You never tired of telling others

all the ways I’d let you down,

from childhood years to teenage troubles,

so much blame to throw around.

You asked yourself out loud why I was good at school and bad at home,

but never stopped to ruminate

on how you treated me alone.

I was your biggest disappointment,

no matter how hard I would try,

so after learning it was futile

I simply gave up asking why.

And as I grew cold, you grew colder,

as I retreated, so did you,

and as we bitterly grew older,

the rift between us, it grew too.

Now that I am grown and healing,

I can look back through the years,

it wasn’t me that you were hating,

I was your legacy, your mirror.

#mirror @Jade04 #mom #catharsis

A man robbed of his kindness bestows cruelty.

A man robbed of his empathy bestows antipathy.

A man robbed of his laughter bestows sadness.

A man robbed of his dreams bestows nightmares.

A man robbed of his confidence bestows insecurity.

A man robbed of his skills bestows unemployment.

A man robbed of his bread bestows hungriness.

A man robbed of his clothing bestows nakedness.

A man robbed of his sight bestows blindness.

A man robbed of his hearing bestows deafness.

A man robbed of his limbs bestows impairment.

A man robbed of his wealth bestows poverty.

A man robbed of his freedom bestows slavery.

A man robbed of his liberation bestows incarceration.

A man robbed of his kingdom bestows homelessness.

A man robbed of his soulmate bestows loneliness.

A man robbed of his ray of light bestows darkness.

A man robbed of his principles bestows emptiness.

A man robbed of his essence of soul bestows alexithymia.

A man who has nothing left to be robbed of bestows detachment.

A man who has no reasons to live for bestows time.

Humanity who no longer has control over a man bestows him with freedom.

Humanity who no longer has control over a man bestows him with power.

Humanity who no longer has control over a man bestows him a title of The Enemy.

Humanity who no longer has control over a man should never FUCK with him.

For I am that Fallen Man!

Image: The Silent Warrior - Best of Mastodon 2018 Award.

I don’t like it here all alone in the dark. It’s cold and smelly – I miss the warmth of hands wrapped around me and the scent of baby lotion. To think that once I was treasured, that daily life without me caused tears to fall from precious eyes.

I remember once when she thought I was lost and the only thing on her mind was to find me. She hurled all the others out of her way, wailing the whole time for me. Finally, she caught a glimpse of me and her face lit up as brightly as the sun on a clear day at the beach. Her world was right again and so was mine. I knew my life would be perfect as long as she was around.

However, things change, people move on, and soon, some of us are forgotten. The care I once received began to diminish and my days got dim. Dust began to build around me and the only scent I was able to take in was of the furniture polish used by a lady to dust the shelf where I sat. The face that used to look at me so lovingly changed and I didn’t see that passion in her eyes anymore….not in my direction nor towards the others. It was as though I had become the enemy.

One day, a new face came into view. This one had lots of fire in his eyes and his hands never stopped. He would grab one of us from the shelf and fling us across the room like Frisbees where we would fall with a thud to the floor and hoped the abuse stopped there. Sometimes it did; sometimes it didn’t.

Then, one day, he sealed my fate and I landed me here. I ended up on the ground, chosen by those hands. He pulled open my cover and began pulling out my pages. I became weak as pieces of me began being further shredded and tossed into the air like confetti. He was laughing the entire time as if it were acceptable to defile me in that manner; I was defenseless against the torture. The lady who dusted the shelves came into the room, shouted at him and picked me up off the floor. I hoped she was taking me to try and mend me back into myself again; however, that hope ended with loud clunk as I was dropped into the trash bin and began to suffocate against the plastic bag walls surrounding me.

Therefore, here I am in my final resting place, among all the others that have suffered similar fates. I know that books like myself are becoming obsolete in this new digital, technologically advanced world. However, I can hope that at least one person cherishes the written word on paper instead of on a screen. I can also hope that children are taught to respect the written word and value books for the knowledge and joy they can bring because within a book, you can create your own world.

The world went quiet

Too quiet

As everyone held their breath

Unknowing whether to rejoice or run.

Americans pointed guns

Cocked to fire

As did many in the Middle East

First reaction, always.

That's why they came.

To save the world

Swooping from the Heavens

Or those embedded on the earth

Refound themselves

And broke out wings to join the Heavenly hordes.

Starseeds, Angels call them what you will.

Their time had come.

We had warned of this

The crescendo of events.

