On Eagle's Wings

2 New Pieces

2010-10-22T14:10:00.003-05:00

Comic Tragedy (October 3, 2010)

This role is like none I’ve ever played before.
The cues are unfamiliar and memorization holds no sway in the lines I deliver.
Improvisation reigns.
Yet I am not the first to play this role and I will not be the last.
Bur right now, in this moment, the role is mine and I must play it as I see fit.
And if the audience disapproves
because it cannot
or will not understand,
such is the risk of the role.
I play it for my own satisfaction, to my own pleasure.
The only approval I seek is my own and that of the one who plays opposite me.
And as the production plays out,
from it comes growth,
from it comes happiness,
from it comes life.
The fruits of my playing prosper and no standing ovation can replace it, for that is my all.
This role is like none I’ve ever played before,
Yet I shall play it ‘til the end, until my final curtain call.

Wide Open and Bright-Eyed (October 6, 2010)

Nothing could have prepared me
for the joyous love I’ve known
since you opened up those eyes
that said you were my own.

Grey as a misty rain
and blue as the calming sea—
Changing tides they rise and fall
and light up just for me.

And the stories they’ve told and the stories they’ll tell
are the ones in which words have no need.
For your eyes have a voice which can fully express
all your thoughts and your wants which I heed.

Wide as the west from east
and bright as a rising sun
are the eyes so full of love
of my young and little one.

A Fight for Me

2010-07-28T15:31:00.002-05:00

Every now and then I ask
who and what are we?
And what is it exactly
you see when you see me?
Am I lover, friend or ally
or someone to beck and call?
I'm standing here and ponder:
Do you see me at all?
My presence goes unnoticed
and my words can go unheard.
Is it absentminded focus
or do I overstate my worth?
In this dark and crafty world
I would not have us live a war
but at times the question probes:
Is this life worth fighting for?
My thoughts turn to seduction-
your attention quickly fades.
Duty's call no longer tugs.
Desire floods your gaze.
There will still be times I wonder
who I am what you see.
But I'll know despite the call of war
in the end you will see me.

Puzzle

2010-06-25T19:51:00.001-05:00

How long have you been searching for the final piece?
And how many times have you attempted to force the fit?
Take a look at your hand.
See the piece it holds?
Guess what?
It’s not the right one either.
You think you know what you want and you’ve convinced yourself that it’s right.
So why are you still alone?
Why does that hole still beckon, taunting you with its emptiness, mocking you with its uneven edges that reject your every endeavor?
Your eyes and ears are open but you refuse to hear or see.
Listen to me!
I understand your stubbornness—it is a malady from which I too suffer
And therefore I can appreciate it.
But the piece you hold does not fit.
Turn it left, turn it right, upside down and on its side.
Your tenacity falls short.
So leave it.
See it for what it is:
Extra weight that only drags you down and holds you back and prevents you from seeking that which you lack.
A polygonal shape that has no known name—such is what you seek.
Not a circle that will roll contentedly behind you, nor a square that will bend to your will.
You’ve tried those all before.
Yet what do I know?
Who knows better what you need than you?
But you do not want what you think you need and what you need is not what you think you want.
If you did, you wouldn’t be holding this piece, just another in a long line of pieces, trying desperately to fit it to your form.
And you wouldn’t be hating me.

Contract

2010-02-25T20:20:00.004-06:00

**just a note: This piece was written very quickly. It is very instinctual. It is directed at a very small, very specific group of people. It is not meant to be taken as a general outlook on life that I hold, because I don't. Please read it with a grain of salt and cynicism, for that's how it was written. Thank you.**

I'm the boss.
What I say goes.
Don't like my rules?
Hit the damn road.

Wanna know why?
Because I said so.
No. You can't just...
Just do as you're told.

My word is law
So deal with it.
Don't like my way?
I don't give a shit.

I don't want to hear
Your reasons or thoughts.
I'd really prefer
If you'd shut the fuck up.

And the moral of the story is:

If you can't deal
With you're wrong and I'm right
Then do me a favor:
Get out of my life.

Ink

2010-02-25T20:16:00.002-06:00

Nothing so exciting yet at the same time
nothing so daunting
as a blank page
beckoning...
enticing...
waiting to be filled up
with a flood of black ink.
But what if your pen has run dry?
Or even worse, your muse?
Staring at the unending brightness of white
desperate to leave a mark
just to prove you can.
A racing mind, each new thought discarded,
not worthy of your time, your talent.
And at that moment when despair has nearly won
when you're ready to rip the page
throw the pen
walk away
a dim hue on the horizon flickers,
a dam breaks
and a river of ink stains your page
with rhythm or rhyme or rhetoric
and your story unfolds.
And as you view what you've written
waiting for a critique,
there is nothing so exciting yet
nothing so daunting
as that full page stained with black ink.

Assurance

2010-02-25T20:11:00.002-06:00

Since I was you, I've wanted you.
You've always been my desire.
Long time coming, for years and years
Thoughts have revolved around you--
Your features, your character, the manner in which you'll grow,
Who'll you become.
I've imagined and dreamed
A time times a thousand
My pride, my joy, my love--all attuned to you.
Now you are no longer a dream.
You've come into being.
I know it's been rough, a hard patch of time,
But please understand that I'm scared.
You are the door, an entrance into an unknown world
And I have no choice but to cross the threshold.
I don't know that I'm ready.
Can I ever be?
But know this:
My love for you overflows, a current strong and unstoppable
And I am pulled along, unable and unwilling to resist.
Never doubt that you have become my life
And I would give mine for yours.
When you sense my distress
And worry that you're wrong
Stop!
Never believe that, for you are as right as can be.
I will get through, past the weeks and the months.
And when you're finally in my arms
A quiet calm will descend
And you will know as well as I that you've finally found your home.

Learning Environment

2010-01-28T15:41:00.002-06:00

Who's to say what's for my own good?
Certainly not you.
My actions are my own, confined to a screen that flickers and flits.
I suffer not from the faces and spaces and ramblings and wit.
The information computes
Recognized by the reality of the 90's.
And only in rare circumstances do I sink that low
For perfection is an everyday occurence for me.
If they are led to distraction, it is only because they peek around corners and hide behind doors.
If they kept that which is meant to take in air between the covers
And those that are meant to read between the lines
Then just maybe they could keep up.
Yet I am punished.
My freedom to search is eliminated
Given up for the good of many--
For those who are either too foolish or unwilling to take charge of themselves.
No matter.
My loss is also my gain
For my frustration furthers me to greater heights
And I shall surpass them all.
My own good? I think not.
But I shall make it so.

