Fight Scene

I was watching a pretty good action movie, "Chocolate," about an autistic girl who can learn precision martial arts simply by watching it.  I wondered how well action scenes can really translate to prose, but I wanted to give it a shot.  So, this is speed test to see how easily I could do it.  Don't expect anything deep.:


Update: Yeah... this writing is too busy.  Oh well.  I need to think about it.

Matsuo felt the barrel pushing into the back of his head.  He could taste the blood collecting between his lips.

“You’ve given me quite  a bit of trouble, boy.”  Serzen paced across the balcony.

Matsuo looked at the street and groaned.  “Let them go.”  He watched the gunman behind him reflecting in a puddle of grime near the curb.   The man seemed caught up in his boss' gloating.  Good.

Serzen laughed and placed his hands along the rail.  “Interesting choice of words.”  He looked up where Matsuo’s wife and daughter stood, crying and whimpering through their gags.  “Well you heard the man.”  He made a motion.  “Let them go.”

Beast placed his boot squarely into the back of Matsuo's wife, shoving her forward.  She tipped  and her face whitened with terror as she lost her balance.  The rope tightened around her neck as she pitched forward.  She closed her eyes.  This would be it.

In those short moments, Matsuo rolled forward, lowering his right shoulder into the ground, spinning to pull at the gunman, arm.  He pivoted onto his back and fired his foot vertically into the man’s jaw, crushing it like a soda can.   Continuing the motion, he tore the gun from his opponent, dislocating the man's finger and replacing his own into the trigger.  The first two shots burst from the gun instinctively, exploding into Beast’s knee and thigh, and he tumbled to the side, tangling himself in the pile of rope that was now uncoiling.  No!  He could feel the scream in his head as he watched his wife launch forward from the rooftop.

But she did not fall quickly.  Beast’s weight held the rope, unwittingly slowing Matsuo’s wife, and while her neck was not broken, she was twitching on the end of her rope, suffocating quickly.  She reached and clawed desperately at her noose, but was unable to loosen it.  Matsuo fired another round into the face of the man to his left, who had yet to respond, and pulled his would-be killer on top of himself as a shield against the first few rounds of the right man, who was quicker on the draw than his dead partner.  Two bullets from Matsuo cured the problem, tumbling through the next man’s eye sockets.  Matsuo reached along his legs.  His blades were free.

Serzen turned to watch the gunfire, only now able to react.  He waved to the men below in warning, who, absorbed with the execution, finally registered Beast’s injuries and were now casting about for his assailant.  “Look out!” Screamed Serzan, trying to warn one of his employees before Matsuo’s  first knife sliced the man’s jugular.  Matsuo spun and launched his second knife into the throat of his next victim, and carrying forward with his momentum, tumbled behind the van that brought him here.

Matsuo’s daughter panicked and leaped towards Beast, trying desperately to push him off the roof, but he grabbed her small body and flung her easily.  Had she not so securely held onto his collar, he might have prevented himself from following her.   But she did hold on, and he did follow her.  Matsuo's wife had used her foot to pull herself to a balcony and, while she was no longer falling, was rapt, clawing desperately to loosen her noose.   She felt the rope go slack and looked up to see Beast clinging precariously to the side of the roof, her daughter hanging desperately from his collar.  Good girl.  She had worked her arm up underneath the caller to her elbow.  Beast felt fear.  He could not dislodge the little girl.

Serzen was now barking orders at the men inside the building as he disappeared through the door.  One of the men searching for Matsuo was shooting blindly around the van.  He didn’t see the legs reach from under the van, but when they seized him and pulled back, he did feel the pavement.  He did feel the scrapes as he was pulled underneath.  He did feel a large knife carve up through his genitals into his abdomen.  His partner could not respond quick enough, and a bullet shattered his ankle before he too fell.  The second bullet removed him from play altogether.

Two men emerged from the door above.  One looked out at the dead on the ground while the other looked up to where Beast was clinging.  He fired a shot at Matsuo’s wife, trying to hit her throw the gratings.  He called to his partner to assist him, but his partner had already been pulled from the balcony, having been neatly lassoed by an ascending Matsuo.  He lowered his weapon and watched those last moments as Matsuo plunged his knives into his eyes.

Matsuo’s wife saw that Beast was slipping, and began coiling as much of the slack rope around the bannister as possible.  She saw his body travel past her, and their eyes met.   She watched him submit to his fate as he watched her coil that rope furiously intent on evading hers.   Beast grabbed the rope, but was unable to hold on.  As the line went taught, the rope coiled around his armed burned into his skin, carving into it, but holding tight.  Beasts arm was dislocated in an instant, and he was suspended only a few feet above the ground.  Her daughter’s fall had been broken, but she slipped from Beast and grunted as she contacted the ground.  Matsuo’s wife screamed and used her leg to push against the grate, holding tight.  She saw a knife flash in front of her, and felt the dragging rope loosen as Matsuo cut her free from her noose.  He threw himself over the balcony and, using the rope anchored to the railing, lowered himself quickly to his daughter’s side.

His daughter looked at him, shaken and crying.  He removed her gag and cradled her.

“Is she alright?”  His wife called down, loosening her own gag.

“You should take her to get check out.  But, “  He could feel his daughter squeeze him.  “Yes.  I think she’s alright.”

“Baby?”  His wife called to him.

“Yes?”

“Is it over?

