Beatitudes in the Bible tell
of condition and result
Angels that bear the throne of Heaven
can't lift me up from this tumult
Immortals in forbidden Chinese cities
speaking of good luck
The gods in Japan just shake their heads
as I roil in the muck
Into the side pocket, there it went
the game ended before begun
Bring enough of the little bits
and together they create one
But unity seems a fleeting thing
when memory draws nigh
And I ruminate on should have beens
when eights come wandering by.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Daughter's
A call after midnight
Ne'er does it bode well
Words, unexpected
Put a father's heart through hell
A smile unseen
Laughter never heard
Dreams of the future
Dashed with four words
A spring time born Lily
Sprouted 5th of May
Ten years were given
Then taken away
Oh to hold her, just once
Kiss her tender, sweet head
But nightmare words whispered...
Your daughter is dead
Ne'er does it bode well
Words, unexpected
Put a father's heart through hell
A smile unseen
Laughter never heard
Dreams of the future
Dashed with four words
A spring time born Lily
Sprouted 5th of May
Ten years were given
Then taken away
Oh to hold her, just once
Kiss her tender, sweet head
But nightmare words whispered...
Your daughter is dead
Fools, aloof, ramble.
At times I am a damned fool.
Looking into a face that isn't really there, into eyes that won't see me.
It doesn't help.
A fool isn't always aloof.
Say goodbye and walk away for good, without really walking away.
Holding on tightly.
What the hell am I going on about?
This is what happens when you just kind of start writing whatever pops into your head.
You remember lost love
And ramble.
Looking into a face that isn't really there, into eyes that won't see me.
It doesn't help.
A fool isn't always aloof.
Say goodbye and walk away for good, without really walking away.
Holding on tightly.
What the hell am I going on about?
This is what happens when you just kind of start writing whatever pops into your head.
You remember lost love
And ramble.
Friday, October 19, 2012
In the Beginning
Author's note: Jack and Alex are dead. They were SO depressing anyway. I thought a new series was in order. Originally, this wasn't intended as such. However, while penning the initial tale (yes, I DO still write them out by hand), a friend of mine added some lines. While his lines are nowhere to be found in my story, they did inspire me in the direction I would take this. Big thank you to Ryan B; when inspiration comes, you take it, and I appreciate that your writings helped me with this.
Enjoy.
**********
With cold fingers, the moonlight spread out upon the sparse landscape. Standing on the edge of a cliff, he prayed, hoping to be heard. He stared into the rocky abyss, the offered himself, his life. His only request, purpose.
His was lost when he fell. Now, with no gates to guard, he felt empty. Angry.
During the war it had all been confusion. He hadn’t realized until too late for which side he had swung his flaming sword. But ignorance was no excuse, and he had been cast out. Chaff, separated from the wheat.
There had been no forgiveness, no understanding. Only anger. Only retribution.
And in the absence of the Name, it was hell. Even on Earth.
“You could strike me down, here and now, Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Collapse these rocks and send me to oblivion, were it your will.
“But you must be keeping me here for something. My wings may be gone, but my heart is still true. I made a mistake.
“Please,” he begged, kneeling his tall frame upon the sharp, broken stones. “Tell me what I must do.”
As always, there was only silence.
He stood there for a time; how long he could not say. The wind ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes, imagining that it blew softly upon the great wings he once had. The memory of them brought about phantoms pains, or so he thought, for something felt different this time. He was puzzled.
Then, carried on the wind, he heard a voice. It was soft at first, but became clear as his ears grew attuned. It sounded young, but there was pain, sorrow in the voice.
“...and twice now I should have been dead, so you must be keeping me around for something. I can’t accept that I’m here to be the whipping boy of fate. I won’t accept it.”
AZUZEL.
The name, spoken in a whisper sent pain coursing through the angel’s body, and where his wings had been there was now a burning. Something was very different.
YOU MUST PROTECT HIM, AZUZEL.
“Lord,” he said. “I don’t under...”
And then Azuzel heard footsteps running over broken stone, a gasp, and the sound of something plummeting from the edge of the cliff. He was confused, but only for a moment.
FLY.
Without hesitation, Azuzel launched himself from where he had been perched. He moved so quickly, and it had been so long, that his eyes began to water. The sharp, seering pain ebbed through his shoulders; his wings were being restored.
And there they were. Glowing in the moonlight. Strong, beautiful. Just like he remembered.
With a great thrust of his black wings, Azuzel propelled himself toward the form of what appeared to be a young boy. The Name had commanded him, and his will would be done.
He passed under the falling child, opened his wings and stopped himself just below him. He caught the boy, and matching his rate of descent, brought him down gently toward the ground.