Pressure

2010-01-26T13:53:00.001-06:00

Dragging under the weight
Trying not to go crazy
Focusing still on the center
As the edges start to get hazy

Trying to order the chaos
Classify each little thing
Identify and prioritize
Consequences each one will bring

Headed into a new phase
Releasing the grip on the old
Freeing the bolt of the dead
Tracked by belongings untold

Hours slip by with much haste
And the sun persists in its set
But the checklist still overflows
With deadlines that haven’t been met

But worry is kicked to the curb
Stress released with a sigh
Recalling the end is in sight
A union beginning is nigh

So let it gather and build
I’ll thrive as I usually do
And as it dissolves into naught
I’ll end up right next to you

Intended Isolation

2010-01-19T10:11:00.000-06:00

I do not hold the key to your relentless swell of queries.
Your interrogation gains you nothing.
My rights are understood and my qualifications allow my own counsel.
And so I shall remain silent.
For in a sea of cravings, nearness does not exist.
I do not desire to be held close, to be embraced in warmth and tenderness.
The only containment I require at this moment in time is my own.
For within the fortifications I have constructed sentiments flow freely,
Unhindered by the boundaries you have set.
Contemplation of concepts abounds and theories develop
And I forever consider my personal philosophies.
And as for your estimations, they fall short of their destination.
They collapse under the weight of my denial, crushed by the crashing waves of rejection.
They hold no sway.
Do not attempt to break down the barriers.
They were set with a purpose,
For I do not desire nearness.
I do not care to hear or speak or feel if it pertains to those outside.
I want solitary space inhabited only by myself.
For isolation is bliss.

winning story

2010-01-04T10:57:00.003-06:00

So I haven't gotten a chance to post lately. Life's been full of changes, full of craziness. The holidays went well, got to spend some quality time with family and enjoy the snow that showed up. I enjoyed a week long break from school which was much needed. I also have been spending a good amount of time trying to nail down the final details for my wedding (January 30, 2010) and making preparations for the baby I'm expecting in August. :) Hence the not posting lately.

But I'm going to try to get back to it. This isn't technically a post, more of an update, but like I said, I'm going to get back to it. But speaking of updates, I got some good news a few days ago. I usually submit to the firstlinefiction contest every month and I did in December. Got an e-mail to inform me that my story took second this month!! Very excited!! It's such a thrill to know that other people read my work and enjoy it--that they like it enough to rank it above other work. It's such a high! Working on an idea for this month's now. The first line is interesting...I think I may have a lot of fun with this month's entry.

For those of you who'd like to read my second place story, here it is. It is entitled "His Boys." Enjoy.

For a long time they said we didn't need one, but then something changed and they said that we did. There were still days—a lot of them actually—when I wondered how I’d ended up with them. They were everything popular and hip and I…well, I wasn’t. I was that thin, gangly, wisp of a guy that faded into the chipped walls of Stanton High. Nine days out of ten, I was invisible. Unfortunately, that always left that one day when someone did pick me out of a crowd, usually to bloody my nose for committing some minor infraction like accidentally making eye contact with the wrong guy’s girl or tripping over my own two feet and knocking some jock’s books out of his hands.

It was a day like that, about three weeks into the fall semester of my senior year when they found me. Even though I’d been staring diligently at the floor as I headed to class, I still somehow managed to stumble over the sole of my shoe. And just my luck—I’d managed to run straight into Butch. Butch was every teacher’s pet and every girl’s dream. He oozed charm in the classroom as effectively as he dodged tackles on the football field. His hair was always perfect, his clothes always straight, his smile always ready with a wink. Well, almost always. At that precise moment in time he was glaring at me and I could nearly see the steam shooting out his ears. Because not only had I just run into him (which was mistake enough and worthy of a beating) but I’d also caused him to spill his lukewarm black coffee completely down his pristine white shirt. Nevermind that he wasn’t technically supposed to have it in school. I was still dead meat. Shit.

There was no point in trying to run. Even if there was no chance of me tripping…again…in my haste to get away, Butch could outrun me. I knew this perfectly well from a previous experience. There was no escaping the black eye I’d be sporting within the next 45 seconds. I braced for the attack and without further ado, the beating began.

I’d probably taken about four hits and was huddled into a ball on the floor, trying to protect my face and vital organs from Butch’s boots when I heard a series of shouts, followed by a couple grunts and then…the hits quit coming. I slowly uncurled my body and looked up. Holy shit. They’d ganged up on Butch. Frankie and his boys.

I stared in shock as they threw Butch up against some lockers. His nose was crooked and blood was gushing from his nostrils. He grunted in pain as one of their knees was rammed into his stomach. After another moment or two—by which time a whole crowd had gathered to watch the brawl, I noticed—they released Butch and he slid limply down the lockers and collapsed in a bloody and beaten heap on the floor.

As I stared at Butch from my almost identical position on the other side of the hall, a hand suddenly appeared in my line of vision. I glanced up and there was Frankie. “You ok?” he asked. I just stared at him, speechless, my lower jaw hitting the ground. Somewhere in the back of my head I was well aware of the fact that I probably looked like some sort of retarded fish. But Frankie Jones had just asked me if I was ok. Me. That so just didn’t happen.

“Yo, Danny. You cool, man?”

Oh my holy son of a bitch. Frankie Jones knew my name. That so just didn’t happen either. Somehow…and God only knows how, I managed to shut my mouth and grasp Frankie’s hand. He pulled me to my feet, steadied me when I swayed. He then turned to the gathered crowd and harshly uttered five words that changed my life at Stanton High: NO ONE TOUCHES HIM…EVER.

No one did after that. Butch may have been a popular jock, but Frankie Jones was a badass and his word was law. Period.

From that point on, I was no longer invisible. I was part of a group. And the more time I spent with Frankie and the boys, the more I realized that I was actually part of a family. Sure, they all put on a tough façade—they walked tall, talked loud, fought hard. But they were all a bunch of misfits, just like me. So naturally, I fit right in. And we all fit together.

Frankie was the brains of the group. He could have been a straight-A student if he’d put some effort into his studies. But Frankie didn’t care about school. He went for his ma. His old man was dead and Frankie’s ma had to work ten hours a day at the drugstore just to make ends meet. She wanted better for Frankie and in her mind the key to better was an education. But like I said, Frankie didn’t care about school. His street-smarts were sharp enough. He knew the ins and outs of Stanton, he knew who was his friend and who wasn’t. And he knew who was worth the deal. A few hits dealt and he was up some green. We all were. And that was the main reason Frankie didn’t bother with reading and writing and 'rithmetic. He knew he could make a hell of lot more cash the way he was doing. So he kept doing.

Johnny was the brawn. I mean, they all could fight, but Johnny was the one you didn’t want to mix with. Johnny fought dirty. Johnny was big and if you messed with one of the boys, Johnny would take you out, no doubt about it. He’d broken Butch’s nose before I was even one of “the boys.” Now that I was, the threat of Johnny’s fists was something to be avoided. And everybody knew it. Both Johnny’s parents had been killed in a car accident with a drunk driver, so he crashed at Frankie’s a lot. He took his “job” of watching Frankie’s back seriously because Frankie put him up. Frankie always told Johnny he shouldn’t worry about it, but Johnny wasn’t a moocher. He paid his own way, however he could.

Chuck was a sweet-talker. He kept us out of trouble, whether we were guilty or not. I always thought he’d make a great lawyer, ‘cause he always knew the right thing to say. His old man was a beat cop, which should have been a problem but in actuality made us damn lucky. Chuck’s dad knew what Frankie ran and he turned a blind eye. Dope wasn’t all that harmful, but it was sure profitable. And he loved Chuck way too much to drag us all in. As long as Frankie didn’t do anything stupid and no one got hurt, we were all home free.