“It will be.”  He looked at his blades.  "Soon."

Crumbs

A lone black bird has left today

He found no crumbs so flew away.

Another three left yesterday

And the day before six more had played.

One crow said that it’s been a week

Since crumbs had filled its little beak

The woman who would never speak

Had left to seek that old antique

With whom she came here every morn’

Upon whose hands her hands adorned

They sang to us, their passion born

Aloft on dried handfuls of corn.

They sang like birds I swear! It’s true!

From far and wide we young birds flew

For every morning we all knew

That crumbs would flow from both those two.

But no more crumbs have come our way

We waited hopefully for days

I am the last who chose to stay

But hungry, I now fly away.

Angels in the Basement

Demonstrating how just a few lines can really change a mood.

 TAKE 1 -------------------------------- He clambered up onto one of the boxes, looking into the fire. He pulled his knees in close to his body and hugged them. "Why do you stay down here in this place?" He looked around the small cave. "Papa says you can't come up. But I think you just won't." The child sneezed. "You could sleep in my room, I wouldn't mind." He scratched, "but papa doesn't let me have company, so I'd have to sneak you in real quiet." The boys eyes grew wild and wide. "Your wings are really pretty." He couldn't take his eyes off of her. "Mama said you were an angel, put here long ago to stay, but papa says there ain't no thing as angels, no how." He timidly held forth one of his biscuits. "I don't know what you are," After she took it from him, he bit down on his own. "but you sing real nice." He smiled. "I like when you sing. It's like when mama was still alive, she would sing me to sleep. I sort of like how you sing to me now." He laughed, "but ain't heard no one sing as high and pretty as you." He stepped off the box and went to walk up the path back to the mouth of the cave. He turned back and peeked at her through his tangles. "Maybe mama was right. Maybe you are an angel." He smiled, "But no matter, you can still stay in my room. We can share biscuits." 

TAKE 2 -------------------------------- He clambered up onto one of the boxes, looking into the fire. He pulled his knees in close to his body and hugged them. "Why do you stay down here in this place anyway?" He looked around the small cave. "Papa says you can't come up. But I think you just won't." The child sneezed. "You could sleep in my room, I wouldn't mind." He scratched at his hip, "but papa don't let me have company, so I'd have to sneak you in real quiet." A slender hand reached up through the dim light, and opened slightly, letting a little bell fall from a bracelet loosely fastened around its owner's wrist. Her nails were long, each coming to a point, perfectly formed like creamy scalpels. She twisted her wrist back and forth repeatedly, letting the small charm ring. The boys eyes grew wild and wide. "Your wings are really pretty." He couldn't take his eyes off of her. "Mama said you were an angel, put here to protect us, but papa says there ain't no thing as angels, no how." He timidly held forth one of his biscuits. "I don't know what you are," After she took it from him, he bit down on his own. "but you sing real nice." He smiled. "I like when you sing. It's like when mama--" He brushed his hand across his eyes.  "when she was still alive, she would sing me to sleep. I sort of like how you sing to me now." He smacked his hands against his pant legs, "but ain't heard no one sing as high and pretty as you." The creature pulled her hand back into the darkness and waited. He stepped off the box and went to walk up the path back to the mouth of the cave. He turned back and peeked at her through his tangles. "Maybe mama was right. Maybe you are an angel." He smiled, "But it don't matter, you can still stay in my room. We can share biscuits." No. Not an angel. She closed her hand around the trinket, feeling it bite into her. Not an angel at all.

Lucretia in Eden

Part of Backstory for Lucretia - Lament - Book 2

Lucretia walked between the trees, cataloging the species as she saw them.  Adam permitted her these small luxuries, but knew from the Source that she was treading dangerously close to places where he could not protect her.

It was growing late when Lucretia finally entered the compound.  Adam was in her private room next to her shelves.

“What are all of these?”

“Books, Adam. “

“I can see that.  Where did you get them?”

“I record what I see.  I record what the others tell me.”  She ran her fingers along the bindings.

Adam pulled a book from the shelf and flipped it open.  Drawings of creatures littered its pages with scrawl along the margins.  It was intricate, and Adam could not decipher the strange twists and turns of the ink.

“You wrote all of these?”

“Almost all of them.   Some of them were—“

“Where did you get the materials?”

“Uziel provided me with the parchment,” she smiled.  “I’ve been over to—“

“Uziel?”  Adam interrupted her.  “That filthy thing shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Adam!” She protested.  “His fate is sealed.  We shouldn’t add insult.”

“The source of everything despises them.”   Adam spat.

“But they are harmless!  We can learn so much from—“

“No!” He reached out for another book Lucretia had retrieved.  “I forbid you–“

Lucretia turned away from Adam, denying him the book.

“Hand me the book.”

“No! “  She pulled away from his grasp. “Adam!”  She twisted “Adam, these are mine!”

“Obey me!”

Adam grabbed her wrist firmly and smiled as he bent it cruelly.  Lucretia cried out.  She held the book in her free hand.

“Please, Adam.  You’re hurting me.”

Adam released her and she fell.  Adam grabbed the shelf and pulled it back.  “You disobedient wretch.”

Lucretia shrieked and raised her hand to block the shelf that spilled over onto her.  She sobbed as she pulled herself out from under the mess of books.

Adam stormed out of the room.