When they touched down, he released the boy, who promptly threw up. Azuzel stood there silently, watching with a grin on his face.
Ah, the melodrama of youth, thought the angel. The boy could not have been much older than thirteen years. But if it was simple, youthful angst, then why had the Name commanded him?
When the boy had recovered he looked upon the angel. “Who are you,” he asked.
“I am Azuzel. I am here to protect you.”
The boy hocked, spat. He looked again at Azuzel and there was no fear in his eyes. “Protect me from what?”
Azuzel thought for a moment. He looked up to where the boy had been. “From yourself, perhaps.”
The boy’s gaze followed the angel’s and he snorted. “I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re thinking. Something ran into me.”
The angel fixed his stare on the boy. “And yet you did not cry out?”
The boy smiled. “I didn’t think it would do much good.”
The sound that came from Azuzel briefly startled the boy, for when angels laugh, all of nature laughs. And Azuzel was laughing heartily. But his laughter stopped abruptly, for the Name was speaking to him.
YOU HAVE YOUR PURPOSE, AZUZEL. PROTECT HIM.
“Lord,” asked the angel. “Who am I protecting him from? Who pushed him?”
I LEAVE THAT TO YOU TO DISCOVER. BUT KEEP HIM, AND YOURSELF, SAFE. BE EVER VIGILANT, MY CHILD.
“Yes, Father.” Tears came to his eyes and he hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
His thoughts were interrupted. “Dude. Who the hell are you talking to?”
Azuzel looked at the boy.
“I said someone pushed me,” he continued. “They might still be up there.”
Azuzel squared himself up with the boy. He was small, compared to the angel’s seven-foot frame, but not scrawny. He looked like someone who could handle himself well, and there was something about his eyes. They seemed bright with a knowledge, or wisdom, that seemed well beyond the boy’s years.
“Whatever was there,” said Azuzel, looking up. “It’s gone now. Tell me your name.”
“Joseph,” replied the boy. “And I’m not worried. But someone or something just shoved me off a cliff.”
“I know.”
“Well, I kind of want to shove them back.”
The look in the boy’s eyes caused Azuzel to take a step back. He seemed familiar, like someone he had met long ago. Could it be?
“Turn the other cheek, child,” said the angel. “Now, where is your family, Joseph?”
The boy’s impatience was clear. “I live with my mother, so what? You’re wasting time. How do you even know their gone?”
The angel ignored his question. “And what is your mother’s name?”
Joseph looked furious. “Marianne, why? What’s your point,” he yelled.
“And your father?”
The question seemed to deflate the boys growing rage. He turned away, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know. I never met him,” he said. “The only time my mother speaks of him is when she’s telling me how wonderful he is, or how proud he’d be of me.”
“I see,” said Azuzel, the cogs of his mind finally clicking into place.
“But how can he be proud of me? He can he be so wonderful,” Joseph blurted. “If he’s never even met me?”
The boy’s words echoed off the cliff walls. Then silence. Not a murmur from the wind, nor the chirping of insects could be heard. It seemed that all the earth was still.
The boy didn’t seem to notice, but Azuzel finally broke the silence with a whisper. “Your father has met you. Of that I am certain.”
Joseph looked at him, confusion, frustration, and sadness clear in his eyes.
“Enough of this for now,” said Azuzel. “I have been ordered to protect you.”
With those words he stood up straight and stretched his wings. He made both of his hands into fists, the held them together. Slowly, he drew them apart. In the space between his hands flames formed. Not wild, random fires. It was a solid mass. And when his hands were as far apart as possible he opened his left hand and raised the right.
There, burning brightly, was a sword of pure fire. Joseph shielded his eyes, but only for a moment. Then he stared on in wonder.
Azuzel knelt before the boy, placing the sword point into the earth. “I pledge my sword, and my life, to keeping you safe.”
Joseph’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock, and giddiness. Then he smiled. “I think you and I will get along just fine,” he said. Then added, “And I have got to get me one of those.”
Azuzel looked up at the boy and grinned. He rose and opened his right hand. The sword flickered and disappeared.
“Cool,” said Joseph.
“We should go now,” said Azuzel. “I must take you home.”
“Sure,” said Joseph. “You can meet my mother. I’m sure she’s gonna love you.”
“Indeed.”
And with that, Azuzel scooped the boy up into his arms. He unfurled his wings, and with one quick beat, launched himself and the boy in the cool, starlit sky.
He didn’t know what would come next. But he had a purpose, once again, and for the time being that was enough.
Enjoy.
**********
With cold fingers, the moonlight spread out upon the sparse landscape. Standing on the edge of a cliff, he prayed, hoping to be heard. He stared into the rocky abyss, the offered himself, his life. His only request, purpose.
