i'd entered wonderland

through a gateway in my mind.

it unraveled,

shattered to pieces,

as it rejected the reality i'd refused to accept.

the dust bunnies jumped

as i opened the door.

the world around me burst

into color and excitement

as the walls began to breathe

and the wood grain in the tables

swirled into a flurry of patterns

that shared with them the secrets

of the universe

like great hieroglyphs,

only to be seen by my eyes.

the television showed static

but it talked to me in a low voice.

God?

i don't know.

maybe.

it would whisper to me

as i wrote,

tell me what to write.

the letters on the page danced and swayed

across a vast white floor

that cascaded into infinity.

the patterns filled my head,

pupils dilated,

hands grasping for things that weren't there,

faces and stories showed through everything

like still life paintings.

have i lost my mind,

has this reality taken over,

when will wonderland go away?

i want to keep talking,

keep exploring,

keep moving through this world,

but the television is telling me to stop.

You're the fire in my soul,

Can’t keep it down, gonna burn me whole.

They said take I’d better take it slow

But while I’ve got the courage I gotta go.

Maybe we were never meant to be,

But now we just have to see...

Strike a match, and watch it burn

Up my bridges so I can’t return.

Take the ashes, put them in an urn,

Testament for later to the lesson I've learned:

Sometimes you gotta take chances,

And love's one of those complex dances,

You get burned if you mess with a flame

But that's part of the price for playing the game.

There was this place we used to go camping when I was a kid, we called it the ‘sand dunes’. Its appearance reflects its name, being a large area of desert land that consisted of fine sand. The sun had gone down, and night was upon us. I remember the light sources: the campfire outside and a dim light above my head. I was alone in the camper, a small mobile sleeper that was attached to the back of my dad’s truck, and my dad and brother were outside by the fire, along with other people that at the time I did not recognize as significant of remembering. I was only four, so I find it strange that my father had decided to leave me completely unsupervised, however, I do believe I was supposed to be asleep.

I was coloring in one of my coloring books. I remember being sad, but for what reason, I’m not sure. Emotions aren’t easy to remember. I have the description for the emotion that I had felt at the time, but I’m not sure what had caused this casual sadness.

A person came in through the door. I had first perceived this person to be a young boy, due to the short hair, baseball cap, and baggy jeans. However, I was wrong in my perception. The person was a young girl, about the same age as myself. She claimed to be the daughter of one of my dad’s friends and wanted to play with me. I invited her to join me in coloring. I had plenty of coloring books to share, so I didn’t see it as an inconvenience to my own enjoyment. We sat there and colored, poorly, as children do.

What I had believed to be my first memory was actually not my first memory, so my life has felt like a lie (just a bit). My REAL first memory was when I was about 2 years old. I was over at my babysitter’s house. I was in the middle of being potty-trained, so, inevitably, I had an accident. I was thrown into the a cold shower, bawling my eyes out, while my babysitter shoved my shorts in my face and continually screamed “DOES THIS LOOK CLEAN?” Needless to say I didn’t get anywhere near another toilet for a good 6 months afterwards.

Casey carefully shut his bedroom door and turned on the music channel on his computer, amping the sound up just high enough so his parents wouldn't tell him to turn it down. He had this all planned, he'd been planning it for weeks, ever since they'd told him that a 10-year old was too young to go trick or treating on his own.

Throwing a glance at the closed door, he crouched down and pulled his costume out from under the bed. His wonderful Spiderman costume, a head-to-toe concoction of tight red fabric, a flowing blue cape, and etched black webs which his Grandma had made for him. Mom had told him he could wear the costume to the family Halloween party on Saturday but Casey knew that there was only one day to wear a Halloween costume - he wasn't that dumb. 31 October, All Hallows Eve. Tonight.

He struggled into the costume, wishing that Grandma was here to help. She'd warned him that it was very tight. Spiderman could not afford to have loose bits of cloth hanging about that could catch on things and slow him down as he saved the world. By the time he'd snapped and pinged the well-fitted headpiece over his head he was hot and bothered and wondering if he should have stopped to take a pee first. He peered at himself in the mirror through the cut slits of the eye holes and grinned, his breath puffing hotly against the fabric which now covered his mouth. He looked exactly like Spiderman! Surely no one could tell the difference?