Lucretia pulled herself into a corner of the room and pulled her legs in close to her body.  Why was he so angry?  She would teach him to read if that was it.  He hadn’t even ventured beyond the compound, sending his creatures into town in his place.

Adam walked out of the home and across the garden into the temple.

“You should burn the books.  They aren’t safe.”

Adam was alone in the antechamber, but the Source found him and spoke through the stones.

“What do they say?”

“They are filled with lies.  Lucretia has found the outer world too tempting.”

Adam stroked the stubble on his chin.  “She doesn’t listen to me.”

“She listens.  But the pestilence has emboldened her against you.  She has her own mind about things.”

Adam smiled, but looked concerned.  “She is more clever than I.”

“She simply possesses knowledge you do not have.”

Adam looked into the air.  “Why can’t I learn these things?  Maybe then I could reason with her.”

“Oh, my beloved Adam. “  The room brightened.  “You have a purpose here.   You think that you must desire what they have, but the opposite is true.   Those fallen seek to prevent a glorious event from transpiring.”  Adam could not catch his breath.  “This I cannot allow to happen.  My will be done.”  Adam felt pressure in his brain and around his throat.  “Those who have left me want something that you andLucretia hold within you.”  Adam’s mouth opened as he gasped for oxygen.  “A special gift.”  Adam reached for his throat and fell to the ground kicking.  “It will germinate until the end of days.”

Adam stopped moving.

The light grew dim again.  Blood trickled from Adam’s nose as his eyes stared into space.

Adam’s back arched painfully and he rasped as he inhaled.

“You hold my first breath.”

Adam breathed out and then contorted as he breathed in painfully again.

“You will bring peace to this conflict.”

Lucretia had replaced the books onto the shelf when Adam stumbled into the room.

“Adam!”  Lucretia rushed to him and caught him, preventing his fall.  “Adam, what’s happened?”

“You.”

She helped him over to the bed, but he brushed her help aside.

“Lucretia, my wife.”  Adam looked down on her with burning eyes.

Lucretia shrank back.  “Adam, I’m sorry, I—“

“Lucretia.”  Adam raised his palm to her and motioned for her silence.  “You are never again to engage with these creatures.”

“But, Adam.”

“Silence!”  Adam stood squarely in between her and her books.

Lucretia looked at her books, and up at Adam.   She could almost feel what he would say next.

“Lucretia, you are never again to consort with these creatures.”  Adam pointed to the shelf.  “These books will be destroyed and you are never to raise ink to parchment again.” 

Lucretia’s heart sank as Adam continued.

“You are to join me in the prayer room every morning and every evening and any other time I call for you.”  Adam touched his finger to her chest.  “I command the creatures here.  I command the winds and the waters.  I am the authority here.  Not those --” Adam pointed beyond the garden.  “Not those things.”

Lucretia knew that Adam was not bluffing.  He had been granted dominion over all living things, to steward them here in the garden.

“You are here to serve as my companion.”  He pushed hard into her chest.  “Nothing more.”

Lucretia could feel herself biting her lip.  What was sadness became anger, knotting up in her stomach.   But she looked up submissively. “Of course, Adam.”  She pushed a smile to her lips, “I love you, husband.”

“Good.  Do not disobey me.  The source of all we have can be kind to us, but we have to obey.”

“Yes, husband.”  Lucretia could feel the hairs stand on her neck as she forced herself into this role.

“Good.”  Adam turned to leave and walked to the door, but then stopped.

“What is it, my husband.”

Adam smiled.  “You first.”

Lucretia looked at her books, then back at Adam who was motioning her out of the room.  She looked at the books again and then again at Adam.  That bastard was smiling.  He was enjoying this!  She maintained a stoic visage and walked past him out of the room.  He locked the door behind himself and marshaled her from the home.

Lucretia had no intention of staying.  She could feel nothing but hate and betrayal coming from her husband.  She turned to walk the path out of the garden, but Adam stopped her, “Where do you think you are off to?”

Her eyes watered, and she bit her lip. “To gather food, of course, my husband.”

“No.”

She grew flustered, “No?”

“No, I am confining you to the temple for the day.”

Lucretia spun around.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Do not disobey.  Move.”

Lucretia backed away waving her hands and shaking her head.  “Adam, you know I can’t be in there.”

“An exception has been made.”

“No!  Adam.  I’m not going in there.”

Adam clenched an unclenched his fists.  “Woman!  You will go in there right now.  You won’t argue.”

Lucretia shook her head vigorous, “No, no, no.”  She backed away further.

“Lucretia!”  Adam’s voice was savage and wind poured in from behind her.  Adam’s voice boomed through the trees around the garden.  The trees dipped until each was touching the one next to it.   Lucretia could hear growling from the forest.

“So, I’m a prisoner?”

“You are my wife.”  His voice boomed.  The sky darkened and Adam’s face twisted and contorted like black wisps of smoke had made its way into his skin.

Lucretia knew that something had changed.  She felt very afraid and with the next step backwards, her husband roared, “Kneel!”

Lucretia felt the wind knocked from her lungs, and she feel to one knee, her head lowering before her master.  The wind and thunder did not cease.  The temple door opened on its own.  Adam was channeling the source, and she could feel its power.  She had seen Adam use his position before on the outsiders who unwittingly found their way here.  There would be no compromise.