Hatred, prejudice, venomous vitriol

Could not go on.

The creator provided a planet of potential and beauty.

These humans would be stopped on their destructive quest.

They had ignored their guides, their siddhis; the basic intuition embedded in them.

So now they must be shown.

And they could either accept

Or be replaced.

Having your heart cracked but not broken.

Slipping but catching your balance on time.

Air raising your chest until it decides to escape.

That one titanic scene when Jack says goodbye to Rose

The descending of your favorite songs beat made by your favorite dead artist.

The moment the ice breaks.

When the numerator becomes the denominator.

.

Rising from the past, my shadow

is running in silence to meet me

~ Anna Akhmatova

Charlie’s place. Present time.

The room is quiet and dark. The only source of any noise and light is the TV set on low volume. I don’t have to look to my side to know that he is still sleeping. But then again, it’s late, practically the middle of the night. I knew that I wouldn’t get any rest at my flat, so I just stayed at his, feeling strangely comfortable here and at ease; which (let’s face it) didn’t happen too often to me. In the entire messed up life that I got to live, moments like these could be counted just with the fingers of one hand. My parents at one point. Cara, my old roommate, Phil of course, and the man I lost - and now him. Not a lot to build on depending on what’s left of it all, but still probably more than I deserved.

I turn off the screen and look at him, the street lamps casting an orange glow on his tired face. Feeling my chest lift and fall, lungs needing more air as the worry flows all over me, leaking through the unstable cracks. May it not be anything serious, please. He’s just tired, I try to rationalize with myself, knowing how unwise my mind was reacting. But still, it always paid off to be careful. So, after some hesitance, I bend down and lightly press my lips to his forehead, no longer feeling any temperature. It appears cool and a small sigh escapes my throat. This was a thing that my mother taught me to do when I was little, or maybe it was just a thing that I copied naturally, without a second thought.

I look at him and slip my fingers lightly through his hair. He seems better now; it must have been just the exhaustion; he works too hard because he is so passionate about what he does. I fix the blanket higher, so he doesn’t get cold and sigh. Caring, kind, helpful. Loyal. All good qualities, and yet he’s hanging out with me. My hand shifts closer to his, fingers gently entwining. I feel the warmth and calm sinking into my skin and deep under my cells. My stare falls to the ground and a shade of sadness breaks through the serenity. You can’t fix them all, Charlie. Some of us are just meant to stay broken.

Without any warning, I feel my eyes start to sting, tears falling to the ground and sinking into the wooden boards. Tap, tap, tap. The repeated noise makes me snap out of the moment; I quickly shake my head, surprised by this little outburst. What was going on with me? As if I felt something coming, getting closer, lurking once again in the shadows. I let go of him and get up, dusting the dirt off my clothes that wasn’t even there. I hear a door in the corridor open-up and turn around. It’s Robert, apparently going to the bathroom; hair in a mess, wearing just a t-shirt on and stripy boxers. He notices me surprised as if he forgot I was even here and rubs his eyes, my lips lift into a smile.

What time is it?

Almost after three.

And you’re still here?

Was I making too much noise with my messy thoughts, or was it the TV that won that battle?

He stares at me for a moment, his mind not completely awake.

What? No, just needed to use the... I mean, drink a glass of water.

Of course, don’t mind me, I’m just heading out.

You were watching after him all that time, weren’t you?

I was being comfortable on a big sofa with free TV and food - and yes, in the meantime watched if your brother didn’t fall to the ground and hurt his good spirits and positive attitude. It would be a shame for the world.

You’re weird. You know that, right?

I think I heard something similar from a different Evans as well. Light years back, in a different life, it seems.

Robert gives me a warm smile and nods.

Sounds about right.

He starts to leave but I stop him, grabbing his arm; a tiny piece of my brain notes that there isn’t any magic effect like with Charlie. Somehow that felt like a relief to me - it was good to know that some people in this crazy world still remained normal and without any strange abilities. He looks at me, puzzled.

I just didn’t want him to get worse because of me, he’s done so much for me already.

I know, that’s not what I meant when I said you were weird.

Don’t worry, it’s just as if you used my second name; a thing permanently signed into my papers. I just wanted to be clear on the matter.

My grin spreads, and he mimics the notion. Robert seemed like a good and warm guy to be around. Another thing that apparently ran in this family. I silently wondered what their parents were like, very different from mine or with issues of their own? Probably the latter.

Say goodbye to Jenna from me.

