The river quietly ran its course through the fields. I used to visit it, you know, my feet dangling in the cool water. I’d watch the sun set and rise there when I had a chance. I was in my element by the river. There was a connection between us.

I don’t know why I always went there alone. I wasn’t a talker at school that much, and I didn’t really care if I had any friends. The river was my friend. I could relate to the noise of gently rushing waters, as if I was the water itself. That water would always keep on moving, no matter if rocks, animals, or anything else got in its way.

I wanted to be like that river and keep on going, no matter what.

Sometimes I wouldn’t get a chance to cool down when some other family member would throw an empty bottle of alcohol at the wall, splinters of glass flying everywhere. That river was my only refuge from the nightmare at home.

My family loved to fight. I lived with my uncle, who frequently had scantily clad women over, complete strangers! Then there was my cousin, who was my uncle’s son. He was a lot like his father in that he liked to yell and be mean a lot over tiny things that didn’t really even matter.

My mom and my mom’s friend lived with us as well. My mom and I got on well enough, but I hated her friend, who always made it a point to criticize me, especially my weight. I’m not an unhealthy size, yet she made it sound like I weighed three times what was reality.

At night, especially on the weekends, everybody but my mother would drink. My cousin, who was twenty-five, was the worst person when he started to drink. At all other times he was at least tolerable. He’d sometimes scream insults at me for no reason, calling me the worst names he could pick out of his vocabulary.

Most nights I could go away to the river to escape all the family drama, but lately, my cousin has noticed how much calmer I am after I go outside for a time. My coping mechanism quickly became an obstacle to my cousin, who wanted to do nothing more than bully me, taking away anything and everything that could make me feel better. I felt like I was suffocating, trapped in a house from hell.

Once I didn’t go to the river for two weeks. I felt like I was sick, and only the river could heal me . . . If I wasn’t able to go to my sacred place physically, I’d go there in my mind, imagining as many details of the river as I could.

I remember my uncle yelling at my mom’s friend for drinking the last beer, which she vehemently denied doing. My uncle would slam his fist down on an end table in the living room, which is where they usually fought.

“The Battle of the Beers,” as I would come to call it, was a common problem here in the realm of psychotic, dysfunctional family drama. Their fights would stretch into hours, and all I had was a paltry view of my escape, through my second-story window, the river peacefully moving along its course down in the meadows.

What course was I on? Where was I going, and how would I get there?

I was only a fourteen-year-old girl, trying to stamp out any level of independence I had. For four more years, I’d have to put up with all the fighting, drinking, and verbal abuse. I didn’t know I could.

That’s when I started sneaking out of the house at night. I had a small flashlight to help guide me. One night though, as I waited to hear my uncle’s snoring, so I could sneak out undisturbed, I fell asleep.

In my dream, the river was actually talking to me, warning me not to come out that night. I tried to beg the river to let me come, but the water took on a life of its own, sloshing and heaving, as if possessed by some water demon.

I awoke with a start. I thought I heard a noise outside. The dream had scared me. I was going to stay right there where I was in bed, my fearful eyes wide awake, my heart rate elevated.

The next day, my uncle was ranting and raving about something stupid at his son, and my mom’s friend. I tuned them out, and when I did, I noticed a story on the news, where a kidnapper that’d happened to be seen near where I lived. Whoever was taken couldn’t have had a friend, like the river in my case, to warn them of such danger.

As more fights erupted all around me, my own sweet mother joining in as well, I realized that I had something very special with the river, and that was why nothing bad happened to me.

After the neighborhood kidnapper spotting, I never stopped thinking about how lucky I’d been. I valued my life more, becoming less prone to make foolish decisions, like going out wandering after nightfall.

Darkness is often a dark person’s ally, and something bad would’ve happened to me had I gone outside the previous night. Ever since that happened, I’ve started thinking more about my worth as a person.

My family may have subdued me with their senseless, alcohol-induced insults, but they had not conquered my spirit. No, I was like a river, except that I knew my course, but not the destination, leading me to wonder what was meant by my life if I wad worth being defended against such evil, and that marks the beginning of when I really started coming into mt own.