 “Yes, Adam.”  She sobbed as she was allowed to her feet.  She walked towards the temple, but not of her own volition.  Adam had her now. She wouldn’t be able to stop moving had she wanted.  The wind buffeted her forward, through the arch, and she could barely turn to see her master before the door slammed shut behind her, leaving Lucretia in darkness.

 

Trauma drama

This was writtin for SoulPancake.   http://www.soulpancake.com/post/914/step-into-my-shoes.html


The question was:  Forget that Fiction 101 writing exercise crap about putting yourself into "another person's shoes"—today's all about ditching the third-person and focusing on Numero Uno. In other words, turn that exercise inside out and tell us about the one person who you wish could live a day in your shoes.


Think about those times when no one really understood how hard/confusing/frustrating/overwhelming it was to be you. Who do you wish could spend a day dealing with the hand you'd been dealt? What would they realize?
Write someone else into your shoes. (Poem it or prose it, just bang it out in 300 words or less.) Post their experience below.


So here goes...


"Pump the gas, retard."

You step out of the car. The bruise still ached.

"What did you say?"

"N-nothing!" You slam the door. Big mistake. As you slide the gas nozzle into the tank, you feel his hands around your throat. You don't even feel the first strike as your face is slammed into the gas pump. You do notice that gas prices aren't yet a dollar. Why do people pay so much more for premium?

The second impact makes you go limp. "Slam my fucking car door will you?" His grip releases, and you have your moment. His swing comes, but he barely clips you as you run into the store. "Please!"

Two people are waiting in line and the clerk is looking at you. Did they see anything? "Call the police. I need help!" No one moves. A hand grabs the back of your neck. "I need to talk to my son." He stands you outside the store and crosses his arms. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I-I.." You stutter. You feel warmth release into your pants. Great.

"You pissed yourself! Retard." The backhand comes and, not thinking, you raise your hands to block the hit. Hell is gathering behind the devil. You know that look.

"You do not raise your hand to me!" The punch drops you. It's funny. You don't really feel them anymore. You just step back and watch through a tunnel. Little windows. The boy getting pummeled doesn't even register. Instead, you think about how you are going to explain this tomorrow at school. You see that boy being pulled to his feet and you watch him sway. You didn't understand then that the term for his stepfather's condition was halitosis. When he got into his work, it got really bad.

Down you go again. Are you going to get back up? Better not. Then you remember the problem with lying down.

"Weak faggot." You feel the shoe connect. Not solidly, but enough to take the wind out of you.

You think to yourself, "Please god. Take me away from this. Blow up the gas station." Another kick lands. "Kill him. Burn him up." You feel the spit land on your face. How can one person smell that bad?

He walks away. A pickup full of rednecks pulls up. "You ok man?"

You look back at them with hate. You climb to your knees, and then to your feet. You walk back to your life inside the devil’s car.

No one is going to help you.

Poem: Ache

From a while back.  I'm not much of a poet, but wanted to convey hurt.  (and no, I'm not the narrator).

Opening up the peanut butter
Smearing it on the bread
I'm sitting in traffic
I don't say a word
I take a bite and force it down
My stomach hurts.
I can't finish this

I walk past the store,
I trace my fingers along the glass
outlining that vase held inside.
Beautiful red glass,
I should just buy it.
My stomach still hurts --
I don't have room anyway.

I open the newspaper and do the crossword
At the table outside the cafe.
I look up and see a couple
Walking hand in hand.
That's so sweet.
God my stomach.
I write an expletive in the squares.

She meets me and I listen
While she talks about her crush.
With experience drawn from dreams
I espouse wisdom and cheer her on.
She smiles and hugs me.  I smile back.
My stomach hurts so badly
I drive home alone.

A new experiment

I've decided to find blogs that speak to me and leave their author's a little something special in the comment section.  I don't want to creep anyone out, so I will sign the message with a code I can use to verify myself later, and a link back to my own blog.  If they find their way back to me and want to share their blog, they can, but I'm not going to out anyone here, except to post what I wrote in response.


T3JpZ2luYWwgd2Vic2l0ZTogaHR0cDovL2JhYmlvaC53b3JkcHJlc3MuY29tLw==

There is a reason that ink is black.

The words on parchment form'd illuminate more completely than any sunlight.  Children fear the dark, for it hides the unknown.  But we are no longer children.  We are no longer afraid of that blackness.  We can still recount pushing our toe out into the void, cringing and squinting, waiting for the bite of monsters.  But the bite never came, did it?  So we thrust ourselves into the night, breathing in cooler air than we had ever known before.  Our eyes adjusted and we found that small bright bedroom painful to look at.  Here, in the dark, we accept that we cannot see everything, and what's more, we do not care.  The darkness is beautiful. The universe is dark, and there is no end to our exploration.

And so we make our home in the pitch.  We crave it -- slaver over it.  We recognize each another slipping through the shadows, devouring the unknown as we each grow into gods.  We nod and whisper and trade our magics, which occur when, lacking an obvious form anymore, we impress upon it our own.  And we do make magic, don't we?  Magic for us is born from our intellect.

How then can we respect our neighbors who still fear the dark?  I tell you that we cannot.  These people are content to see only what the light has shown them.  Listen to their friends and parents tell them stories about the monsters -- the same ones we were told.  Let them cower from the dark corners of their room, huddling under little bulbs in cells etched by light's border. Perhaps we will patrol their little lamp garden, and at first sight of a small toe, we reach out to snatch at it.  If they pull back, they will fear us.  But...