I walk to the door, open it and add just before I leave.

And be lucky for your stars that you found someone that good.

My tone is light and as I’m out in the hallway, his strong voice still manages to reach my ears.

Oh, I do. Every single day.

As I walk down the stairs and into the street, I try not to think about anything. Setting my mind to a point where there is only numbness, forcing an invisible anesthetic to surge through my tired veins. It’s just me and my surroundings, no dark or light thoughts, just the now. The night is quiet and the traffic low, the chill of Autumn air cooling my heated cheeks, but not slipping under my clothes too deep. And as I slowly walk home, I try to ignore the bad feeling that still crawls deep under my skin. Even the evil could wait, after all, it was going to find me eventually. Just a matter of time.

________

In a different part of town.

A tall, brick building with a view on the river. Two men talk in hushed voices. One sits comfortably in his armchair, an elegant wooden cane leaning casually against it. The other one seems agitated, deep frustration like a thick cloud that surrounds him and fills him up with anger. He’s moving fast from one side of the room to the other; resembling an animal in a cage, pacing and ready to pounce at any moment.

She has been avoiding us.

The man that’s sitting doesn’t seem to be bothered by this revelation. His face seems almost expressionless, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and on his forehead only adding to his elegance. A strange mixture of kindness and cruelty prowling behind his eyes.

Rather, hiding I would say. Makes a much clearer description of what’s she’s doing, don’t you think?

Yes, like a slimy insect under a big city rock. A roach with a thick skull and a pain slitting that skull in half.

Probably why she stays afloat for so long. Roaches can live through an apocalypse if they please. I think I read it in The Times.

The last words are amused, not fitting the tension in the room.

Well, she isn’t going to be that lucky if I have a saying in this. Why are you so calm about this?

Dear, brother. Haven’t we been through this, uncountable times? Have we not succeeded each and every time?

Perhaps, but this is your problem, Jeremiah. All you care is to make them choose. To see if they can crawl out of their deep dark pit of existence, and for what, to estimate their humankind worth? Such nonsense, brother. Such a waste of my precious time.

Oh, stop gloating, you fool.

The frustration finally reaches the other man. He doesn’t enjoy this kind of attitude and being told how to handle his job.

This is something that I do. Those are my responsibilities and I carry it through according to plan. It is not my problem, that all you want are the numbers and statistics... or your gain and wealth.

The one that paces stops for a while and a dark smile changes his features for just a fraction of a second, only to disappear as quickly as it appeared. There is nothing stable about the fire.

I enjoy my luxurious advantages, yes. But do recall, that I also have responsibilities. And this assignment should not take so much time, because after all is said and done, the insects run out of options, they slowly crawl our way and find us.

And she will soon do the same.

But why isn’t it done yet? Her sanity must already lay in ruins. Her brain practically bleeding out. What is your explanation for this, brother?

She might have some assistance.

Her? That sorry excuse for a human being? She was in pieces before we even got to her. Before our messenger hunted her out.

Because he took from her what was dearest to her existence. He ripped her insides before he even pointed the gun at her head. She only really cared about him.

And he owed us.

No, he owed you, brother. He thinned your resources by less than a single hair.

Please, don’t talk to me of this absurdity. That man was already at his lowest and took a life after he stole from me, there had to be a punishment.

He was up against the wall. You took away his possibilities.

I gave him everything! I gave him those possibilities!

But your prodigy got greedy.

And he paid for it, and so did she.

Let’s not forget the man who brought her to that point, your little errand boy. She proved to be too much for him, his body tumbling down like a ragged doll - entertaining, but unnecessary.

Brother, that scumbag was worthless to even begin with!

There is no doubt about it. But I am simply painting you a picture of the situation. I am using all my grays and tones so you can see clearer. I give you the reasons and the consequences of actions. I give you the truth.

Fine, let it be as you say. But she will soon come to us, or we will find her - whichever comes first.

On that, I agree. The time is coming, we should prepare.

Yes, lets.

The room is left in silence as one brother leaves the room and the other remains in his place. Hands put together, fingertips touching as he ponders about the next step, eyes moving to the window, a view of the river soothing his mind. He stares at the thick clouds and the night slowly shifting into the day. The wind howls through the thick brick walls, moaning louder than the lost souls that he put to rest. He lights a cigarette and stares through the thick layers of smoke. There was no rush really, despite what his brother was stating so boldly and with unnecessary passion, rage clouding his vision. Such a waste of energy. Because ultimately, sinners don’t get lost for too long, they always reach their final destination.