If you are going through a difficult time, seek out your river, your happy place, because if it won’t save you from anything else, at least have a start at knowing your true value as an important human being, whose thoughts and feelings matter

The Jaguar's Territory

The jaguar peered through the bushes at her prey, a sick gazelle. She wondered if the animal was contagious, but she also knew she was hungry.

The past few months had been stressful, feeding her three cubs. Sometimes she had to go without eating, to make sure her small family was provided for.

"It won't be long before they're on their own," she thought in her beautiful, wild head. Her moment to attack was approaching, the other gazelle moving on ahead, leaving the sick gazelle behind.

This was her chance, but then she realized something. There wasn't just the one gazelle. There were two! The mother jaguar was grateful to have a second option

This other gazelle didn't look sick at all, plus it was bigger. That meant more food for her family. Bigger could sometimes mean harder to take down, but she was willing to risk it to avoid possibly coming down with whatever sickness was afflicted the smaller gazelle.

Out of the corner of her eye . . . she couldn't believe it . . . she saw her mate. It looked like he'd been eyeing the bigger gazelle, too. It wasn't like they had any sort of deep connection, so she pushed aside whatever relationship they'd had in the past, and decided to look at him for what he was -a competitor.

The female jaguar saw an opportunity to attack the gazelle once it wondered within a certain distance. Her attack was very deadly and precise. Locking her jaw on the neck of the gazelle, she made her prey lose its footing, giving her the chance to dash off with the precious food.

She didn't look back. She didn't have to, because she knew her mate. He would follow her for a little bit, then would probably give up. Apparently she didn't know her mate as well as she thought she did, because if there was one thing he wasn't, it would be a quitter.

Not really expecting her mate to follow in tow, the female jaguar jaunted at her own pace back to her den and her three hungry cubs. About halfway to her home, her mate made his way in front of her, blocking her pathway.

Now that she could get a good look at him, she could see he wasn't doing too well. He stank, for one, and he was very skinny, for another. Still, there were feelings of resentment towards the male jaguar leaving her and her cubs to fend for themselves -not that she needed the help, because she really was an excellent hunter.

"Please, I'm hungry," he growled, but not he was threatening her. "I haven't had any water in three days."

The female jaguar wasn't convinced.

"I wouldn't have mated with you if you were a bad hunter."

"I know that. I lost a major battle for territory. I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Hold up right there." The other jaguar got a nasty look on her speckled face. "This isn't your territory anymore? Where is your territory now?"

"I don't have any," he admitted. Hanging his head. "I'll probably die soon because of my condition, after I lost."

Not a moment was wasted when the mom took her kill and hurried off to her den at an intense trot. Her ex-mate was following her, but she didn't realize it, and honestly, she didn't care.

Thankfully all three of her cubs were still in their cave. In the past, her most adventurous cub had wondered out, and was almost lost for good. What had given her the cub's location was the sound of a large bird squawking not too far away.

The young cub had attempted to attack a bird twice his size, and had startled the fully-mature fowl. The bird could've killed the cub with a few well-aimed shots at the little jaguar with its beak, but it wasn't interested in a fight.

Momma came in, picked up her cub then returned home.

"Good, maybe he's learned his lesson," said the momma in her mind. Laying the kill on the floor of the cave, the mom nuzzled her babies before they started digging in to their feast.

For whatever reason, the mother jaguar looked outside of her cave, probably checking for enemies, but instead she saw her ex-mate. What could he not understand about his actions? It was clear jaguar law, that all jaguars acknowledged, that if you lost your territory, you lost all the mates in their territory as well.

The thought had been on her mind to visit the new leader of the territory she wanted to stay in. She looked out at the shamed ex-mate of hers. About to growl and roar at him to go away, the sad male jaguar dropped his head low and turned away.

"Served him right!" Momma thought. She knew how good of a fighter her ex-mate was, so she figured he must've done something really stupid to lose such an important battle.

All three happy little jaguars ate their fill, and so did their ravenously hungry momma, too. By the time she'd sated her appetite, the cubs were getting sleeping from all the good food. There was none left.

"Ok kids," she whispered. "You need to still stay inside while mommy pays a visit to another jaguar in the area."