His was lost when he fell. Now, with no gates to guard, he felt empty. Angry.
During the war it had all been confusion. He hadn’t realized until too late for which side he had swung his flaming sword. But ignorance was no excuse, and he had been cast out. Chaff, separated from the wheat.
There had been no forgiveness, no understanding. Only anger. Only retribution.
And in the absence of the Name, it was hell. Even on Earth.
“You could strike me down, here and now, Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Collapse these rocks and send me to oblivion, were it your will.
“But you must be keeping me here for something. My wings may be gone, but my heart is still true. I made a mistake.
“Please,” he begged, kneeling his tall frame upon the sharp, broken stones. “Tell me what I must do.”
As always, there was only silence.
He stood there for a time; how long he could not say. The wind ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes, imagining that it blew softly upon the great wings he once had. The memory of them brought about phantoms pains, or so he thought, for something felt different this time. He was puzzled.
Then, carried on the wind, he heard a voice. It was soft at first, but became clear as his ears grew attuned. It sounded young, but there was pain, sorrow in the voice.
“...and twice now I should have been dead, so you must be keeping me around for something. I can’t accept that I’m here to be the whipping boy of fate. I won’t accept it.”
AZUZEL.
The name, spoken in a whisper sent pain coursing through the angel’s body, and where his wings had been there was now a burning. Something was very different.
YOU MUST PROTECT HIM, AZUZEL.
“Lord,” he said. “I don’t under...”
And then Azuzel heard footsteps running over broken stone, a gasp, and the sound of something plummeting from the edge of the cliff. He was confused, but only for a moment.
FLY.
Without hesitation, Azuzel launched himself from where he had been perched. He moved so quickly, and it had been so long, that his eyes began to water. The sharp, seering pain ebbed through his shoulders; his wings were being restored.
And there they were. Glowing in the moonlight. Strong, beautiful. Just like he remembered.
With a great thrust of his black wings, Azuzel propelled himself toward the form of what appeared to be a young boy. The Name had commanded him, and his will would be done.
He passed under the falling child, opened his wings and stopped himself just below him. He caught the boy, and matching his rate of descent, brought him down gently toward the ground.
When they touched down, he released the boy, who promptly threw up. Azuzel stood there silently, watching with a grin on his face.
Ah, the melodrama of youth, thought the angel. The boy could not have been much older than thirteen years. But if it was simple, youthful angst, then why had the Name commanded him?
When the boy had recovered he looked upon the angel. “Who are you,” he asked.
“I am Azuzel. I am here to protect you.”
The boy hocked, spat. He looked again at Azuzel and there was no fear in his eyes. “Protect me from what?”
Azuzel thought for a moment. He looked up to where the boy had been. “From yourself, perhaps.”
The boy’s gaze followed the angel’s and he snorted. “I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re thinking. Something ran into me.”
The angel fixed his stare on the boy. “And yet you did not cry out?”
The boy smiled. “I didn’t think it would do much good.”
The sound that came from Azuzel briefly startled the boy, for when angels laugh, all of nature laughs. And Azuzel was laughing heartily. But his laughter stopped abruptly, for the Name was speaking to him.
YOU HAVE YOUR PURPOSE, AZUZEL. PROTECT HIM.
“Lord,” asked the angel. “Who am I protecting him from? Who pushed him?”
I LEAVE THAT TO YOU TO DISCOVER. BUT KEEP HIM, AND YOURSELF, SAFE. BE EVER VIGILANT, MY CHILD.
“Yes, Father.” Tears came to his eyes and he hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
His thoughts were interrupted. “Dude. Who the hell are you talking to?”
Azuzel looked at the boy.
“I said someone pushed me,” he continued. “They might still be up there.”
Azuzel squared himself up with the boy. He was small, compared to the angel’s seven-foot frame, but not scrawny. He looked like someone who could handle himself well, and there was something about his eyes. They seemed bright with a knowledge, or wisdom, that seemed well beyond the boy’s years.
“Whatever was there,” said Azuzel, looking up. “It’s gone now. Tell me your name.”
“Joseph,” replied the boy. “And I’m not worried. But someone or something just shoved me off a cliff.”
“I know.”
“Well, I kind of want to shove them back.”
The look in the boy’s eyes caused Azuzel to take a step back. He seemed familiar, like someone he had met long ago. Could it be?
“Turn the other cheek, child,” said the angel. “Now, where is your family, Joseph?”
The boy’s impatience was clear. “I live with my mother, so what? You’re wasting time. How do you even know their gone?”
The angel ignored his question. “And what is your mother’s name?”
Joseph looked furious. “Marianne, why? What’s your point,” he yelled.