..if they reach out.  Oh, if they dare reach out to us --

-- we will love them and make them one of us.

There is a reason that ink is black.

(JIFIZNDBMBT:BDOQBZVEOJHMUQT)

Nightmare

I guess we all have nightmares.  This may not be anything special, but it's one I had last night that hurt a lot.  Very vivid, very gut wrenching -- strangely nerdy.  When I woke up, I immediately wrote down everything I could think of before it vanished.  My "show don't tell" approach was abandoned in the name of efficiency.

Scientists have predicted that as the universe expands through space-time, there will be a critical point where reactions will almost instantaneously break down, where the gaps between the particles of space become so large and the energy is not high enough to allow the subatomic particles to move.  At the beginning of time when all was a singularity, energy was infinite, but as all things hurtled from all other things, energy levels fell, becoming the slight cosmic background radiation we can still detect.  My dream began moments before this critical breakdown, where the cosmic background radiation is approaching zero.  When this story is over, the energy will be zero.

My children are staying at my sister Amanda’s the night the final event occurs.  This is the last part of my dream.

I am with Krissy and  my sister and my brother in-law, Vanessa and Bobby.  We are dressing up to go out when all  television and radio stations erupt with an emergency broadcast.  In my case, this was president Obama speaking, “Be with your families.  We have lived dutifully and without shame.  If there is a hereafter, then best wishes to you.”  He seemed calm and accepting, but the people behind him were wiping their eyes.  I looked at Krissy.  “I can’t believe that this is real.”  Krissy looks back at me, holding her head.

“But don’t worry, if it’s true, and it happens, we won’t even know, we’ll simply disappear.”

Krissy walks over to a window and pulls back a curtain.  It isn’t just dark.  It’s grey.  It’s fuzzy.  “I don’t think so.”  She says.

But it isn’t that the outside is grey and fuzzy.  Everything is grey and fuzzy.  I immediately leap to Krissy's side, but it all feels like slow-time.  “I love you.”  I’m crying, and I just repeat it over and over, not knowing how many seconds are left.  I realize though that the feeling of chaos isn’t happening quickly enough.  There's still some time left.  I suppose in a dream, anything is possible.  I capitalize on the situation, and I crawl to the phone.  While lying weak on the floor, I make my last phone call to my sister.  I don’t know the number.  My memory is fading.  I just need to talk to my daughters.

Bobby tells me the number, but his voice scrambled when he speaks, and it takes several attempts.  He is lying back with Vanessa in his arms, he’s obviously frustrated and is basically shouting at me, but still he repeats the number over and over while I try to dial.

Chuck picks up.  “Is Amanda there?”  My voice sounds like a tape player slowing down at parts.

 

“I’m sorry, we are busy praying.”  I could barely recognize him, but I can hear crying in the background.

“Please, Chuck, it’s Michael, I need to speak to my girls.” 

He pauses, and then acquiesces. “Just a minute, Michael.”

“Hi daddy”  I can barely understand her.  She sounds subdued, but not scared.

“Hi baby, I love you so much sweetie.  I’m your daddy and I love you so much.”

“I love you daddy.  Hey, guess what?”

“What is it honey?”

“We’re not going to wake up tomorrow.  I get to go to Heaven and see you and mommy tonight.”

I lose it.  But I try to squeeze the words out.  “I know honey.  I can’t wait.  I love you and your sister.”  Krissy is holding me.  “Are you in bed?”

“Daddy I can’t see anything.”

“I love you honey.  Let me speak to Ashley.”  I can’t see anything, I just squeeze Krissy’s hand as she kisses my arm.

Madison replies, “I love you d—“

And the universe is no more.

Poem: Message in a bottle

A fun little poem I wrote for my girlfriend long ago when we first met.  Cadence and rhyme commence!


Away on the waves of the ocean for days
Floats a note in a bottle filled with words and it says
That a child had once landed and on a beach stranded
From all that he loved, so he grew and commanded
A legion of tiny crustacean soldiers
He beckoned them bear the beach sand on their shoulders
And fashion a throne and a castle of shells
And inside a library and bedroom as well
But when it was done and his head peeked inside
He was saddened to find his bed two sizes too wide.
The young man had always been quick to pretend
That his thralls were enough for loneliness to end.
But there was the evidence, resilient and true
There stood in the courtyard not one throne but two.
His little friends saw what he'd long tried to hide
And he slumped with surrender, eyed the sea, gave a sigh.
He then drew up a letter and described where he'd been
And titled the story, "Please send me a Queen".
He sealed it inside an old bottle he'd found
And sealed it with cork that would keep it quite sound.
With all of his might he hurl'd his small note
At the void out there where that soft prayer could float
So to you who were tempted to uncork the message
Your future is at the far end of this passage.

The Carnival

This was a short email I left for my girlfriend to celebrate her.