As for why they kept me around, I was never sure. But the three of them always told me I was the calm in their storm. I managed to keep everybody cool. It was my logical nature. Or so they told me. They were grateful to have me around. Personally, I thought they had it backwards. I was the one who was grateful for them. They’d saved me from a lifetime of undeserved beatings. I didn’t walk around school invisible anymore. I walked tall as part of a group, always wondering why, but never doubtful of the fact that my boys had my back.

I remember sitting with Frankie in the park a few weeks after they’d taken their fists to Butch and staked their claim on me. I was sitting on a bench, elbows on knees, chin in hands. Frankie straddled the bench less than a foot away, facing me. Johnny and Chuck were tossing a football across the way. I’d been quiet, lost in my thoughts when Frankie had asked me what the deal was.

“Danny, what’s doing? Why you so quiet?”

I’d shrugged, then turned to face him. “Why me?” I’d asked. He gave me a funny look and asked what I meant. My face turning red as I confessed to Frankie what I’d been thinking. I'd been a nobody, a loser. And they'd picked me to run with them. “I don’t understand why you guys picked me, but I’m thankful you did. It’s nice to feel like I belong, to not feel obligated to try and disappear into the background. This is going to sound crazy, Frankie, but I think you might be my guardian angel.”

A flash of something, I’m still not sure if it was pride, understanding or maybe even love, crossed Frankie’s face before he just shook his head and grinned. “Nah,” he said. “We don’t need a guardian angel. We’ve got each other.” And then he’d punched my shoulder, stood up and walked across the park to make a deal with a regular. I’d joined in with Johnny and Chuck, dropping the ball more than I caught it, but they hadn’t cared. We’d laughed and joked and I’d felt like I was finally home. Frankie was right. We had each other.

The next few months had flown by and I’d spent them tight with my boys. Fridays in the fall had been spent hanging at the football bonfires. We’d steered clear of the stadium, but the bonfires were bright and hot and best of all, after the first kick-off, deserted. Winter weeknights were spent at each others' places. One night at Frankie’s, wolfing down Ma’s fried chicken (we all called her “Ma” now), another at Chuck’s, just hanging out and if we were lucky and caught his dad on a night off, playing poker. We even hung out at my place. My parents were thrilled that I’d found a crowd and as they weren't aware of Frankie’s extracurricular activities, in their eyes, my boys were sent straight from heaven. When my parents voiced their opinion one night, Frankie laughed and as he’d told me once before, told my parents, “We don’t need a guardian angel. We’ve got each other.” My guys and I had laughed and my parents had smiled and the evening rolled on.

It became our little joke, that we didn’t need a guardian angel. Frankie had told Johnny and Chuck what I’d said in the park that day and they’d both agreed with Frankie. That between the four of us, we had all we’d ever need. Brains, muscle, charm and logic. We’d laugh about it in school, or in the park, or out on the street. Any time I’d trip crossing the street and just miss being slammed by a car or after Frankie finished a tense deal or Johnny hit a guy just a little too hard for smarting off—anytime the situation may have possibly called for divine intervention, the joke came out. No guardian angels for us.

Graduation came and went that spring and the four of us, still as tight as we’d been since Butch’s broken nose, were set loose out on the streets as adults. Johnny and I both took jobs at the local meat market and I started attending some night college courses at the community college. Chuck decided to follow his old man and applied for the police academy. By the end of the summer he’d graduated and was working his own beat with his own heat.

And Frankie continued to do what he’d been doing. He’d moved up the ranks a bit in the world of dealers. At some point over the summer he’d quit limiting himself to just dope and was now selling crack as well. He figured he was golden considering that now not only his best friend’s pop but his best friend himself was working the streets. Nothing and no one could touch him. And we all believed him ‘cause it had always been that way. He was pulling in the dough—Ma only had to work three days a week now. She’d quit asking him where he got the money. I think she’d finally decided it was better if she just didn’t know…or at least pretended not to.

So there we all were, doing our things, doing just fine, best friends for life. No worries.

And then everything changed.

The park had never ceased to be our local hangout. One humid August evening, we made plans to meet up there around seven or so. Chuck worked a swing shift and had the day off. Johnny and I were off at six. And Frankie made his own schedule so timing was never an issue for him.

The meat market was only a few blocks from the park so Johnny and I left work together that night and headed out to meet Chuck and Frankie. We were nearly there when we heard the shots. One, followed by a close second. And after a moment, a third. After a quick glance at each other, Johnny and I took off toward the sounds, Johnny quickly leaving my clumsy ass in the dust.

When I caught up with Johnny, I saw the same horrible sight he did. Frankie was lying on the ground, blood gushing from his chest. Chuck was leaning over him, trying to apply pressure and call his squad for back-up. His gun lay next to Frankie on the ground.

After finishing his call, Chuck glanced up at Johnny and me, tears in his eyes. “The guy just popped him,” he said. “Twice. Didn’t have enough to pay for his fix. When Frankie wouldn’t hook him up, he just shot him. Took the shit and split. I was too far away to stop it. I tried…I tried to take him down after he shot Frankie but I was too far away.” Chuck started sobbing as he continued to try and stop the torrential flow of blood coming from Frankie’s chest.

Johnny and I both fell to our knees and as I reached over and grabbed Frankie’s hand, he turned his head towards me, opened his eyes and stared into mine. “Danny boy,” he whispered, trying to smile. “What’s doing?” He started to cough and a trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re gonna be ok,” I told him. “We’ll get through this. You’re gonna be fine.” I tried to put some toughness into my words, trying to convince both him and myself.

“Nah,” he said quietly, wincing through the pain his speech caused him. “Danny…I think we finally need one. You guys are gonna need one. So is my ma.”

“Need what?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes. Frankie was going to die. Somehow I knew it and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I glanced at Chuck and Johnny. They knew it too. The knowledge was in their eyes, wet like mine.

“A guardian angel,” he whispered.

My heart stopped at his words. “No!” I yelled. “We don’t need a guardian angel. We have each other. We’ve always had each other! Frankie, you can’t die!” I sobbed desperately, watching the life drain out of the face of the guy who’d taken me in, watched my back, been a best friend and brother.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” Frankie whispered. “So sorry. I should have stopped. Should have known this was coming. You three have to watch out for each other now. And for my ma. Promise me you’ll take care of her. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I told him. I heard the echoes of my promise drifting down, uttered by Johnny and Chuck.

Frankie struggled to speak, his breaths shallow and harsh. He managed to grip my hand tightly. He pulled me towards him and I put my ear next to his mouth, trying to hear the words he was trying so desperately to say. “You were right in the beginning,” he said. “I was wrong. I was your guardian angel. And I will be. I’ll be watching out for you guys from heaven, waiting for you. I'll be waiting...”

His hand went slack in mine and I watched his eyes roll back into his head. I heard the sirens in the distance but they were too late. Frankie was gone.

A few days later Johnny and Chuck and I lowered Frankie’s casket into the ground. Standing together as we watched the dirt cover him, we were quiet, lost in thought. But our thoughts were the same. Frankie had watched out for us. He really had been the one in charge, the guardian, so to speak. Now he was gone.

We left soon after and headed for Frankie’s. As I walked the streets with Johnny and Chuck, still clumsy as always, I thought of what Frankie had said to me. He’d told me that I’d been right, that he was my guardian angel. The thing was, he’d been right too. We'd always had each other. Funny how we’d never figured out they were one in the same.