The young jaguarlets mewed and growled in response, still shaky with forming certain words and sentences. She figured that was as best a response as she was going to get, so she ventured back into the wild to see if she could find her new mate, or whatever the heck he wanted to call himself. She sniffed the air.

"Ah yes, that's new," she thought to herself about the smell. Her ex was trailing behind her, but was growing more distant from her the closer she got to her destination. She didn't think the ex-leader of this decent-sized chunk of territory would ever hurt her cubs. She silently whispered to herself that she would hunt down and kill that male jaguar if he so much as even touched her cubs.

It didn't matter if he was the dad. This was a matter of a jaguar's pride. You pay your respects to the jaguar in charge, and maybe if he liked you enough, he'd bring over a kill every once and a while.

Her ex had never brought over any food, and she didn't expect him to. She always found him to be kind of rude, but she'd had to put up with him because he was in charge.

With the speed of a cheetah, a new male jaguar sped past the female, attacking some animal in the background. She looked and saw her ex, way off in the distance, and in his mouth was the most adventuresome cub. She wanted to dash off and save her cub, but this was a fight between male jaguars, and she knew not to interfere because they often got extremely nasty with each other while fighting.

The fight was relatively short, the new leader winning, carrying the cub up to the momma. She licked her foolish cub, but she loved him and had to forgive him because he hadn't known any better.

The new leader was apparently very capable. He looked at her will his gold eyes, and saw how bright and sharp they were. He was a killer, but he had a heart, too.

The story had its end.

"And that was how I met my dad," said the adventuresome cub, all grown up. "I have learned so much from him. If my mom had fed my real dad, he could've had the strength to carry all of us off and probably eat us."

"The new leader did help to provide, and now his territory's going to become mine."

"And you deserve it," spoke a soft, but older voice.

"Thank you mother for giving me strength."

"It's what mothers do," she said as if it was all just common sense

I didn't mean to get you caught up in the vortex of my physics.

With some math skills I thought I could fix it.

Life threw a curve ball when I was weakest, but isn't that the way it goes?

That once you learn how to pitch, you're too old to throw?

Like a child, I learned to play the game by your rules.

Now I just feel like I played the fool.

The more I'm sad, the lesser I feel, and I try to use philosophy to say:

"none of this is real."

You play your game, like a cat and mouse.

You are never welcome here again.

Leave my house!

I'm going to care less, and that's when I'll get strong.

But you and me, we'll never get along.

There's nothing more to say, I quit.

And I'm done.

That's it.

There was a lot of pressure riding on this job. With the precision of a hawk the lithe man focused his scope on his target. Conflict surged in his chest, but he tried to shove it out of his mind.

Sweat dripped in his eyes. The setting sun was quickly disappearing behind the buildings' skyline. Time was off the essence. Wiping the sweat away, finger poised on the trigger, the target moved.

Cursing under breath, all of the man's senses zeroed in on his prey. In person she was more beautiful, he noted to himself. The feelings of doubt flooded his consciousness.

The man had been a hunter since he was a little boy, teaching himself how to fish, set traps, and shoot. Always was a feeling of respect for everything he killed.

The woman struck a nerve with all the hunting instincts inside him. Feelings he'd once felt for graceful, uncommon animals, within his sights, surfaced, and he couldn't shoot.

There would be no $50,000 reward now. At least his conscience would remain intact. For a moment longer he looked at her with similar awe to a tigress in her natural habitat.

A man struck the woman to the ground from behind and smiled sadistically. At first the hitman wondered if he was the only one looking to collect on this woman's bounty.

Then, upon observation, the aggressor looked like he was involved with the woman domestically. The man viciously kicked the woman he had knocked to the floor.

All at once the hitman felt protective of the lovely creature, so he moved his scope a hair to the right, and pulled the trigger.

A perfect shot led to a poetic, precise kill. The sun slipped out sight as the hitman packed up his gear and walked away. He had work to do in covering up his tracks. There would not even be a remote chance he'd get put away for murder once he was finished cleaning up.

Love & Reality

I didn’t ask for your insight.

I don’t have to kiss you at night.