My world is like a carnival.  It’s exciting.  There is so much to look at, so much to do, so many places to go. I’ve covered so much of this place that it seems like home, and I rarely get lost.  But sometimes my world is even more like a carnival than it was just then.  This time it is disturbed by loud noises.  Louder strangers. People in masks.  Out of focus aggression.  There is no place to think.  I can’t breathe.  I’ve spent my whole life in this place and I can count the people I’ve known on my left hand.   But today I made it into a particularly noisy place.  I stand in the middle of it all, looking around.  And then I see you standing in your own crowd. And all of that noise muffles.  I reach out my hand.  Your finger tips touch my own.  I did not expect you to turn back, but you did.  You fingers slipped over mine.  I place my other hand high behind me and I bow to your curtsey as I kiss your knuckles – for that’s what they do here.  We circle each other in a slow dance. All of the noise goes faint and my heart beats in my ears.  We both know how to dance, but here we are, resigned to let our bodies move while we contemplate one another.  “Hello.”  Oh, that was wonderful.  Poets be proud.  How cordial we are, oh how proud our benefactors would be!  I ask, “Do I know you?”  But you are already smiling.  We snap our feet together and pivot with a little clap, turn, and circle each other in the opposite direction, a little faster this time.  “Of course you do.”  I beam a familiar smile back to you, “I never get tired of meeting you.”  “Nor I,” you respond.  “Did you bring something for me?”  We pause our dance and bow to one another again.  I produce a pair of ears.  You reach to take it from me, but I pull it just beyond your reach so that you have to come very near to retrieve it.  “These are mine. “  You pout, but not for long. “These are for you.”  My other hand produces a separate pair.  Without breaking my gaze, you take the gift and slip them on.  I put mine on.  We smile because we know that we’ve always shared this small accoutrement.  We dance despite the chaos around us.  When the music stops, you return your ears to me. 

“Tomorrow, then?” You ask. 

“And every day thereafter” I respond.

We kiss, and leave the courtyard to prepare ourselves for tomorrow’s carnival.

The Doll

I wrote this on New Years Eve.  Took me at least an hour.  I've read stories like it that probably influenced me.

Snow was falling into the square.  On one side of the street sat the toy store.  Jack loved to peek into the windows at night.  Mr. Havensham enjoyed creating little scenes with his toys in the window.  There was a rocking chair with a beautiful doll seated therein, holding a little brown bear.   Around her feet was a train set, and he could barely hear the little electric sound it was making as the tiny engine made its circuit again and again.

Suzette was Mr. Havensham’s daughter.  When he was asleep in the back of the store, she would sneak into the toy rooms where her imagination became real.  She would race the planes around the corridors.  She would carefully unbox the games and play with her stuffed friends throughout the night.  This had been a routine for her for as long as she could remember.  But tonight she looked  through the window at the front of the door and saw a young boy peeking in.

What fun!  She thought as she bounded up near the window.  Ha!  She threw a small soft football at the window.  The boy startled and stepped back, and then put his gloves around his eyes and peeked in.  She could see his little mouth calling out in excitement.  So she stepped gingerly around the toys in the display window and stood against the glass, placing her hands against it.

Jack waved a small hello to Suzette and said something, she knew not what.  She spoke back to him, but it was equally futile.  She held up a finger to signal him to wait, and disappeared back into the store.  Jack tried to follow her with his eyes, but no sooner had she disappeared then she reappeared with a dry erase board in her hand.  She wrote on the board, “What’s your name?”

Jack tried to say his name several times but she wasn’t getting it.  Then he smiled, leaned forward, and breathed hot air onto the window.  He wrote his name, and he could see her lips pronounce it.  Then she smiled.  She waved and mouthed his name.  “Hi Jack.”

He pointed to the front door, but she sadly shook her head.  She made a twisting motion with one hand against the other.  “Locked.”  She said.  She then sank to her knees and smiled, writing on the whiteboard.  She held it up for him.  “Come back tomorrow.”  She pointed to the words and then eagerly stabbed her finger in his direction a few times, saying “You.”

Jack found it strange to meet such a pretty girl like this, but he was very excited to see what was in store.  He said, “ok” and put his hand against the glass.  She did the same as if to touch his.

The following day, Jack came to the same spot.  The scene had been changed.  Where the little doll sat was now the smiling face of Suzette.  She waved to him and then turned away and back again, this time holding a little present.  She opened her mouth into a round smile and produced two cupcakes.  She sat one in front of him inside the glass.  And took a bite from hers.  Chocolate stuck to her teeth as she made a ridiculous squinty-eyed smile at him.  He pretended to eat through the glass, amused, but a little disappointed.  He was looking down on his cupcake, when he saw in the corner of his eye her kneeling.  She tapped on the glass.  He looked up into her eyes.  She was beautiful.  Her skin was perfect and white.  Her hair was red and done up in a bow.  She wore around her neck a red and black choker with a pendent dangling from its center.  She wore a dainty dress and her other hand was pulling something from a pocket on the dress.

It was a key!  He smiled broadly as he saw now what the surprise was.  She got up to race him to the front door.  She unlocked it and cracked the door.  “I can’t let you in.”  She said in a snobbish voice which she betrayed with a giggle.

“Please” he said, elongating the vowel into a small whine.

“Oh, all right.  Just don’t break anything.”  And with that she threw open the door, “Tada!”

Jack ducked in from the snow and brushed flakes off of his coat before removing it and setting it by the door.   “Whoa, this place looks big at night!”

“I’m not really supposed to have visitors, but daddy is sleeping.  I suppose you won’t hurt me.”

He laughed, “This is so incredibly, super, awesome, cool!”  He looked up at the long aisles of toys.  “I’d never get bored of living here.”

She faked a yawn.  “Trust me, you would.  I’ve been here my whole life.  It’s no fun being alone in here.  But I do have lots of adventures.”  She handed him his cupcake.