Ma was waiting for us when we got there. As we stepped up on the porch, her eyes filled with tears and she held out three chains, each dangling with a small figure of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families. “He’ll watch out for you,” she said. I just shook my head though. I looked up to the sky, thinking of Frankie and what he'd said before he died. “Thanks ma,” I said. “But we don’t need him.”

All I Ever Wanted

2009-12-16T10:22:00.000-06:00

Life’s a funny thing.
You think you’ve got it all planned out.
From day one you set the course, sure of the destination.
Going from point A to point B
And if you remember your geometry—the shot’s a sure straight line.
You set such a line for me.

I was more than willing to walk that straight line,
To stick to that tidy thin stretch.
And I balanced that beam with nary a sway,
Always on board, well on my way
Eager for approval, for a caring commendation only you could provide.
I walked that line only for you.

But winter is cold and cunning.
It iced over the beam and blurred the line—
I slid and fell into life, into love, into a world not of your making.
And life progressed as it so often does.
Words spoken shattered the line you’d so carefully drawn, I’d so cautiously walked.
A world scattered into pieces.

I let you down.
And that pain seizes my heart.
It wrenches and squeezes and blood falls like rain.
But the storm quickly abates.
For in walking a circle instead of a square, leaving the path in pursuit of a life,
I gain a life, as do you.

And a life is a funny thing.
It breathes and walks and hurts and loves.
It creates and abounds anew.
And in begetting my own
I break a heart, I bind a heart, I build a heart.
And I gain my greatest desire.

Facing Fear

2009-12-13T13:06:00.002-06:00

I've never been one to readily admit that I was scared of something. Fear is not something I normally acknowledge, let alone embrace.

But at this moment...I'm scared.

I hate not knowing for sure, not knowing what to expect, having my mind bombarded by the thousands upon thousands of "what ifs" and "hows" and "whens" and "wheres." Always questioning, with no decisive answer. No sure footing. I absolutely despise that feeling. And normally I can turn that feeling off. But right now, I just can't.

On one hand, I'm very excited. But on the other hand, that logical realistic hand that always seems to shade everything in a slightly negative tint, I'm terrified. How am I going to do this? Will I get through it? Will I be good at it? What if...what if...what if....?

But something tells me that the questions will all be answered in time and come what may, I will not only get through this, but will accept it, embrace it and cherish it. Confirmation will come and steps will be taken one at a time. And those steps will not be taken alone. So in that sense, there really is nothing to fear. And in knowing that, I can face it.

I'm stepping into a brand new portion of my life. The chapter that I've been in is now coming to a close and a new one is ready to begin. Guess I better get to it.

Condescension

2009-12-07T12:25:00.001-06:00

The question of your success comes from an effort within
And has nothing to do with me.
I make my own life—through my own work.
If your bridge is burning, look to your own hand, not mine
For there you will find the match set aflame.
The stage has been set for quite some time and my monologue is memorized.
If the lines assigned to you are not recited and therefore unheard,
The audience’s wrath belongs to you.
Go ahead.
Glare at me with hatred and whisper lies at me as the curtain closes.
It will not stop me from taking my bow before a standing ovation.
The applause will still be mine and I will relish in it and have no thought for you and your bitterness.
Bitterness—therein lays your pleasure.
There you find your joy.
For you know you fail, yet refuse responsibility.
You make it mine.
You douse me with it, fuel to feed your fire.
But know this—I walk through fire and feel no flames. I am untouched.
And you are consumed.
Reduced to ash, for you are nothing.
So take your pleasure in the hell that you’ve made.
It hurts me none.
I shall turn and look no more at the blankness of a land that was scorched for I have neither the time nor the inclination.
I shall look no more at you.

two new pieces

2009-12-02T21:49:00.001-06:00

Unspoken

When no words can be spoken, what is there to be said?
That moment, so defiant and defining, cannot be contained within the essence of speech.
Yet in the reigning silence lies the violent weight of all that is left unspoken.
Thoughts tangle in a whirlwind of contemplation, entwined and twisted with no beginning or end.
Obscured by drifting shadows, they dance in and out of sight, swaying first to the rhythm of a whispering waltz then thrusting to the tune of a tantalizing tango.
Yet the melody is unsung and therefore it is unheard.
But how does one sing to such a melody, if it is indeed a melody and not in actuality an atrocity comprised of minorities and tones times three and harsh harmonics?
Perhaps it is better to embrace the silence despite its lack of stillness, to bury the notes and cover the composition, to leave the arrangement to its fate.
Words whispered and songs sung cannot alter the course of the tides.
Because there is no going back.
The bridge set alight by the flames of desire burns bright and once crossed is reduced to ash—a backward glance to the abandoned shore has no use for there will be no return.
But in looking forward there are questions and queries, a petitioning demand.
Yet when no words can be spoken, what is there to be said?

This

Negativity—it is always the first response.
Gut instinct grabs hold and immediately looks for that which is looming and lurking and waiting to strike.
The fear of judgment, the terror of rejection, dreading disapproval.
Are these words the right ones?
Is the fifth just a little too flat?
Will they look on with pride or will their features be etched with disdain?
She may run too far, locked in a chase that leaves her lost and alone.
The bullet may stray, ripping through him, stealing both breath and blood and leaving only flag-covered flesh.
And life begets life.
Yes, an ever present pessimistic outlook—in everything but this.
For although the plague of doubt remains—quite simply, the habits of a lifetime are slow to change—curiosity, wonder, and eagerness create a compelling cure.
A lifetime of waiting—for nothing but this?
But this is everything.
And while confusion may reign and speech may fail and dire deliberations transpire—they last but a moment.
For truly, regret has no place in this.
Fear has no place in this.
What will be will be.
The will of another will not be defeated by those that judge.
In this there is love, in this there is union, in this there is me.
And in a world forgiven, me is more important than negativity.

Stars and Stripes

2009-12-02T21:47:00.000-06:00

Have people really forgotten? Or do they just not care?
Has society really evolved into an entity satiated by the lure of the material,
by lust and instant gratification?
They scream about speech and rant about religion and demand the retention of rights,
yet how conveniently they forget…

A finger pricked by Ross’s spike stains the stripes red—stripes shredded by shrapnel and ripped by rifles.
And when the dark backed down to the dawn of another day
the blazing sun revealed the blood-soaked snow and the horizon rang with the wails of war.
And when the sun retreated, the stars circled ‘round in the twilight
leading thousands to a destiny of death, a price paid.

Given that price, how dare they?
Flooded in a torrential downpour, limp and lifeless, forgotten by the selfish need to dodge the drops that may dampen their Dolce.
Razed to naught but dust as maniacal laughter rings through the haze of smoldering smoke, the ashes carried away by an unnoticed wind.
Covered heads line the streets as the anthem goes unheard.
Respect, like chivalry, is dead.

They say the stars shine bright in a desert sky.
And the blood of our brothers still stains stripes in the sand.
Who cares?
After all, it’s just a flag.