His eyes fall to an expensive antique clock standing on the big mahogany desk. It’s round and has a black onyx base that it stands on, the seconds behind the glass slowly counting the remaining time. He smiles; five soft rings telling him the exact hour. Come on, sinners. It’s time to get up, a new day is beginning. He lifts his cane in the air and hits it once against the floor, the sound filling the silence and ringing against the glass. She will come, they all do in the end. The clock by his side once again calls upon the hour, something in the city shifts and life ruthlessly moves forward, not looking back on anyone.

_________

Last 3 chapters

15. https://theprose.com/post/270473/living-arrangements

16. https://theprose.com/post/274615/the-socializing-street

17. https://theprose.com/post/276704/visiting-hours

next chapter :

19. https://theprose.com/post/288893/loosening-the-knots

____

Neighbors just like needles

are wheedling their way

through our patch-work

of sleep...

...I never got no say...

to set the records straight...

...my thoughts now swerve into 

the static psych of day...

Mama Jones waves towards 

the yawning porch!...

...She points to where 

the hammock's 

been abandoned,

and my mind becomes

a canyon

of dislocated sights,

and broken glass night

shocks...

Though we think it

still ...A good idea

maybe for some

other year,

we will peel like potatoes

from the cut of each 

misdirected jeer

that flies across our lawn.

Neighbors like needles

wheedle in and out 

of our daily affairs

like old news reels...

Twilight confides in

our insecurities... like

coins dropping in the 

jukebox of tomorrow.

The owl in the tree

next door... blinks against

the pins and needles

of the seven pointed stars...

Neighbors sink like needles

in the eyes of 

passersby... wheeling

as a meter does,

they never seem to fly from 

their stiffly framed positions.

Ticking off the moments

till the alarm clock explodes

to pieces of our wee hours 

of precious fleeting sleep...

I am drawn to the glow

of the street-light

like an insect...

...lines intersect and neighbors

lose their fearsome bite,

but almost overnight

they quickly return to make a

pact with

all we claim to hold so dear...

...they build with fear,

like billowing sails, and

crush spent wind 

right out our

swiftly suckered lungs...

...they are so fun.

©

6/18/19

Bunny Villaire &

Mavia Hankala

To know the people of Durashat is to know their tales of dragons. It is a rare day in the land of white stone that one may not look up and see a dragon circling high overhead, watching with curious eyes the lives of men.

The most common dragon tale is the grabbing of maidens engaged to be married. It is apparently so common that most maidens expect it and indeed seem to enjoy the anticipation.

The husband-to-be is the true unfortunate, for he must go about getting back his intended bride. His first trial is finding the dragon. Discovering the location of its den involves asking the inhabitants of the sky, either the Hushaf of Rim Nasur or a gryphn. Unless the young husband-to-be is very lucky, he is stuck asking a gryphn.

The gryphn take this duty both very seriously and with a high degree of hilarity. They are noble creatures with admirable senses of humor. The young man usually leaves with his question now answered but a whole host more about himself yet unanswered.

With the location of the dragon’s den now known, the young man has to get there. A nearly impossible undertaking, as dragon dens reside in the inaccessible peaks of Rim Nasur, where only wings may find their way. Though goats usually find their way anyway. Of course, the young man could ask the gryphn, but most prefer to learn the ways of the mountain goat.

It is not unknown for the maiden in question to have carried with her a substantial length of rope for just this purpose. Skirts of rope worn between layers of clothing are a popular item among brides-to-be.

At this point it should be mentioned that the young husband-to-be has never seen a dragon in any degree of closeness. Neither gryphn nor mountain may come between him and his intended, but a dragon is another matter altogether.

She lined up the family of life-like dolls on an afghan covered sofa and stood back to admire her work. There was the Mama dressed up in her ‘going to church’ outfit wearing her ugly comfort shoes. Papa was scowling, holding his briefcase in front of him as if to ward off bothersome children. The little flaxen haired doll, Benny, was holding his arm back as if to throw a baseball. Beautiful little Jenny was wearing her pink smocked party dress and black patent leather shoes.

She noticed their clothes were getting a little rumpled, so she’d have to wash and iron them. Their heads were beginning to loll on their chests so she planned to reinforce them with rods to stand straight.

Oh yes, she was proud of her little tableau of dolls. But what was she going to do about that rotten smell emanating from their bodies?