“And your father?”
The question seemed to deflate the boys growing rage. He turned away, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know. I never met him,” he said. “The only time my mother speaks of him is when she’s telling me how wonderful he is, or how proud he’d be of me.”
“I see,” said Azuzel, the cogs of his mind finally clicking into place.
“But how can he be proud of me? He can he be so wonderful,” Joseph blurted. “If he’s never even met me?”
The boy’s words echoed off the cliff walls. Then silence. Not a murmur from the wind, nor the chirping of insects could be heard. It seemed that all the earth was still.
The boy didn’t seem to notice, but Azuzel finally broke the silence with a whisper. “Your father has met you. Of that I am certain.”
Joseph looked at him, confusion, frustration, and sadness clear in his eyes.
“Enough of this for now,” said Azuzel. “I have been ordered to protect you.”
With those words he stood up straight and stretched his wings. He made both of his hands into fists, the held them together. Slowly, he drew them apart. In the space between his hands flames formed. Not wild, random fires. It was a solid mass. And when his hands were as far apart as possible he opened his left hand and raised the right.
There, burning brightly, was a sword of pure fire. Joseph shielded his eyes, but only for a moment. Then he stared on in wonder.
Azuzel knelt before the boy, placing the sword point into the earth. “I pledge my sword, and my life, to keeping you safe.”
Joseph’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock, and giddiness. Then he smiled. “I think you and I will get along just fine,” he said. Then added, “And I have got to get me one of those.”
Azuzel looked up at the boy and grinned. He rose and opened his right hand. The sword flickered and disappeared.
“Cool,” said Joseph.
“We should go now,” said Azuzel. “I must take you home.”
“Sure,” said Joseph. “You can meet my mother. I’m sure she’s gonna love you.”
“Indeed.”
And with that, Azuzel scooped the boy up into his arms. He unfurled his wings, and with one quick beat, launched himself and the boy in the cool, starlit sky.
He didn’t know what would come next. But he had a purpose, once again, and for the time being that was enough.
Sol
You wake to the new day with a small stretch,
then seated there quietly
you smile. The sun's warmth caresses your soft cheek and
I am jealous of its light.
You are gentle as the cool breeze
which ruffles through your hair,
and like that breeze, you create change
where you go.
Your natural beauty is peerless.
Not the cactus blossom in spring, nor
the mountains, nor the blue sky itself compare
to the simple splendor of looking upon you.
No quiet, starlit evening or softly
murmuring stream can impart thoughts
of peace
so much as your lovely, little grin.
Coyotes sing to you at night in the hopes that
you will dream of them. The little grey birds burst
into song as you make your way, showing their love,
and wishing that you would never leave.
But it is morning now. As you rise, you slowly arch your back
and reach up toward the heavens from whence you must have been sent,
and I smile at the easy grace
of your movements.
Then as I smile I quietly laugh to myself. I
am jealous of the sun, for he is the first to greet you on this
new day, with a warm, gentle kiss and a whispered
"good morning."
then seated there quietly
you smile. The sun's warmth caresses your soft cheek and
I am jealous of its light.
You are gentle as the cool breeze
which ruffles through your hair,
and like that breeze, you create change
where you go.
Your natural beauty is peerless.
Not the cactus blossom in spring, nor
the mountains, nor the blue sky itself compare
to the simple splendor of looking upon you.
No quiet, starlit evening or softly
murmuring stream can impart thoughts
of peace
so much as your lovely, little grin.
Coyotes sing to you at night in the hopes that
you will dream of them. The little grey birds burst
into song as you make your way, showing their love,
and wishing that you would never leave.
But it is morning now. As you rise, you slowly arch your back
and reach up toward the heavens from whence you must have been sent,
and I smile at the easy grace
of your movements.
Then as I smile I quietly laugh to myself. I
am jealous of the sun, for he is the first to greet you on this
new day, with a warm, gentle kiss and a whispered
"good morning."
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Waking Up
The young woman awoke to an empty bed. She could smell the aroma of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen and hear the sound of something, no doubt delicious, being fried.
She gave a slow, cat-like stretch, yawned and made a soft squeal to greet the blue-grey light of the new day. She slid her hourglass form from the bed and made her way to the kitchen.
As she entered the dining room she smiled. The young man was their, setting places at the table while bacon and eggs cooked. The toaster popped and he made his way back into the kitchen. He did not greet her with "good morning," but with a cup of coffee (cream and sugar, just the way she liked it). He flashed her a big smile and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"What's the occasion," asked the young woman, the whisp of a smile on her beautiful face as she looked into his soft, brown eyes.
He shrugged and grinned. "I had a good dream," he said.