High

2009-11-15T10:46:00.002-06:00

So I read at a poetry slam last night. I've never read my own original work in front of an audience before, so needless to say, I was extremely nervous before the slam got started. There were eight competitors and we drew to determine the order in which we'd read. I drew eight, which was kind of nice--I was still nerve-wracked though.

After the first seven contestants, it was finally my turn to read. I got up to the stand, adjusted the microphone and began to read. My legs were shaking, but luckily my voice was steady. And then I lost myself in the meaning behind my words...just focused on the feelings that I'd felt when I'd first wrote the piece. And suddenly, the twenty or so people who were listening to me read didn't matter anymore. I was getting the chance to portray the exact way I'd felt...it was my perception that I got to share, my own interpretation. I finished and I heard applause and as I walked back to my seat...actually more like I floated. I felt the urge to just laugh for no reason at all. It was such a high!

I made it through the first elimination and got to read again. This time was easier. And then I made it through the second elimination and got to read in the last round. By that time I was more comfortable than I thought I'd ever be in front of a crowd.

And then they announced the winners. I took second. :) Way, way more than I had expected walking into this thing. All I'd hoped for was to be able to make it through my first piece without stuttering. Like I said...total high! Can't wait to do it again.

revelation

2009-11-10T23:11:00.002-06:00

I forgot how much I totally love writing. Sad, I know. But seriously, I haven't done any serious writing in years because I've "been too busy," "don't have time," "don't have any fresh ideas," blah blah blah. And now, I've been bombarded with this need to write, to put into words the creative ideas inside my head. And it feels so absolutely wonderful to be doing what I'm doing. There's just an utter release and sense of relaxation in putting words down on paper. A sense of urgency in getting thoughts settled before they run away and total elation as the thoughts form a complete whole. I am so incredibly happy at this exact moment in time. I feel as though I have done something worthwhile (I just finished a short story) and it's a great feeling. And now to bed...I have stayed up way too late typing out the expressions in my head. But what is one supposed to do when creative juices are flowing? Snap the lid and hope they don't go flat? I think not.

Charlatan

2009-11-03T11:01:00.000-06:00

Turn to a page, it’s all laid out
so grab a pen and write it down.
It’s on the desk so take a peek
and let the others know what you see.
Your hair is blonde, your eyes are blue.
So are his—pull a switch-a-roo.
Shuffle the deck and slide your chips,
hope the queen won’t give you the slip.
Place your bet, you’ll win your game—
the thoroughbred just came up lame.
Check your figures, you’re on the mend.
An extra zero puts you up by ten.
Strike a match and watch it burn,
you’re insured, procure an urn.
Turn off the phone, no time for tact.
Get the other flat on her back.
You’re one step up, one stride ahead.
The deed’s been done, the word’s been said.
Yet when night comes and the day is through,
live with the shame that hangs over you.

statement of faith

2009-11-01T16:19:00.002-06:00

Today was All Saints Day at church and it was amazing! I love this Sunday every year, because one, it's a reminder of the gift of eternal life that is waiting at the end of this life for those who believe, two, it gives encouragement to those who are having difficult times and three, we get to sing some kick-ass hymns during the church service!! This is more of a personal post, written for my own enjoyment and peace of mind--it is not meant to be a sermon or anything like that. But for any who are interested, the following are the lyrics of my favorite hymn "For All the Saints" and then the words of the Nicene Creed, which basically spells out the basis of my faith.

For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
who thee by faith before the world confessed,
thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Thou wast their rock, their fortress, and their might;
thou Lord, their captain in the well-fought fight;
thou in the darkness drear, their one true light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
and win with them the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
and hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,
through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

I believe in one God, the Father Almighty,
Maker of Heaven and Earth
and of all things visible and invisible.

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God
begotten of his Father before all worlds,
God of God,
Light of Light,
very God of very God,
begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father
by whom all things were made.
Who for us men, and for our salvation, came down from Heaven
and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the virgin Mary
and was made man
and was crucified also for us under Pontious Pilate.
He suffered and was buried
and on the third day He rose again, according to the Scriptures.
He ascended into Heaven
and He shall come again with glory, to judge both the living and the dead
whose kingdom shall have no end.

And I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the Lord and Giver of life
who proceeded from the Father and the Son,
who with the Father and the Son together is worshiped and glorified.
Who spoke by the prophets.
And I believe in one holy christian and apostolic church.
I acknowledge one baptism for the remission of sins
and I look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.
Amen.

2009-10-28T20:33:00.002-05:00

So...apparently...I am a horrible person. Why? Because I was upfront and honest. Rather than pretend to feel a way I didn't and be someone I wasn't, I informed someone that I was not interested and was planning on attempting to salvage a relationship with another. And for this I am a horrible person and should go screw myself. Go figure. I suppose it would have been much better if I'd pretended to care when I didn't, to lie to said person and do the salvaging behind his back, to string him along for days, weeks, months, acting as if everything was absolutely fine and then eventually break the news to him that none of it had been real. I'm sure that would have hurt so much less than letting him know up front. Absolutely. Idiot. If doing what I did makes me a horrible person, bring on the horrible-ness. I'm totally ok with it. Ugh! Why do people not think before they speak? What is so incredibly hard about that? I'd love to know, but something tells me there is no logical answer. Because people are stupid. End of story.

So ends my rant. Ciao!

poetry

2009-10-28T20:18:00.002-05:00

I used to have all of my poetry posted in other online places, but decided that such a place as this was more appropriate. While my pieces were posted one at a time on other sites, they are all being posted at once here, because this is simply easier than creating a number of new posts. So, please feel free to read one or all, and as with all my writing, comments and critiques are always welcome. Enjoy.

Seizing

I reached out, picked up
as I had time and again,
Turned around, leaned back,
thinking, waiting…

I glanced over, grinned
getting ready to roll my eyes,
Heard her, listened,
fearing, dreading…

My heart dropped, breath caught
as my world came to a halt,
Affirmed, let go,
running, falling…

I entered in, shut out,
heard the question asked.
I answered, then crumbled,
gasping, weeping…

I walked away, drifted,
saw the clouds and lines rush by
Pictured, imagined,
sleeping, dying…

I arrived, sat down
stared hard but saw naught.
Refused comfort, drew away
crying, aching…

And after a moment,
seconds…
a lifetime…

I witnessed, observed
and my world began to spin
Reassured, answered,
awaking, rejoicing…alive.

Exhilaration

Trapped by ideals,
Afraid to let go
I tensed and retreated
And softly said no.

And terror abounded
As my heart quickened pace.
Control swiftly fading,
Instinct taking its place.

The movements were new,
Feelings raw and unreal
I trembled and shook
And tried not to feel.

He whispered my name.
I looked into his eyes
And saw reassurance.
I had only to try.

Black and white faded
As color exploded
Gasping and sighing
In pleasure I floated.

And so I let go
Free to feel, free to fall
No distress, no regrets
As I broke down the wall.

Rivers

Since time began,
Existence has been theirs.
He reached out,
Set their course
And then watched them flow.

Through the ages,
Strength has been theirs.
O’er the rocks,
Through the trees,
Constant and steady they flow.

As the sun sets today,
My love has been theirs.
Miles away,
Far yet near,
They carry my heart as they flow.

In tomorrow’s tomorrow,
Life will still be theirs.
Hand in hand,
Heart in heart,
We’ll walk alongside as they flow.