Try to control me:

Look what happens, just see.

You gave me a blood-red rose.

The reason: who knows?

I am a fighter, but I don’t use my fists.

I use my mind, so be aware of this.

All my songs I write are for you.

You lied to me, but I lied, too.

Truth and honesty have saved us.

You are more than just a crush.

Each word I write, I write for you.

Let’s never “be through.”

You are my anchor, you are my light.

You warn me of lies, my soul to save.

My fear of humanity, and its might,

scare me worse than the night;

the shadows, the noises,

the loneliness, the voices.

Kindness is becoming so rare,

When it exists, everyone stares.

I need to cultivate this inner gem,

Blossom from my sprouting stem.

Don’t water me with your tears.

This plant doesn’t eat salt.

Just like what was thrown in your wound, after you hit the asphalt.

That’s the last time you’ll overwhelm me, or putting yourself last.

You like to put yourself down,

and I am not okay with that.

This star in the palm of my hand,

reminds me of the ocean, shells and sand. You take your hand and scoop some of the water up;

we take our wine and together we sup.

For we are like an entity, a fixed place in an ever-shifting cosmos, mi amor

I didn’t ask for your insight.

I don’t have to kiss you at night.

Try to control me:

Look what happens, just see.

You gave me a blood-red rose.

The reason: who knows?

I am a fighter, but I don’t use my fists.

I use my mind, so be aware of this.

All my songs I write are for you.

You lied to me, but I lied, too.

Truth and honesty have saved us.

You are more than just a crush.

Each song I write, I write for you.

Let’s never “be through.”

You are my anchor, you are my light.

You warn me of lies, my soul to save.

My fear of humanity, and its might,

scare me worse than the night;

the shadows, the noises,

the loneliness, the voices.

Kindness is becoming so rare,

When it exists, everyone stares.

I need to cultivate this inner gem,

Blossom from my sprouting stem.

Don’t water me with your tears.

This plant doesn’t eat salt.

Just like what was thrown in your wound, after you hit the asphalt.

That’s the last time you’ll overwhelm me, or putting your last.

You like to put yourself down,

and I am not okay with that.

This star in the palm of my hand,

reminds me of the ocean, shells and sand. You take your hand and scoop some of the water up;

we take our wine and together we sup.

For we are like an entity, a fixed place in an ever-shifting cosmos.

“Mi Amor”

A silent tear slipped down Ibrahim’s cheek, followed by another tear from his other eye. Gently, Ibrahim caressed my face, his eyes staring into my soul. His voice was so sincere when he said:

“I don’t want to lose you!”

Questions darted through my mind like speeding arrows. I quickly cycled through my questions of self-doubt , and it went something along the lines of:

“Why do you care for me so much? Nobody else does.”

My inner darkness grappled with the light in my mind, and the light won, but not without a ton of confusion. Love was now in my life, and I didn’t really recognize it.

I thought I’d be better off had I never been created, all those bad things done to me coursing through my brain, attempting to twist my logic.

I had to give in to that waterfall of love, that oasis, that unknown, warm, comforting feeling in my heart. Thank God for Ibrahim, or I may never have gotten the opportunity to know what true love is.

My past is full of the turmoil of mental hospital stays, where yelling and fighting were an every day affair. I have was attacked, made fun of, and was the unwanted recipient to advances made by some of the other patients.

Perhaps mental hospital staff mean well, but I never got any better in those places. I was surrounded by other patients who were noticeably more disturbed than I was, and I felt isolation on multiple levels, the locked-in nature of the institution, the behavior of the patients, and sometimes, the aggressive and bullying nature of the minority of staff.

It is nothing short of a miracle I emerged relatively mentally intact from having been institutionalized. These memories are powerful, and when combined with times of high stress, negative thoughts can start to tear at my inner defenses, leading me to questions whose answers threaten to cast me further down into the abyss of depression, and anger towards myself.

Down I fall, feeling no hope whatsoever; then a brave arm reaches out and grabs me, breaking my fall. I am pulled into a loving embrace.

“Let me hold you,” whispers Ibrahim. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here to help you. I love you.”