The young woman looked at the scene; flowers on the dining room table, places set for two with neatly folded napkins. Breakfast was nearly ready.
"It must have been a great one. What was it about?"
The young man paused for a moment, as he was pouring a cup of coffee for himself (black, as usual), to think for a bit. Then he gave a soft chuckle and said, "Well, you left me."
The young woman had to keep from spraying the table with coffee. She placed the mug on the table. "And this was a good dream?" She was quite perplexed which made the young man laugh aloud.
"What's so funny about that?"
The young man calmed himself. He looked at her face and then let his eyes roam over every inch of her. Then he returned his gaze to her eyes. He grinned and said, "Tiger, you came back."
He made his way to the kitchen and quickly returned with two plates. He placed one before her and one in front of himself.
"Calm down," he said in a soft voice. "Eat up and I'll tell you all about it."
The young woman eyed him, puzzled. "You're weird sometimes, ya know that?"
"And that's part of the reason you love me," replied the young man. "Now listen."
"I'm not entirely sure why it happened. We didn't have a fight. But one day you asked if maybe we should break-up. I was so caught off guard, assumed that since you asked it must be what you wanted, that for the first time in all of our years together, I agreed. We spoke of it for awhile, had a last hug and kiss, and then we were done."
"As soon as I walked out of the door and began working my way down the stairs I felt wrong about the whole thing. I knew that it couldn't end like that. I had to do something to get you back."
"You came by the next day to get your things. While you were here I told you how I felt, told you that I didn't want it to end. You just looked at me and said no.
"Your stubborness was always something I loved about, even when it drove me nuts, or in this case, broke my heart. So I let you have your say and then tol you that I wouldn't give up; you would be the last."
"I don't think you believed me."
"After that day I would call you about once a week, trying my best to tell you how much I loved you and why, even when we had our problems, you and I would still work together. Again, you were set in your decision."
"I didn't know what to do. At one point I even gave you back the silly engagement ring that you were so fond of throwing at me when we had a spat. From what I heard, you didn't much like that. I was unsure of how to proceed, but I knew that love would find a way."
"Eventually I sort of banished myself; I moved out West. You needed me at my best. I needed to gather myself, become the man you always thought I should be. The man I knew I wanted to be."
"It wasn't an easy thing for me to do. I had grown so used to my ways and changing them, growing, would be a struggle. Plus, in order for this growth to happen I needed to be far away from someone else that I loved dearly, which was painful, to say the least."
"Thankfully, I had some good friends that let me stay with them until I got on my feet. If not for them, well, I'm not sure how I would have managed."
"This taught me a lesson that I needed to learn. No matter how much you want to do it on your own, it's okay to ask for help sometimes. I had always been good at asking people to do things for me under the guise of asking for help, but that was just laziness. Asking for real help was frightening because the outcome really mattered."
"But I was glad I did. It was one more step toward growing up and becoming a man, not being afraid to ask for help."
"I got a great paying job, working in the medical equipment field. The hours were long but it eventually allowed me to get my own place. That was a good feeling, but I hated the job, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Eventually, I sort of fell apart. I left the job, which wasn't a mistake. Leaving without something else lined up was."
"But even in this I learned a lesson. It really does matter that what you do with your life is fulfilling, and that no amount of money is worth compromising on that. When you do, you compromise on yourself."
"Anyway, for a few months I reverted to my old ways. My folks kept helping me out, but I hated that feeling. Eventually I left my apartment, even though it cost me quite a bit. At least this way I wouldn't have to keep asking my parents for help. My friends let me move back in, and again, I was grateful for their help. Good friends are worth their weight in gold."
"I did a few different jobs that were awful. One was at a phone polling company where I interrupted peoples' dinner to ask them about politics, which I'm sure they really loved me for. Another was working for a maid service. That didn't go well."
"While I worked at those places I kept searching for something that would be a good fit for me. Eventually I found something that I loved and I stayed in that field. I didn't rent a place again, opting to just live in nature while I saved money and paid down my debts. A great friend let me use his address to keep things a bit more legal."
"I continued to work and save, during which time I heard that you had met someone. I heard that he was a great guy but that he had one major flaw. He didn't ever want children."
"I knew how much you wanted children. I thought of all the times we had talked of having them. 'Do it for the children,' remember that?"
Well, I knew that you would never compromise on that, and thought about how beautiful our children would be. I would go to bed at night, gazing up at the stars, and fall asleep thinking of how lovely and smart our children would be. I kept positive and hopeful, no matter what."
"This went on for more than a year."
"Then one day, you called. You asked me how I was doing. I told you I was doing alright for myself. We made small talk. Then you said the words I had been waiting to hear. 'I miss you.' I smiled and tears came to my eyes."