Wednesday Nights

Zero degrees…
Initial comfort,
Fingers nimble,
Eyes alert,
Mind ready.

Ninety-three degrees…
Early shifting,
Couple clicks,
Back and forth,
Slight wandering.

Two hundred and fifty-six degrees…
Heavy sigh,
Watching hands,
Flipping pages,
Attention ceases.

Three hundred and seventy-five degrees…
Muscles stretch,
Tendons crack,
Fingers race,
Dreading return.

Seven hundred and twenty degrees…
Voices drone,
Pencils tap,
Scrolling through,
Utter boredom.

One thousand degrees…
Folding over,
Slipping on,
Racing out,
Freedom beckons.

(in progress)

The single bloom was lost, adrift
Alone in winter’s chill
Its petals drawn in tight and taut
Surviving by sheer will.

Abandoned by the outside world
Beset by wind and snow
The bloom began to wilt and die
No will was left to grow.

And then one day you crossed its path
You paused and then you sought
To give life back to the dull bloom
And see it as it ought.

Your presence was a bright hot sun
Which melted the cold frost
And when the heat embraced the bloom
Life was no longer lost.

Release

The day was one
of peaceful accord,
the sky calm,
the air still.
Yet the slightest hint of tension
surfaced and lingered,
drawing me out.
So I arose
and drifted towards the shore.

Looking out over the waves,
shining blue
and clear,
the tension grew.
Stretching forth its fingers
it stroked my soul
and discomfort
warred with serenity.

The breeze began to quicken.
The waves
jumped up and fell.
Whispering softly into the wind,
I pleaded,
asking the stillness to stay.
But tension demanded
the day.

The sky grew dark and grim,
the wind,
damp and chill.
Shuddering, my heart
began to sob,
desperate for something
unknown
it had yet to name.

A single bolt lit up the sea
as the clouds
churned and swirled,
and with a glance
I saw It there,
struggling,
sinking slowly beneath the surface
of the waves.
A novel spark was lit.

The spark in me
flashed
and glimmered.
But the wind blew fierce
so I turned away,
begging silently
for the flash to die
and the quiet to return.

But tension would not be flouted,
nor the storm overlooked
or disregarded.
And the gale
rose up.
Winds hard,
waves high
and I felt Its pull
and turned.

It drew me forth,
back
to the edge of the sea.
Crying out,
It called to me, luring me,
enticing me into
a tempest of which
I was too scared to face
but couldn’t
escape.

As I watched It strain,
and watched
It strive
my heart tore free.
But I stood
still
as the rains began
to fall,
torn between the
heart of the storm and
the mind of the calm.

The thunder
rolled
and roared
as the waves grew high and swelled.
The wind circled
and swirled
as the rain fell down
in torrents
and tension reigned.
It opened Its eyes,
piercing me with Its gaze.

And in that moment,
my heart soared and flew
racing along with
the wind.
Without a choice and
with a feeling of
freedom
I embraced the storm
and dove into
the angry sea.

Fighting the waves,
trying to breathe,
I followed
my heart
to It.
And when I settled into
Its waiting arms,
tension retreated
and I found
the peace
that had eluded me.

Fury

Small, it starts,
a tiny flare,
in a pit both deep and wide.
I feel the spark,
the flash of heat,
the rushing wave of a tide.

The flare, it grows,
stretching high.
The heat begins to spread.
The air grows still,
my eyes grow hot,
overwhelmed by shades of red.

Tension seeps
into the room.
Her eyes meet mine, retreat.
Anger brims,
fights for release,
erupts, embraces heat.

Burning hot,
it spreads and grows
into a sea of flame.
I close my eyes,
beg for release
from the bitterness and rage.

She leaves the room,
it starts to cool,
to slowly drain away.
A winter chill
o'ertakes the heat,
forever takes its place.

Longing

As you slip out of your dreams
I am falling into mine.
And in that brief moment,
that instant flash of time,
hands brush, minds meet,
hearts perfectly align.

Moments pass, you disappear
and I drift through dreams alone.
Familiar sights, they haunt me
and sometimes things unknown,
but always, always,
I search for you, for home.

And as the winds of time blow by
your presence draws ever near.
Yet I wait on the brink
filled with love and with fear
for as you enter,
I must leave here.

Brief passes in the night,
no time to speak or touch.
Yet in matters of the heart
so little is enough.
For although apart,
we're embraced by love.

So as your dreams hail you
I must rise up and wake.
In passing my heart calls,
yours answers and it waits
until, once again
in dreams we may meet.

Restlessness

I couldn’t say why
but I just couldn’t stay.
I felt the need simply to go.
But as the trees flew by
and the lines blurred past,
the need didn’t wither, but grew.

And when I arrived
there at my journey’s end
something told me I just wasn’t done.
The need gripped me tightly,
it wouldn’t let go
so I turned back around and I ran.

Past houses, past cars,
through the fields and the woods
through cities and counties and states
I ran right to the end,
the edge of the earth
and yet the need lingered, so strong.

So I turned around,
and ran back to my home.
The need would not ever depart.
No place was far enough
in all of the world.
So now, oh need, where shall I go?

Abandoning Acquiescence

For years I’ve walked ‘round in circles,
towards a place I can’t see and don’t know
not caring enough to do more than be,
convincing myself I was content.

Never questioning the path that I walked-
a path that others had set,
following a dream that was never mine
but believing it had to be meant.

And because I never had to before
I refused to say yes or say no.
Scared to be wrong, to say something amiss,
with whatever you wanted, I went.

And I just couldn’t see, I didn’t understand
why it angered and frustrated you so.
Focused on you, I lost sight of me—
my own worth I’d simply forget.

My love for you I would always put first,
not seeing that you did the same.
You wouldn’t allow me to lose sight of myself
and the life that I hadn’t lived yet.

You opened my eyes and forced me to look,
to acknowledge I’m worth more than I thought.
In loving myself I can better love you
throughout any and all, ‘til the end.

Untamed

He tells me he's wild, and it may be so,
but why should I care?
If he is wild, then he is wildness and
wildness is he
and he is for me.

Moments

Roads are for journeys and my journey is long.
And yet,
though time passes slow,
the sights fly by in flashes that I can’t get back.

I glance back to see, but they are gone.
And so I turn back,
look forward,
and am determined to not miss the next.

And as the journey continues
I realize,
time doesn’t matter.
Worry ceases
and I feel a great freedom.

Looking forward I anticipate,
and I don’t miss the next flash.
A smile, a tear, an embrace.

Roads are for journeys
and this one is mine.

My Warrior

I was there at your beginning,
we’ll be together at the end.
And between you and me, from then until now
is a sea of memories in which I’ll float
while you are gone.

Each wave a picture,
each tide bringing feelings to match,
flowing together, seamless, endless.
They are you, they are me,
forever entwined.

I climbed up next to her as she held you in her arms,
little more than a babe myself.
You gurgled, I laughed.
So small, yet with a grip so strong,
I marveled at the wonder of you.

And as you grew, so did I.
Fighting became a favorite pastime.
I complained, you whined, you shouted, I screamed.
But it never mattered in the end
because the love between siblings always won out.