“Gee, thanks!”  They laughed together and shared cupcakes.  She took him through the store, and they would pull out toys and games.  He had to teach her most of the rules for the games as she’d only really ever had herself to challenge.  Every night from then on, he would come to visit and they would play until they were quite tired.  He would help her clean up and leave her alone again.  She was always sad to see him leave.  She had grown quite fond of him.

“What’s that?”  He asked her, pointing at her choker.  She instinctively drew up her hand and covered it.  “What?”

“Your choker, you are always wearing it.”

“Daddy made it for me.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”  She pulled away, “I’m never never never to take this choker off.  Daddy says I’m never to remove it.”

“Jeez, your dad said that?   What about when you take a bath.”

She smiled and kicked at him.  “Never.”

He let it go, but would  occasionally ask to see it, and she would always refuse.  He could not even touch it.  Winter turned to Spring and soon it would be Summer.  They had become very good friends by now, and not a day would pass that they would not meet.

And so their friendship continued for years.  Sometimes in the daytime, Jack would peek into the store and see Suzette’s father smiling and helping customers.  He would ask for Suzette, but Mr. Havensham would dismiss him saying that she was lying down in the back.   She might be getting fit for a dress, or she might simply be resting, but she would never come out during the day.

Jack had never had a particular interest in the girls at his school.  Suzette was his best friend, and he found himself terribly in love with her.  He did not want to press her father however, who seemed annoyed when Jack would ask about her.  “She’s very special, and I don’t want you playing with her.”

But he would be going away to college soon, and he wanted, more than anything, to have Suzette with him.

 “What’s this?”  She asked one night.

 Jack produced a small basket with a sheet over it.
“
It’s a picnic basket.  Let’s go across the street to that park.”  He flicked his head in the direction of the small park down the street.

“I can’t go outside, silly.”

“Oh come on.  It will just be for a little while.  I just think you shouldn’t have to spend your entire life locked up in a toy store.”

She peaked over his shoulder at the park.  Then she frowned, “I can’t”

“Why not?”  He was a bit annoyed that she was so cowed.

“My father does not allow me to leave this store.  He says it is important for my safety.”

“Oh come now.  I practically live out here.  It’s safe!  Nothing is going to harm you.”

“My father expressly forbid it.  He says something very bad could happen to me.”

“Your dad sure gives you a lot of rules to keep you from having any fun.  Don’t you want to meet other kids?  Don’t you want to enjoy this with me?”

She seemed frustrated.  “Of course.  But daddy –“

“Look.”  He interrupted.  “I like you.  I made you this meal.  The least you can do is join me.”

“I can’t.”

“Suzette.”  He stared at her.  “I am in love with you.”

Her face flushed, and she whispered, “I love you Jack.”

“Then come, have this picnic with me.”  Jack had spent all week finding a necklace to give Suzette as a present.  He felt its weight in the basket, and he couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the control her father seemed to have over her.

Tears were welling up in her eyes.  “I can’t.”

Jack delivered his ultimatum.  “Ok, well I’ll be right over there in that park eating. “  He started walking off.

“Wait! Jack!”

“Join me if you wish, or stay in there.”

Jack walked across the street and into the park where he sat up a blanket.  It was dark, but the coldness was gone.  The night was very comfortable.  “This will work.”  He peeked into the basket at the necklace.  “This will work.”  He repeated.

He sat there on the blanket for almost half and hour.  He was tasting some of the pudding, but he wasn’t really so hungry as he was excited.  He smiled when he heard footsteps.  He turned to see Suzette.

“Ah, you managed to get over here in one piece.”  He joked.

She was trembling, obviously very nervous about defying her father.

“There, there.”  He calmed her, “sit down, I have something for you.”

She looked at him and did as she was told.  Her breath was short and shallow, but she trusted Jack.

“Are you hungry?”  He offered her some bread which she took.  She sunk to her knees and put the bread into her mouth.

“Suzette.  I want you to be with me.”  She looked up at him.  Oh this is what she wanted, too.

“I’m scared.”

“Do not worry.  I know how to care for you.  There is no one in the world I want to share my life with.”

“But father would never allow that.”

“It’s not up to him.  You are becoming a woman, and I am becoming a man.  Do this with me.”

She tried to relax, and swallowed the bread.  She looked for something to drink.  He pulled out a little wine.  She looked at him, “I’ve never had wine.”

“Oh?”  He uncorked it and poured a glass.  “I think you are going to be experiencing many firsts from here on out.”

As confidence built within her, she took the wine and took a few sips.  She smiled and tried to be polite.  She knew Jack had gone through so much, and she didn’t want to rob him of this, “Thank you, Jack.”

His face softened and he smiled, just as he always did.  “You are very welcome.  Here –“  He pulled out the necklace.  “I got you something.”

Suzette’s eyes were getting heavy from the late hour and the wine.  She looked at what he was holding and saw the necklace.  It was beautiful.  But then she realized what this was.  Her free hand went to her throat.

“You’ve had that since you were a little girl.  Isn’t it time to retire that old choker?”

“Father says I can never remove this.”

“Oh?”  This was too much.  “Why?”

“He says if I remove it that –“  She choked “it would mean the death of me.”

Jack was livid, “How dare he!  What monster would threaten his flesh and blood that way?”

“No, he loves me.”

“Come off it, Suzette.  You dad keeps you in that little cage to be his pet until he dies.  He isn’t doing this for you.”

