Sour Grapes

I really am nuts, y’know? Not a little bit, not relatively, just…nuts. Not “insane”, I don’t think. Well, technically, I suppose, but that’s -such- a broad spectrum, honestly. Just vague and diffuse…like the law…a net spread to catch the biggest fish, but tight enough to catch the tiddlers as well…when the Fishers want them. *shrugs*

But that’s beside the point. Back to “nuts”. I like that better. It’s perjorative, and offensive…unless you are, and you use it about yourself. Well, in -my- rules, anyway. Such as they are. Normal. Silly word, silly place, let’s not go there. *nodnod* Most people (“most”…another nonsense word) want to be normal. Correct? People want to fit in wherever they are, in whatever living environment they find themselves in, this time around. But some people don’t. Some people feel that it’s impossible to ever fit in, so in a sort of sour-grapes scenario they decide that being “normal” isn’t anything worth striving for. Just the opposite, they decide. Let’s be as -abnormal- as possible, and revel in that…in our separate uniqueness…just like everyone else.

Then there are the nuts. They…we?…just live. Well, try, anyway. It’s really very difficult to swim downstream in a world of spawning salmon. When the race is to be uniquely different but in a way that fits in with ones chosen social group in such a way as to not outlaw the possibilities of being fertile within said grouping…people who for whatever reason don’t have/want/use that drive can be easily lost in the crowd and drowned.

One of the horrors of being…asexual? ish?…is the absence of touch. People were designed to need touch. Physical contact of even the simplest kind…a hand on a hand, a touch on the back…people without these things will become ill, and can even be driven insane, or become so depressed that they die. Not suicide…just die. Most people don’t think of these things because for them, they are touched every day. One way or another. A quick “snack” during the day. A handshake, a quick hug between friends, even a bump from a stranger on a bus or subway. And a full meal, at home. The loving touch of family, birth or found. The surety of knowing that you have permission…you have the right…to touch and be touched. That you will not be winced away from, or avoided, or rejected, dismissed, or reviled.

However, when people touch, something is transmitted, from skin to skin. A basic assumption, a sort of signal, that no matter the relationship, age, or physical condition, says the same thing. “This person is capable of physical love…this person is normal.” You’ve seen what happens when someone in whom that signal is missing or corrupted touches someone…or attempts to. There is an almost automatic repulsion, an anger that borders on fear…because they feel “wrong”. Instinct says “This person is an evolutionary dead-end…a thing to be avoided”.

Of course this is all hooey…straight out of the “Sour Grapes” file that lives in my twisted little mind. I mean, really. I told you I was nuts! But think about it. Watch for it. And if any of that hits home to you…don’t let it. Fight it. Work for what you need…or what another needs. Thank you.

The Nutter

 

Daddys Little Girl (fan-fic “Firestarter” by Stephen King)

Just a little fan-girling…I -love- Stephen Kings “Firestarter”, I have ever since I first read it, at twelve yrs. old.  I didn’t watch the movie till years later, didn’t want to spoil the book…but I was surprised to find that I liked both.  As long as I thought of them as separate but related stories, they were both awesome.  I love Drew Barrymore, and she was so cute in her angst-filled rage… ;p

Anyway, here is my little tribute, a short-story-ish non-canon look into the world of the Firestarter, part one.  Enjoy.  :)

 

The old cars long familiar motion failed to soothe, and Charlie shifted, restlessly, head pounding with the rhythm of the wheels. “You ok, baby?” Her fathers voice was intentionally low, and his eyes sympathetic as he met her pained gaze. Forcing a shaky smile for his sake, she nodded…and winced. “It’s ok, daddy. Just a little headache. Just need to sleep…”
His nod said that he knew the truth, but like her, he would let it be for now. “You do that, baby. Get some sleep. We’ll be stopping for gas pretty soon…maybe even get a motel room. You’d like that, hmm?” She smiled again, and kept her exhausted sigh as internal as she could. “Mm-hmm. That’d be nice. Love you, daddy.” “I know you do, baby. Love you more…” A tired grin was his reward, before she turned her face to the darkness outside the window and deliberately closed her eyes.
He sighed, carefully keeping both hands on the wheel although he longed to reach out and touch her soft hair…to reassure himself that she was still real, still there, still with him. Not like…the other. He shook his head, quickly, banishing the thought before it could take hold. All his concentration must be on the road, on keeping them safe, keeping moving. But god, he was tired.