He was so sweet, and I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe I wasn’t destined for sorrow, pain, and being forgotten. Maybe Ibrahim was right. Maybe there was something more for me out there.

Ibrahim reminds me I have worth, feelings, and good qualities as a person. There is hope, but I never would’ve realized this without him, Ibrahim, my love, or as he would say, because he speaks Spanish: “mi amor.

A silent tear slipped down Ibrahim's cheek, followed by another tear from his other eye. Gently, Ibrahim caressed my face, his eyes staring into my soul. His voice was so sincere when he said:

"I don't want to lose you!"

Questions darted through my mind like speeding arrows. I quickly cycled through my questions of self-doubt , and it went something along the lines of:

"Why do you care for me so much? Nobody else does."

My inner darkness grappled with the light in my mind, and the light won, but not without a ton of confusion. Love was now in my life, and I didn't really recognize it.

I thought I'd be better off had I never been created, all those bad things done to me coursing through my brain, attempting to twist my logic.

I had to give in to that waterfall of love, that oasis, that unknown, warm, comforting feeling in my heart. Thank God for Ibrahim, or I may never have gotten the opportunity to know what true love is

When I say Ibrahim is my everything, I mean it. Then again he can get really annoying. There's no way I should get mad at him, though, because he's gone through a lot.

What Ibrahim has gone through is similar to some of what I've dealt with, in terms of severity. I am six years older than he is, so I should cut him some slack, because I myself was probably a lot like him when I was twenty-one.

Negativity has torn us up on the inside, yet we've survived by trying to count the positives. Ibrahim's hopeful outlook on life, and my resilience to my soul becoming cold, has made us a team to just keep on going.

NOTE: This would fall under the realm of "religious fiction," if such a genre exists, and is not meant to be taken literally, or offend anyone because it doesn't jive with religious preferences. Thank you.

THE DEVIL'S GIFT

Did you see the angel fall from heaven with red-tipped wings?

He was once a great general, but now a traitor of all things?

His fall was like a meteor striking the Earth, now he tests our wills, to see what we are worth.

A wounded, wicked heart that was as horrible as evil rising from the grave,

Upset he was no longer in Heaven, where there'd been her soul to save.

It was for love she chose the evil part during the war, but no evil thing had entered into her heart.

The Devil's twin sought the demise of the woman's true lover, that through a bet God would lose, she would find another.

The angels and demons fought for her soul, they wanted to have her, lusting after control.

She was sentenced to a Quest to prove her heart was true, to show she'd really chosen heaven, and with hell wouldn't follow through.

The fallen lord struck a deal with the Father, that if a contract he would sign; for Lucifer had said: "If she fails in her Quest, then she will be forever mine."

Wise in his old ways, and knowledgeable in the Devil's dirty tricks, God agreed; "but the price for thus is fixed."

"If she finished her Quest, you will bind her in sorrow indeed; I know you serpent, so pay me heed: she will never end on this Quest, and her hard work will make her long after death."

"Devil, you old liar, she has already been approved, but if she ceases to do her Quest, she will belong to you."

"Now listen here Devil, and I'll sweeten the deal. If you win you'll both go to heaven, exonerated of any evil."

The Devil gave a wry smile, because this was a bet he couldn't lose, no matter what, she'd be his; she'd have no right for herself to choose.

She had considered his twin Levi, and then Lucifer started the war, which grew fierce, knocking on heaven's door.

Feeling foolish, God measured his next words; he mulled it over in his head, but it still sounded absurd.

Still God spoke, and all things stood still: "If I win this bet, you're in for a thrill, for she will earn the Devil's Gift, and you and your host will answer to her will."

The Devil was sure of his victory, so on the papers he signed away, certain the beautiful woman would be his, some day.

The Son of God had fought well, but his young soul was trapped in hell, for he wanted her too, so in his arms she would dwell.

Intuitively, in his might, God knew the woman would need allies, because war was still brewing, Satan's hatred stewing, the pure soul of Christ and his undoing, where a prisoner of war, Iscariot, swore to kill the King of Kings, one ill act begets another, and so the King would fall,

So God the Father would rule with his just authority, as the Alpha and Omega over all.