“I want to go home.”  She said softly.

“But Suzette—“

“I want to go home!”  She screamed.  He felt bad.  How could she not see reason?

“Fine.  I’ll take you home.”  She was trembling.  He walked her back to the toy store.

When they finally settled down inside, she sat on the floor and pulled her legs in.  Jack was visibly upset.  “Jack”  she looked at him pleadingly.  “I’m sorry, ok?”

Jack wouldn’t look at her, but couldn’t avoid her for long.  He finally surrendered and met her gaze.  “Suzette, I don’t mean to push you so hard.  But – “  He sat next to her, “I’m leaving.  I’m going away.”

She did not seem amused at all, and her mouth frowned tragically.

“But, but—“  He took her hands, “I want you to go with me.”

She looked as if her heart were breaking.

“Suzette?”

She could not form the words, but tears came, and then she cried as if stabbed.

He put his arm around her and rocked her while she cried.  What was holding her here?

“My dear Suzette, you do not realize how much I love you.”

“Then stay here.  Stay with me!”  She cried.

His brow furrowed.  “Stay with you?”

“Please, Jack.  Don’t go.  Don’t leave me here.  Stay with me.”

As he rocked her, her sobbing slowed, and he realized that she had cried herself to sleep.

I set her on the floor and went to find her a pillow and blanket from one of the aisles.

He set her up cozily.  Then he saw that locket.  That damned locket.  Her damned father.

He reached down to it and curled his finger around it.  “Your father doesn’t own you.  I love you Suzette.”  And with that, he snapped the choker from her throat.

Suzettes eyes snapped open and she inhaled sharply, but before she could scream, her head fell backwards, and then dropped from her body, rolling a foot or two away.  Her body fell  limp and lifeless.

Jack was holding the choker in complete shock.  He had no breath at all.  He shook and felt sickness move through his entire body.  He finally found his breath and screamed.  He did not stop with the first lungful of air, but continued screaming, pawing over her body.  There was no blood, just parts.  Her limbs fell from her torso, held close by nothing but the fabric of the dress.  She collapsed into pieces.  Jack continued screaming.

“What the devil?”  Mr. Havensham appeared  from the back room.  He was slipping his glasses on.  “Who are you?  Get out of my store.”  He lifted jack by his neck.  “Jack?”

Jack could not meet his gaze, instead howling with grief, staring at his beautiful Suzette, broken apart like a china doll.

“Jack!  Calm down, boy.”  He looked down at Suzette.  “What are you doing with my Suzette?”  He shook Jack.  “Jack!”

“Your daughter!”  Jack was in shock.  He passed out.

When he finally came to, he recognized that he was in the back of the toy store.  “What did you do with Suzette?”

Mr. Haversham looked over from his workbench.  “You’re up.”

“Where’s Suzette.”

Mr. Haversham pointed over to the shelves.  “She’s over there I suppose.  Well—“ He motioned to some other shelves.  “Over there as well.”

“What?”  Jack’s eyes were so filled with tears and stinging that he could barely make out the collection of arms in the bin on one of the shelves.  “Where is she?”

“My boy, you are starting to scare me.  Suzette was just one of my dolls.”

“What?”

He sighed, “Am I going to have to repeat everything for you, son?  She’s just a doll.”

“But I talked with her.  We’ve been friends since I was a young boy.”

Mr. Havensham laughed, “Oh my boy, you mustn’t go around announcing your insanity so boldly.  They lock you up for that sort of nonsense.”

Jack was sick with grief and disbelief.  “This is a nightmare.  What’s this then?”  He saw the choker on the table.

“That?”  Mr. Havensham retrieved the choker.  “Some of the dolls use these to hold the stuffing in.  Suzette was pretty special.  I made her when I was much younger, with a friend of mine.  Well, he did most of the work.  I remember him telling me about the energy he had placed into the doll, and that the choker was his sign.  If his choker was removed, then all of his work would be undone.  But look!”  Mr. Havensham held up a head.  It was Suzette’s.  “I know how much she means to you, boy.  So, come back tomorrow.  I’ll make her as good as new.”

“Really?  As good as new?”

“Better in fact.  Get some rest and come back tomorrow.”

Jack felt hope return.  Suzette would be back.  He promised himself he would never try to take her away again.  He went home, and though his heart was heavy, he felt his nightmare might be over.

The following day, Jack reappeared.  Mr. Havensham was finishing up with an elderly couple.  He waved to Jack and thanked his patrons before wiping his hands on his shirt and reaching out to shake Jack’s hand.

“Jack, my boy.  I’m sorry I always kept you from Suzette.  She was so rare and precious to me that I did not want to be separated from her.  Master craftsmanship is written all over her.”

“Is she here?”  Jack produced a present.  “I have something for her.”

Mr. Havensham looked down at Jack, almost pityingly.  “Sure, Jack.  She’s in the front.”

Jack looked through the store, but didn’t see her anywhere.  Then he spotted her.  His heart sank as he stepped towards the front window.  There she was, his Suzette.  There she was sitting in the rocking chair.  She was holding a small bear.  A train was racing around her feet.  He sat there, watching her, remembering everything.  He then stepped into the window with her and opened the present.  He put one cupcake in front of her and one in front of him.  Though he took a bite, and though he managed a few small chews, he was unable to swallow.  He watched here lifeless eyes as they stared past him.