The lights were sharp and white when Charlie woke from her half-doze, glaring through the windshield, reflecting the exhausted face of her father pitilessly in the glass. She winced again, and deliberately pasted on a bright smile before shifting in her seat as if just waking. He glanced over at her as he pulled into a spot under the canopy. “Just getting gas, like I said. Do you want anything? A soda, some chips? We can get some real food once we get to the motel, ok?” She just nodded, then shook her head, gently. “I’m ok. I…I’m not hungry.” He searched her eyes, then nodded as he got out of the car. “Just let me know, ok?”
She was pretty sure she’d never be hungry again, not with the memory of her last meal still so fresh in her head. The phantom taste of her mothers grilled cheese sandwich stuck like glue to her mind, mingling with the scent of tomato soup…and the other. Angrily, she brought her hand to her cheek, brushing away the memory and the tears that began to leak from her eyes. No. Not thinking of that. They were both scrupulously avoiding any hint of what they’d left behind, and as far as she was concerned she’d like it to stay that way forever. “Ok, daddy. I promise.”
Curling into herself, she watched him move around the car, pumping gas, moving to go into the brightly lit store that stood like an island port in the darkness, the big rigs like ships around it. This image amused her, and she began to embellish the picture, adding the sounds of creaking sails and excited voices, her active mind keeping itself busy as it always had, her favorite toy.

In the store, he gathered a few bottles of soda, a box of crackers, and a brightly furred little bear, and moved quickly to the cashier. Placing his items on the counter, he kept a bright but somewhat harassed look on his face. “Hi. I’m sorry to ask, but is there any chance you can cash a hundred? I’m traveling with my little girl, and I forgot to get change…” She sighed, smiling down at the little bear, then up at him. “I’m not supposed to…but all right. For the little one.”
His smile warmed, and he reached in his pocket for a worn one dollar bill. Holding the bill folded close in his hand so that their hands touched as he passed it over, he summoned the picture of a one hundred dollar bill into his mind. Worn, but not too much, a crease across Franklins face, a reassuringly recognizable bill. Holding the picture, he concentrated with all his strength as she carefully counted out his change, bagged his items, and handed them to him. He almost staggered as he pulled away, the sudden exhaustion that always accompanied use of his gift almost overwhelming him…but the thought of Charlie waiting out in the car gave him a burst of manic strength as he hurried back out the doors into the night.

Follow up on the Reblog (warning, belief systems enumerated)

If this makes anyone stop following me, I understand. I’m a very open-minded person, so much so that things fall out sometimes, but I hate negative emotions because I have so many of them. Hate, guilt, shame, anger, pain, loneliness, etc.etc.etc. So, that over, on to what I wanted to say.

The card is basically Eve and the Snake, but in a good way, a life-affirming non-guilt-ridden don’t be afraid of the Snake because she/he is only one path to power, way. And I like this, because in the story, it was the power of knowledge, the loss of innocence, that got them “kicked out” in the first place. I prefer to think of them as “released” once they had the tools it took to live out here. To live and breed and hurt and die…and in doing so, become one with the One.

And to answer a question in my mind, here is what I believe. I believe that -all- the stories, of gods and Gods, Godess’ and godess’, spirits, creatures, etc. are true. If the God/ess is all-knowing, all-encompassing, all-powerful…why couldn’t he/she be whatever he/she needed to at the moment?

Civilization (for Friday Fictioneers photo prompt)

 

Huddled together under the dubious safety of the Bridge, the Less watched the poisonous beauty rain down from the sky. They called them “Civs”, those who sent the terror, the flowers of sickness and death. Civs, short for civilized, for those who thought themselves risen past all ugliness and filth, all hunger, pain, and anger.