I nearly killed him when he called you names.
You almost killed him when he broke my heart.
I’ve cried on your shoulder and you’ve cried on mine.
Neither of us asking for the other,
both of us knowing we didn’t have to.

Through the past years we’ve always been together.
I left for a time, then came home.
Now you do the same.
No longer a child, you’ve grown into quite a man
and have your own road to follow.

You’ve grown in faith, in strength, in love
and now put those qualities to the test.
As you embark on life, know this:
All the pride and love I possess
go with you, my brother.

You go to fight an ongoing battle,
for life, for freedom, for you, for me.
Be always strong, my little warrior,
and always look to Him for guidance
for He will never fail to show you the way home.

Searching

2009-10-26T21:52:00.000-05:00

Her fear kept her silent.
Desperation made her cling
to a love that was broken,
beaten and worn.
The loss she would feel
should she set free her thoughts
was a cost she was certain
her soul could not bear.

He asked her to speak.
In his eyes she could see
His expectation, demanding,
silent and strong.
She searched for the words,
reached deep down inside,
but failing, unable,
she turned and hid away.

Convincing herself
that her love was enough,
she ignored all that left her
unhappy and hurt.
But a whisper of doubt
her companion became.
And his words told her softly:
Be yourself, who you’re meant to be.

And the thought crossed her mind
should she follow his advice,
she must suffer that loss
aching and deep.
Yet what was the point
of an unfounded love
if she gave up herself
just to keep it alive?

The pain was severe
as she released and let go.
His heart for her life,
her own but alone.
And as she walked away,
her heart fractured, yet whole,
she told herself firmly
that she would survive.

So the hours slipped past,
the days turned into weeks.
And she found her footing,
Confident, sure.
Yet she missed the clear sound
of his voice in her ear
and the feel of his skin
on her fingertips.

Then the question sprang forth,
the answer fast on its heels.
Could she not truly have both,
herself and her heart?
For the thing she’d feared losing
she’d already lost—
through her own inaction
due to fear and distrust.

Her thoughts left unspoken
she suddenly voiced
and the heart she’d kept hidden
now opened, embraced.
He listened, accepted
and welcomed her home.
Her heart joined with his—
fear no longer reigned.

A Rough Draft

2009-10-22T14:40:00.002-05:00

This is the beginning of a story that I've been working on for a while now. I don't know how long the finished product may be, or if it actually will ever be finished. It is my hope that someday it will be, given the time and effort. I will continue to post portions of it as they are written, though again, there will be no actual schedule and I make no promises as to how quickly or steadily it will be worked on. Please feel free to make comments or criticisms, provide feedback and/or ideas and above all, enjoy. The preliminary title is simply, The Protector.

She’d never be sure why she looked up. Maybe it was the shadow that caught in her peripheral vision. Maybe it was the shiver she felt run down her neck. Maybe it was quite simply the heat. Whatever the reason, she glanced up and in that precise moment, her life changed.
Up until that point, her life had been very basic, very simple. Nothing spectacular had ever happened to her. She’d never gone on an adventure or met anyone famous. She’d been born to middle-class parents who loved and supported her, even if they disagreed on certain issues. She’d attended McHenry Elementary school, followed by McHenry Middle and finally McHenry High. Her grades were always good, mostly A’s with the occasional B. She was student president of the school’s choral department, worked with the technical theatre crew from time to time, was a member of the National Honors Society and had every intention of graduating with a near perfect 3.8 GPA. She’d dated a few guys throughout high school, but had never gotten serious about any of them.
Her plans for the future followed the same simpleness as her past. She’d go to college, then grad school, getting first her bachelor’s and then her master’s and possibly a doctorate in psychology. She’d find a good steady job that she enjoyed, eventually meet someone and fall in love, get married and have three perfect children to love and raise as her parents had raised her. Very simple. Some might even say typical, but she didn’t care.
She had it all planned out.
Or so she thought.
But then she looked up…and her eyes met his. Life slowed to a standstill. The pencil she held in her hand clattered on the sidewalk. Her notebook slid off her lap as she slowly rose off the park bench. Her blood ran cold as she focused on his right hand, the object in it raised and pointed at her. Her eyes flickered right, then left, looking for some form of help. There was none. She looked back at him and as their eyes met once more, he grinned triumphantly. She knew she was dead. There was nowhere to run.
She heard the pop. Her very simple life flashed before her eyes. A burst of pain hit her side…and then everything went black.

Aubry woke, aware of the dull pounding behind her eyes. She tried to move and winced. Her body ached all over. Why did she hurt? Wasn’t heaven supposed to be pleasant? She shouldn’t be in pain if she was dead. And she knew she’d died. She’d seen the gun, heard it go off. She’d felt the bullet hit…or had she? She remembered being hit in the side, but now that she thought about it, it hadn’t felt like bullet, or at least what she imagined a bullet would feel like ripping through skin, muscle and bone. She fell back against a soft mattress and pillow and tried to figure out what had happened, and more importantly, where she was now. It was dark, but not pitch and she could make out basic shapes along the walls. Pieces of furniture, she assumed. On the opposite side of the room she saw a thin line of light along the floor. Must be the door, she thought.
Her prediction proved correct when what was indeed a door swung open and let in a stream of light. Dim, seeing as it was candlelight, but light nonetheless. The candelabrum was held by a plump woman in a faded grey dress, covered by an equally faded apron. The woman stopped and set something, a tray of sorts, onto what must have been a dresser next to the bed, and then turned toward Aubry.
“Ah, good, you’re awake,” she said in a kind and gentle voice. “Can you sit up? I’ve bought you some soup in case you’re hungry.”
“What happened? Where am I?” Aubry asked the woman. “Who are you? How…?”
“Hush,” the woman replied, ladling soup into a ceramic mug, holding it out to Aubry. “Eat this. It will help you regain your strength.”
Aubry regarded the soup somewhat suspiciously, then took the mug from the woman and took a hesitant sip. It was hot, soothing to her dry throat and surprisingly quite tasty. She continued to drink for a moment, and then looked up to thank the woman. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Maud,” the woman replied with a smile. “Now, you finish every bit of that soup and get some more rest. You’ve had a rough day.” She turned towards the door but turned back when Aubry called out.
“Please,” Aubry said. “Please, can’t you tell me where I am? And why? What happened to me?”
Maud’s eyes roved over Aubry for a moment, glanced away and then returned to meet Aubry’s gaze. “Tis a story that’s not mine to tell. Nor is this the time. Don’t worry. All you need know right now is you’re safe. Get some sleep and have no fear. Tynan will continue to watch over you as he has for so long.”
“Tynan?” Puzzled, Aubry glanced around the dark room. “Who’s Tynan?”
Maud nodded towards the corner opposite the bed in which Aubry lay. She then turned and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Aubry turned her head in the direction Maud had indicated and gasped when she noticed the young man leaning against the wall. He’d been hidden in the shadows.