Casey carefully, quietly climbed up onto his bed and unlatched his bedroom window. He leveraged himself up onto the window sill and stopped, listening for any sign of his parents at the door, but all he could hear was the hum and the throb and the beat of the hip hop music from his computer speakers. He slipped over the sill and landed, red-webbed feet first, in the snaggle of weeds outside his window. Spiderman had made his escape!

Casey pulled his trick or treat bag from the hollow of the oak tree where he'd left it earlier and marched proudly out on the street and into the steadily growing throngs of young trick or treaters. All of them accompanied by an adult, he noticed with disdain. Spiderman needed no accompaniment. Spiderman worked alone.

He pushed his way through a giggling huddle of Disney princesses and strode purposely onwards. He knew where he was going. Old man Johnson's house on Park Street. Old man Johnson always hung around the cluster of trees at the edge of the park, calling out to the children who passed by on their way to school and offering sweets and enticements. Though Casey had never taken a sweet offered from the man's shaking hand, surely old man Johnson's house was chockful of candies and other delights? And what better night than Halloween to visit and plunder the treasures he seemed so anxious to share?

Casey reached old man Johnson's house, two blocks over from his own, and the first tiny prickles of trepidation plucked at the back of his neck as he gazed at the peeling paint of the house. He looked up and down the street, unsure of why none of the parents had brought their costumed charges here. Surely everyone knew of old man Johnson's willingness to hand out candy? He glanced back at the front door, red and faded, and his eyes lingered on the tarnished brass knocker. In just a few Spider-steps he could be on that porch and banging on that knocker, bag open and ready for all of his treats.

A daddy-and-daughter Minion pair walked past as he stood, undecided, on the sidewalk. "Don't go in there," the little girl warned Casey through the bright yellow cloth of her outfit. "Old man Johnson is scary."

Casey thrust his shoulders back. He was Spiderman! Spiderman wasn't scared of anyone or anything. As the Minions disappeared up the street he tightened his grip on his bag and marched up the path and leapt onto the porch. He stood for a moment on the weathered boards and looked back at the street. The sidewalk was only a few short steps from where he stood but from here it seemed a long, long way away.

Casey whirled around as the door behind him opened just a crack. He leaned forward and peered into the dim light. He was sweating heavily now and a few drops of perspiration clung to his eyelashes. He squinted through the dampness and the inadequate eye slots of his costume, not sure if he could see anyone standing there or not.

"Is that you Spiderman? I was hoping you would call by. I have a whole web of treats for you. Step inside for just a minute and you can have them all." The door widened a little more, but still Casey could not see old man Johnson.

He looked back at the street, his body half turned to go. In a few leaps and bounds he could be on the sidewalk and running back, as fast as his Spider-legs could carry him, to his own house. He'd scramble through the window and Mom and Dad would never know he'd left.

"So many chocolate bars," the voice coaxed from the murky blackness just a few inches away from him. "I thought that chocolate was Spiderman's favorite treat? I chose it specially. It would be such a shame for all this lovely candy to go to waste."

Casey made up his mind. He stepped forward eagerly and slipped into the darkness.

#halloween #trickortreat

My roses are red

Oh yes, blood red

My violets are violent

& that's why you're dead

I killed you with flowers

Smothered you with petals

Your death wasn't ugly

Like cold-hearted metals

Now you sleep forever

On a bright-coloured bed

Because I'm nice that that

Or so I have said

I want you to know

Why I chose you

It was your eyes

Shining sapphire blue

I knew they'd look pretty

In floral apparel

It felt like Christmas

I even sang a carol

I liked you

You deserved the best

So I give you this bouquet

To garnish your rest

& I'll leave this note

To appease your wrath

Signed with love...

From,

Your friendly psychopath

Firetrucks are red

Police cars are blue

I lit your house on fire

wee woo wee woo