while the giant jaws squeeze my skull.  A hammer bashes my brains and slowly morphs into a Phillips Head churning and screwing its pointy pike through my left temple.  Thousands of bits drill holes that fill with sludge from an avalanche of heavy wet mud.  A poker dipped in molten lava spears my sclera, coursing through cornea perforating my pupil.  My eye barely views the time ticker, reminding me that relief is only fifteen minutes away.

     I imagine thousands of healing hands gently gliding over my worn out frame.  A momentary tingle surges through my body, making its way to ravaged masses of morbid matter.  The  drugs are trying to work, but as usual, I waited too long before popping my relief, preferring to believe what has been implied by others - that I am a psychosomatic producer of my own suffering.  The mending force leads me into a den of Opium where I lay and breath deeply.

     I feel excavated.  My eyes open easily.  I view the clock.  The moment of normalcy has arrived.  I exude gratitude to the heavens above and to the brilliant minds that invented my little white pill.  I vow never to eat pizza or chocolate again.  But, the pain gods know better and they hover with a sinister smile.


Posted on: August 30 2011

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NON-FICTION:

My Migraine

by Delicate Flower Quill-blue

     A needle spears into my brain in the middle of the night, or so it seems.  I am used to the stabbing pain, so it causes no surprise and I close my eyes.  But, I know it's only a matter of moments before I will be forced out of bed.  Here it comes - the lead balloon has landed on my head.  I'm exhausted and try with all my might to fight the intensifying crushing sensation.  I am forced to stagger out of my comfortable bed and head to the kitchen where my drugs await me.  My tortured brain leads me towards the Maxalt - my prescription miracle that will make me feel normal in forty five minutes.  I waited too long.  I always do that.  I know I'm supposed to take my medicine before the pain envelopes my entire body.  But, I try to tell myself that it's all in my head, which is what has been said to me by some doctors and even family members.  They don't mean this in the literal sense.  They imply that this is some kind of psychosomatic invention that I force myself into experiencing.  I admit, I did eat chocolate last night.  And Pizza a few nights before that - oh yeah, and I had a box of raisins and a banana with my cereal for breakfast yesterday morning.  I know I'm supposed to abstain from these foods known to bring out the beast, but sometimes I feel fine after ingesting these seemingly soothing nutrients.  There must be a weather front on its way from Canada.  The barometric pressure builds, steaming my brain into a poisonous cauliflower that waits for the medicine to make its way into its tortuous vessels.  I stick my head over a pot of boiling water while I wait for the medication to take effect.  The steam feels like a thousand heated hands slowly massaging my entire body.  The endorphins give me thirty seconds of relief, but I'll take what I can get.  I grab a bag of frozen mixed vegetables from the freezer and shuffle to the couch.  I lie down and place the medicinal veggies where the pain is most intense.  I close my eyes and pray for the pain to disappear.  The pain is getting worse and I start to envision myself turning into Sylvia Plath as I contemplate sticking my head into a nice hot oven.  That sounds so soothing right about now.  I lay like a sad sack, saturated by my melting vegetables, waiting for the pain to stop.  I pretend I'm floating around in an Opium den, which is ironic, since I'm not the Heroin type.  But, the fantasy seems to be working.  The pain is letting up.  I feel like I'm floating and my eyes are getting heavy.  I'm feeling no pain and I thank the pharmaceutical gods in their white coats and dark rimmed spectacles as I sail off into a painless sleep.


Posted on: August 29 2011

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