Tynan silently watched the girl as she finally acknowledged his presence. His breathing was slow, deep and he hadn’t moved once since he had laid her on the small cot and taken up his position in the shadows to keep guard over her until she awakened. He doubted she’d have ever realized she wasn’t alone if Maud hadn’t pointed him out.
His dark eyes saw her blue ones widen in surprise as she noticed his outline against the wall. His eyes never left her as she glanced back towards the door Maud had just walked through. He’d watched over her for twelve years now, ever since his people had discovered who she really was. He still remembered the first time he’d seen her, a cheerful girl of six years, blue eyes shining and red ponytail bouncing back and forth as her father had pushed her on a swing. She’d shouted, “Higher, Daddy!” and squealed as the sky had rushed down at her, then retreated as she plunged back towards the ground.
Later, as she’d chased after the Frisbee her father had sent sailing over her head, she’d fallen and cried out when she scraped her knee. He’d fought the urge to run to her, to scoop her up and tell her that everything would be alright. Startled by the surge of protectiveness he’d felt toward the young child, he’d stayed hidden in the trees and watched as her father had kissed her knee and made it better.
From that moment on his sole purpose had been to protect her, to guard her and keep her from harm. The title of protector had been his birthright. His father had protected the royal family before him, as had his father’s father. From the time he’d been a small child he’d been trained and prepared for his role, the duty of his rank ingrained in him since birth. Though she had yet to know it, they were connected. Immediately following the discovery of her identity, her safety had been assigned to him and even in those times when he couldn’t be near her, couldn’t physically protect her he’d been able to see. He knew her movements, her habits and occasionally he was granted a brief glance into her thoughts. If ever there was any hint of danger, immediately he would rush to her, always without her knowledge.
She’d been his life for the past twelve years. Nothing affected her that did not affect him also. For such a long time, his life had revolved around her existence. Yet she only learned of his existence now, when times were dire and a growing threat had nearly ended her life. For a moment, he wished circumstances were different. He wished that he’d been able to meet this young woman, who was such an integral part of his life, in a different time and a different place. A time and place where she was just a woman and he just a man. But wishing was folly and he knew better than most that it did no good. Wishing couldn’t change what was…and what had to be.
Her eyes came back to his slowly. She simply stared, confusion flooding her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered. Tynan stared back at her, but didn’t answer. “Tynan,” she said slowly, trying his name out. His heart lurched at hearing his name on her lips. Still, he remained silent.
“Please,” she said, “tell me what happened. Where am I? I need to know,” she pleaded.
“You need to rest,” he replied gruffly. “Drink what Maud gave you. It will help you sleep so you can regain your strength.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” she retorted. “I want to know what’s going on. Nothing makes sense. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. Who is Maud? Who are you?”
Tynan looked into Aubry’s eyes, torn by the confusion and fear he saw there. He quietly whispered, “I’m your protector.”
“My protector?” she asked. “What does that mean?” When Tynan gave no answer, she cried out, “I’m so confused and everything’s so strange. One minute I was sitting in the sun and the next I’m in a place I don’t recognize and talking to people I don’t know. I just want to know what happened.” Her eyes filled with tears and one trickled over and flowed down her cheek. Her breath hitched as she tried to control her emotions but the tears continued to flow.
Tynan rushed to her side and sad down next to her on the cot. “Shh,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be alright, I swear to you. In time you’ll understand.” She leaned into him, laying her head on his shoulder and hesitantly he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she wept. “Shh,” he repeated over and over again, willing her to sleep. Finally she did.
It was only a second before she drifted into deep sleep and dreams that she noticed the white bandage wrapped around Tynan’s side.

She dreamed of Tynan. Her dreams were troubled, confusing and strange, but throughout them all his presence lingered. She was running, being chased by a nameless darkness. She knew that in the darkness was an evil that was intent on destroying her. Her breathing hitched as she urged her legs to pump faster. As the evil gained on her, Tynan appeared in her path. She knew somehow that with him she was safe and she stretched her arms out toward him as she ran. Yet the nearer she came, the more he faded, disappearing completely at the moment she would have reached his side.
Then she was back on the bench in the park. She looked up and stared into the empty eyes of death. She saw the gun, raised and pointed towards her. She heard the shot, felt the impact of being hit in the side. But the grunt of pain she heard did not come from her lips and the blood spreading across her hands did not flow from her veins. Tynan.
Aubry shot awake, breathing hard. Her eyes searched the dimness until they found the man among the shadows who had returned to his spot of vigilance.
“You were hit,” she said, understanding now why he wore the bandage she’d seen before slipping into sleep. Tynan made no reply but she saw the acknowledgement of her statement in his eyes. “That man tried to kill me and you took the bullet meant for me. Didn’t you?” she urged, when he still did not answer.
Tynan nodded slowly, watching emotions play across her features as she glanced down at her hands. He barely heard her whisper…my protector. The words were barely audible.
“Why?” she asked, looking up at him again. “You told me you were my protector, but why would you, a person I’ve never met before, willingly take a bullet that was meant for me? None of this makes sense.” Her eyes pleaded with him to answer her questions and he would…in time. However, he could never reveal to her or anyone else for that matter, why he’d really put himself in the path of a bullet aimed straight for her heart. He was sworn to protect her and therefore it was his duty to do so, yes, but that reasoning meant little to him now.
The truth was she’d won his heart twelve years ago when she’d fallen. He’d yearned to cradle her in his arms, comfort her and chase away the twinge of pain that scraped knee had caused. He loved her and because he loved her, her life would always come before his own. But he couldn’t tell her that. She would learn much in the coming days and it would be difficult for her to understand and even harder to accept. Her whole life was about to change and she needed his protection and nothing more. Once the ordeal was over and everything accomplished, she’d take her rightful place in his world and his vow would be fulfilled. Her life would go on…without him. He would fade into the background, his feelings for her forever locked away, secret and silent.
Aubry watched as Tynan’s eyes filled with sadness and longing and another emotion she couldn’t quite identify. A bare hint of a smile crossed his lips as if he were remembering a pleasant memory; but as quickly as it came, it faded and was replaced with a look of tortured resignation. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong but never got the chance as the door to the small room opened and Maude walked in, carrying another tray of food.
Relief filled Tynan as he watched Maude stride toward the bed. He knew Aubry had been about to question him further and he was grateful for the well-timed reprieve. He needed a moment to get his thoughts and emotions under control and he couldn’t do that with Aubry gazing at him, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty and fear.
He walked over to Maude and whispered in her ear. She looked at him, nodded, then turned back to Aubry as he headed for the door.
“Wait!” Aubry cried as his hand settled on the knob. “Where are you going?”
“Not far,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. When her eyes filled with doubt he turned to face her. “I’m never far,” he promised. She stared at him for a moment, then nodded, reassured. He nodded back, gave a slight bow and turned to walk out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

A beginning

2009-10-21T21:59:00.002-05:00

I have not "blogged" in a long while because I always felt that blogging was supposed to be some online method of keeping a journal. And while I have always had good intentions about keeping a journal, whether online or not....well, we all know where good intentions will lead us.

So here is a place for me to...well, I'm not really sure. I'm sure there will be posts of joy and sorrow, as well as the occasional ridiculously pissed off. Take from it what you will, if you choose to read such things. And if no one does read such things, at least I have a place to let my thoughts flow freely when my head becomes too small a domain for them.

As to the regularity of any posts, I make no promises. My intention is to attempt to keep this updated regularly and I believe this to be a good intention--one more to add to the pavement on the road to hell.