"'Not a day has gone by that I haven't missed you,' I said."
"You asked me to come. I almost dreaded what I knew my answer would be."
"'Home is here now,' I said. 'It's you that needs to come home.'"
"I had bought some land and built a small house. I had a little garden. But the house was designed to be added onto. I could build you a workshop or anything else you might need."
"I told you that I knew how frightening it may seem, but that you need not worry. I would always love you and that if you ever wanted to see family or friends, well, plane tickets were pretty cheap."
"You scared me for awhile, said you needed to think about it. Because of work I wouldn't hear from you for about a week. I can tell you, it was a tough week."
"When my shift ended though, I came back to the most wonderful message. You said yes."
"We married soon after and had a masquerade reception, just like we had always talked about. Then we rented a truck and moved your things out here."
"The first night we spent in the house was wonderful. We were together again, and this time we had done it right. I held you close to me, ran my fingers through your soft hair, and rested my hand just where you always liked it."
"I whispered, 'I love you,' and fell asleep with you in my arms once again."
The young man took a sip of his now cold coffee.
"I woke up, afraid that you wouldn't be there," he said. "For awhile, I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes."
"But I am here," said the young woman.
The young man smiled at her. He placed one hand on hers, the other on her stomach.
"You both are," he said. "And that has taught me another lesson."
"And what lesson is that?"
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "That you are worth waiting for. And that you are better than any dream."
The young man leaned in and gave his wife a gentle kiss. "I'll get started on these dishes," he said.
And he did.
--
Sent from my Android phone with K-9 Mail. Please excuse my brevity.
She gave a slow, cat-like stretch, yawned and made a soft squeal to greet the blue-grey light of the new day. She slid her hourglass form from the bed and made her way to the kitchen.
As she entered the dining room she smiled. The young man was their, setting places at the table while bacon and eggs cooked. The toaster popped and he made his way back into the kitchen. He did not greet her with "good morning," but with a cup of coffee (cream and sugar, just the way she liked it). He flashed her a big smile and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"What's the occasion," asked the young woman, the whisp of a smile on her beautiful face as she looked into his soft, brown eyes.
He shrugged and grinned. "I had a good dream," he said.
The young woman looked at the scene; flowers on the dining room table, places set for two with neatly folded napkins. Breakfast was nearly ready.
"It must have been a great one. What was it about?"
The young man paused for a moment, as he was pouring a cup of coffee for himself (black, as usual), to think for a bit. Then he gave a soft chuckle and said, "Well, you left me."
The young woman had to keep from spraying the table with coffee. She placed the mug on the table. "And this was a good dream?" She was quite perplexed which made the young man laugh aloud.
"What's so funny about that?"
The young man calmed himself. He looked at her face and then let his eyes roam over every inch of her. Then he returned his gaze to her eyes. He grinned and said, "Tiger, you came back."
He made his way to the kitchen and quickly returned with two plates. He placed one before her and one in front of himself.
"Calm down," he said in a soft voice. "Eat up and I'll tell you all about it."
The young woman eyed him, puzzled. "You're weird sometimes, ya know that?"
"And that's part of the reason you love me," replied the young man. "Now listen."
"I'm not entirely sure why it happened. We didn't have a fight. But one day you asked if maybe we should break-up. I was so caught off guard, assumed that since you asked it must be what you wanted, that for the first time in all of our years together, I agreed. We spoke of it for awhile, had a last hug and kiss, and then we were done."
"As soon as I walked out of the door and began working my way down the stairs I felt wrong about the whole thing. I knew that it couldn't end like that. I had to do something to get you back."
"You came by the next day to get your things. While you were here I told you how I felt, told you that I didn't want it to end. You just looked at me and said no.
"Your stubborness was always something I loved about, even when it drove me nuts, or in this case, broke my heart. So I let you have your say and then tol you that I wouldn't give up; you would be the last."
"I don't think you believed me."
"After that day I would call you about once a week, trying my best to tell you how much I loved you and why, even when we had our problems, you and I would still work together. Again, you were set in your decision."
"I didn't know what to do. At one point I even gave you back the silly engagement ring that you were so fond of throwing at me when we had a spat. From what I heard, you didn't much like that. I was unsure of how to proceed, but I knew that love would find a way."
"Eventually I sort of banished myself; I moved out West. You needed me at my best. I needed to gather myself, become the man you always thought I should be. The man I knew I wanted to be."
"It wasn't an easy thing for me to do. I had grown so used to my ways and changing them, growing, would be a struggle. Plus, in order for this growth to happen I needed to be far away from someone else that I loved dearly, which was painful, to say the least."