In the City, all was beauty and grace, peace and love. In the buildings so tall and willowy; grown, not created. Grown of the plague that was destroying humanity. The living seed of evil, machines smaller than the very air itself…machines that “fixed” everything, everywhere.

Gone was individuality, a cause for strife; property, breeder of jealousy; anger, pain, trauma…imagination, creativity, life.

Barely clinging to existence, those who called themselves The Less…careless, feckless, reckless…faceless…fought, carrying out a losing war against the Seed.

Soon, all would be at peace…beauty and grace rule the world. And as they watched the beautiful death that came for them, its light illuminating the shadows and dirt in which they existed…most of them could not regret its coming.

 

(whoops…forgot the linkie thing. Lots of neat little stories here. Go check’em out!)

Found art story #1

This is number one of a series of 5 stories, poem or other, inspired by/written for a handful of pictures from Christina over at Artblablablablog.  I chose this one to go first to give Mr. Mike his something secretive and dark.  ;) 

“One pill makes you larger, one pill makes you small, and the ones that Mother gives you don’t do anything at all…go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall!”
“White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane

Hmmph. Well, I’m Alice…but don’t ask me! Trust me, don’t. I’m likely to tell you, and then where would you be? Lost, same as me, that’s where.

Lost in my head, far from my bed, lost in the woods of shouldn’ts and shoulds, cravings and ravings and speaking in rhyme…aren’t I having a marvelous time?

Oh, no, not you again. You just shut up, you! You got me into this in the first place, with your little whiny voice. “Oh, please! It’ll be fun! You -like- camping with your family, so this’ll be even more fun! They’re nice guys, and there’ll be other girls there too…and what if we say no, and they make fun of us? We have to go!” So we went. And here we are. In the woods, in the dark, a baggie of stolen pills in my hand.

Little pills for certain ills, of the mind that’s caught the chills, and for the mind that’s running low, and the one that wanders to-and-fro!

Heh. Wandering. Yeah. That’s what I’ve been doing all day, and all day yesterday…and likely all day tomorrow, unless they find us and kill us for stealing the pills. Find me, I mean. Not us. There is no us. THERE IS NO US! Ummm…sorry about that. Just an echo. Really. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah…trying to figure out where we are.

Take a pill! Just one little pill, you saw what it did for jack and his jill, as they fell laughing down the hill and lay them down so very still!

No! No pills. That’s why I took them in the first place! These things are dangerous! They make you see things, feel things…awful horrible things. Things with big teeth and worms for eyes that used to be a snotty cheerleader named Jill. Things that laugh and laugh and laugh until you panic and run, not realizing what you clutch in one sweaty hand.

Why do you wait? It can’t hurt! You’re sitting here in cold and dirt, and freezing as the sun goes down with no idea how far to town, or if there is a town at all or maybe you just had a fall, and you’re really lying in the dirt all bloody-broken-dashed and hurt…

I can’t! I’m…I’m afraid, alright? My brain feels fuzzy enough as it is, and all I had was a bit in a drink. I’m afraid what’ll happen if I try it…but you’re right…it is cold.
Maybe just -one- won’t hurt…

“Officials are still investigating the strange disappearance of 7 college students in the state park this weekend…so far the only clue to the mystery is an abandoned bag of aspirin.”

The Red Hood

She tucks her hair into her hood, tugging the fabric forward to shade her face. Kneeling, she opens the bag at her feet, checking that all within is as it should be. Satisfied, she stands, bag in hand, and without a further glance behind, sets out on her journey.

red as hood, black as night,
shadows shield me from her sight,
lead me when I start to stray,
that I might live another day.

mother moon hearken to me,
father darkness hear my plea,
hold me safe and free from harm,
and shield me under sheltering arm.