"Thankfully, I had some good friends that let me stay with them until I got on my feet. If not for them, well, I'm not sure how I would have managed."
"This taught me a lesson that I needed to learn. No matter how much you want to do it on your own, it's okay to ask for help sometimes. I had always been good at asking people to do things for me under the guise of asking for help, but that was just laziness. Asking for real help was frightening because the outcome really mattered."
"But I was glad I did. It was one more step toward growing up and becoming a man, not being afraid to ask for help."
"I got a great paying job, working in the medical equipment field. The hours were long but it eventually allowed me to get my own place. That was a good feeling, but I hated the job, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Eventually, I sort of fell apart. I left the job, which wasn't a mistake. Leaving without something else lined up was."
"But even in this I learned a lesson. It really does matter that what you do with your life is fulfilling, and that no amount of money is worth compromising on that. When you do, you compromise on yourself."
"Anyway, for a few months I reverted to my old ways. My folks kept helping me out, but I hated that feeling. Eventually I left my apartment, even though it cost me quite a bit. At least this way I wouldn't have to keep asking my parents for help. My friends let me move back in, and again, I was grateful for their help. Good friends are worth their weight in gold."
"I did a few different jobs that were awful. One was at a phone polling company where I interrupted peoples' dinner to ask them about politics, which I'm sure they really loved me for. Another was working for a maid service. That didn't go well."
"While I worked at those places I kept searching for something that would be a good fit for me. Eventually I found something that I loved and I stayed in that field. I didn't rent a place again, opting to just live in nature while I saved money and paid down my debts. A great friend let me use his address to keep things a bit more legal."
"I continued to work and save, during which time I heard that you had met someone. I heard that he was a great guy but that he had one major flaw. He didn't ever want children."
"I knew how much you wanted children. I thought of all the times we had talked of having them. 'Do it for the children,' remember that?"
Well, I knew that you would never compromise on that, and thought about how beautiful our children would be. I would go to bed at night, gazing up at the stars, and fall asleep thinking of how lovely and smart our children would be. I kept positive and hopeful, no matter what."
"This went on for more than a year."
"Then one day, you called. You asked me how I was doing. I told you I was doing alright for myself. We made small talk. Then you said the words I had been waiting to hear. 'I miss you.' I smiled and tears came to my eyes."
"'Not a day has gone by that I haven't missed you,' I said."
"You asked me to come. I almost dreaded what I knew my answer would be."
"'Home is here now,' I said. 'It's you that needs to come home.'"
"I had bought some land and built a small house. I had a little garden. But the house was designed to be added onto. I could build you a workshop or anything else you might need."
"I told you that I knew how frightening it may seem, but that you need not worry. I would always love you and that if you ever wanted to see family or friends, well, plane tickets were pretty cheap."
"You scared me for awhile, said you needed to think about it. Because of work I wouldn't hear from you for about a week. I can tell you, it was a tough week."
"When my shift ended though, I came back to the most wonderful message. You said yes."
"We married soon after and had a masquerade reception, just like we had always talked about. Then we rented a truck and moved your things out here."
"The first night we spent in the house was wonderful. We were together again, and this time we had done it right. I held you close to me, ran my fingers through your soft hair, and rested my hand just where you always liked it."
"I whispered, 'I love you,' and fell asleep with you in my arms once again."
The young man took a sip of his now cold coffee.
"I woke up, afraid that you wouldn't be there," he said. "For awhile, I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes."
"But I am here," said the young woman.
The young man smiled at her. He placed one hand on hers, the other on her stomach.
"You both are," he said. "And that has taught me another lesson."
"And what lesson is that?"
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "That you are worth waiting for. And that you are better than any dream."
The young man leaned in and gave his wife a gentle kiss. "I'll get started on these dishes," he said.
And he did.
--
Sent from my Android phone with K-9 Mail. Please excuse my brevity.
The Rusted Blade
"So do you think you can manage it?"
"I may be a bit rusty, but my blade is still sharp."
*****
Jack walked into the smoky bar and scanned the room. His mark was easy to spot, seated with half a dozen men, drinking and laughing. No doubt the man was plenty drunk.
Jack went over to him and struck up a conversation.
"Excuse me," he asked. "Do you happen to have the time?"
"Of course," said the man. "It's about 12:15."
Jack thanked the man, then sat down next to him. He ordered his usual drink, a bloody mary with a splash of pickle juice. He sipped it, enjoying the hint of spice mingling with dill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pipe, an old corncob that he had carved when he was just a kid. He packed it with tobacco, took out a book of matches.
He struck the match. Its light was like a small nova in the dark bar. His vision went white for a moment and he thought of his earlier years. He had been reckless back then. Time had a way of tempering even the most stubborn of steels, and Jack was much harder now. Much more refined. Sharp.
"You seem to be lost in thought," came a voice. It was the man. He was looking at Jack with a smile on his face. "Remembering an old girlfriend, perhaps?"
Jack grinned. "No," he said. "Just thinking about how much things change with time."
"I see. When I was a boy in my homeland, we used to run and play on the streets. We used to run naked in the rain to clean off," said the man. His face beamed at the thought, but then grew sad. "Now though, there is too much violence. I hate to admit it sometimes, but people like me don't help the situation."
"How do you mean," asked Jack, taking another sip of his drink.
"I used to just be a kid trying to have fun, with dreams of being president or maybe a spaceman. But things change," he said. "Now I run a gang with its fingers in just about everything."
The man paused and took a drink. "I wanted to be one of the good guys," he continued. "Now I'm one of the worst."
Jack sat quietly, drinking. He looked at the man with pity in his eyes. Jack was a good actor.
"So much for dreams," said the man.
Jack gave a slow, understanding nod of his head. He drained the rest of bloody mary and placed the empty glass on the table. He tapped his pipe clean and put it away, leaving his hand in his pocket.
Standing up, he placed his other hand on the man's shoulder in a gentle, reassuring manner. The man looked up and gave him a sad smile.
"So much for dreams," said Jack.
With that, his other hand came out of his pocket and he began to walk away. The movement was quick as he silently thrust the blade of his knife into the man's neck, severing his jugular and vocal chords in one swipe. He quickly extracted the blade, wiping it clean on the man's shoulder then pocketing it while continuing to walk away.
The man slumped over onto the bar. It would be mere moments before one of his party noticed that their friend wasn't passed out drunk. Moments before they would notice the blood.
All Jack needed was moments.
"So much for dreams," Jack said as he exited the bar and headed off into the darkness.
It had been years since his last consultation. He was a bit rusty, but he was still quite sharp.
"I may be a bit rusty, but my blade is still sharp."
*****
Jack walked into the smoky bar and scanned the room. His mark was easy to spot, seated with half a dozen men, drinking and laughing. No doubt the man was plenty drunk.
Jack went over to him and struck up a conversation.
"Excuse me," he asked. "Do you happen to have the time?"
"Of course," said the man. "It's about 12:15."
Jack thanked the man, then sat down next to him. He ordered his usual drink, a bloody mary with a splash of pickle juice. He sipped it, enjoying the hint of spice mingling with dill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pipe, an old corncob that he had carved when he was just a kid. He packed it with tobacco, took out a book of matches.
He struck the match. Its light was like a small nova in the dark bar. His vision went white for a moment and he thought of his earlier years. He had been reckless back then. Time had a way of tempering even the most stubborn of steels, and Jack was much harder now. Much more refined. Sharp.
"You seem to be lost in thought," came a voice. It was the man. He was looking at Jack with a smile on his face. "Remembering an old girlfriend, perhaps?"
Jack grinned. "No," he said. "Just thinking about how much things change with time."
"I see. When I was a boy in my homeland, we used to run and play on the streets. We used to run naked in the rain to clean off," said the man. His face beamed at the thought, but then grew sad. "Now though, there is too much violence. I hate to admit it sometimes, but people like me don't help the situation."
"How do you mean," asked Jack, taking another sip of his drink.
"I used to just be a kid trying to have fun, with dreams of being president or maybe a spaceman. But things change," he said. "Now I run a gang with its fingers in just about everything."
The man paused and took a drink. "I wanted to be one of the good guys," he continued. "Now I'm one of the worst."
Jack sat quietly, drinking. He looked at the man with pity in his eyes. Jack was a good actor.
"So much for dreams," said the man.
Jack gave a slow, understanding nod of his head. He drained the rest of bloody mary and placed the empty glass on the table. He tapped his pipe clean and put it away, leaving his hand in his pocket.
Standing up, he placed his other hand on the man's shoulder in a gentle, reassuring manner. The man looked up and gave him a sad smile.
"So much for dreams," said Jack.
With that, his other hand came out of his pocket and he began to walk away. The movement was quick as he silently thrust the blade of his knife into the man's neck, severing his jugular and vocal chords in one swipe. He quickly extracted the blade, wiping it clean on the man's shoulder then pocketing it while continuing to walk away.
The man slumped over onto the bar. It would be mere moments before one of his party noticed that their friend wasn't passed out drunk. Moments before they would notice the blood.
All Jack needed was moments.
"So much for dreams," Jack said as he exited the bar and headed off into the darkness.
It had been years since his last consultation. He was a bit rusty, but he was still quite sharp.
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