The moonlight filters sparsely through the trees, causing more shadows than she relieves. The girl in the hood slips silently among the shifting shades, all senses alert and poised for action. A tiny far off squeak is heard and dismissed. The death cry of some small prey, most likely. A moment later, she drops lithely to one knee, hand going out to hover over the damp leaf covered ground. Her sharp eyes scan the leaves, then move to a nearby bush…and she nods, decisivily. Standing again, she moves off in a different direction, eyes scanning the ground in front of her intently.

a howl of warning fills the air
a cry of mourning and despair
the red ones hunt! the speaker cries
and gulping, hard, I close my eyes

a shifting perfume on the wind
one testing sniff and it is pinned
closer than I like to see
the red hood knight still follows me

Shrugging to adjust her armor under her bright scarlet tabard and hood, she follows the trail, eyes intent and almost glowing with excitement and eagerness. Getting close now…she can almost taste the sour-sweat-and-blood that is the mark of the Beast she hunts. A howl rings out through the forest, and she snarls under her breath, eyes touched with disgust. Filthy murdering beasts. Momentarily, her senses are filled with the scent/taste/sight of hot apple pastries cooling on her Nona’s counter. She snarls again, and shakes her head, dispelling the image. No time for sentiment…it’s killing time.

running hard through forests deep
I dream of home, and warmth, and sleep
of friendly faces in firelight
anything but this cold flight

my heartbeat pounds within my chest
as if a bird fought in my breast
my legs are made for running far
but now each footfall seems to jar

Her breath quickens, along with her pace, as she feels the trail grow more obvious, easier to follow. The beast panics, running blind. Her grin is feral beneath the scarlet hood. Soon it will fall, and then it will end. Ever vigilant, she watches for an ambush, although she doubts there will be one. The beast is alone.

my breath is shallow, eyes are glazed
yet still I run. I am amazed
a-mazed I am, a mouseling, trapped
in territory long unmapped

I dare not turn my head for fear
of red-crossed knight who runs so near
I know she comes, I feel her eyes
I know her ears can hear my sighs

She shrugs her shoulders again to loosen the strap of the bag on her back, letting it slip into her hand as she runs. Reaching within she withdraws a gleaming silver knife with an enameled red cross for pommel, and a scarlet thong with a small glass flask hanging from it. Slipping the bag back behind her, the knife into a specially made pocket, and the thong around her neck under the hood, she continues forward, cautiously.

I stumble onwards through the night
my heart beats like a bird in flight
my ears hear running footsteps, nigh
as moonlight beams down from on high

one more stumble and I’m done
my traitor legs refuse to run
I crumple to the forest floor
let death come, I’ll run no more

She hears the dull thud of a large body hitting the ground ahead of her, and she hurries forward, ears alert to any further sound of movement. None comes, and she grins as she pulls the gleaming knife from its holder. Moving cautiously into the clearing, she sees the beast lying with its back to her, curled into itself, shaking with fear and exhaustion. The long grey tail matted with blood and sweat, the fur-covered ribs heaving with each panicked breath…it is harmless now. Only prey for the taking. With a quick prayer, she drips a bit of consecrated oil from the flask at her throat onto the blade, and shaking her head so that her hood falls down, she steps toward her prize. She will stare into its eyes as she…

moonlight shines on midnight black
the fall of hair hangs down her back
her deep brown eyes look shocked, afraid
as she stands before me, in scarlet arrayed

a tear runs down through matted fur
as overcome, I stare at her
she drops the knife from open hand
and weaves as if she cannot stand

I close my fear glazed eyes and wait
I know full well my future fate
I hear her drop down to her knees
in the clearing, beneath the trees

her words are shaky and unclear
her voice a ringing in my ear
I grit my teeth, and wait for death
each breath I take is my last breath

I feel her hand upon my face
I feel her fingers move, and trace
I hear her voice, and my heart shivers
with the pain and sorrow it delivers

She stares at the beast as she lies before her, oh-so-familiar features made strange and warped. But oh, those eyes. Those soft brown eyes that she had seen all her life, that she had thought gone forever. With one shaking hand, she reaches forward, turning the creatures muzzle and leaning down to lay her cheek against the sweat-matted fur. Cautiously, a long grey arm moves to hold her close…and she weeps. For the one before her…for herself…for the long wasted years. Curled up on the forest floor, the moonlight streaming down on them, she weeps.
“Ohhh…oh, Nona!”