The hardest thing for anyone with -any- “invisible” disability, mental or physical, seems to me to be that no one really believes it. As long as you are doing badly, dark days, physical issues, pain…it’s fine. But just as soon as you manage to drag yourself up from the bottom, it all of a sudden becomes a commonplace. Not a struggle well rewarded, but merely “Why didn’t you do that before?”.
They hold “normal people” up to you as if they were some goal that you are supposed to aspire to. “Normal people take daily showers. Normal people are social. Normal people…” Normal people can kiss my ass. I can’t think of anything I’d less rather be than “normal”. Normal people watch politics, reality shows, commercial/cable tv…and -enjoy- it! Normal people are “too old for cartoons”, even anime. Normal people believe everything someone posts on FaceBook, even when the same picture has been used a thousand times to solicit help for so many different causes no one can even remember what the original was. Normal people watch sports…well, the guy half, anyway. Normal people don’t take medications unless they have a cold, or they’re over 50. Normal people don’t collect “toys” from their favorite series or books. Normal people don’t read speculative fiction, unless it’s romantic, and then it’s ok.
Let’s pause on that one for a second…never mind that, as the quote almost said “it’s like having an affair with a cheese sandwich”…never mind the uber-teen-angst aspect…never mind all that. Since when did the paranormal/supernatural turn into todays fantasy romance? Not dissing the goth thing. Far from it. Full-fledged Fairy Goth right here. But seriously, people? Vampires and Werewolves in love triangles with poor confused women…notice that it’s almost -never- a human -male- having to choose between the woodsy, outdoorsy, sexy-feral wolf-chick and the sophisticated, refined, sexy-dangerous vamp-chick. Hmm. Maybe I should write one. Or mix it up. Gay vampire is a thing…and lord knows that Were’s and Bears would hit it off…so a confused young queer boy who doesn’t understand why both sides are attractive to him? *giggle* No, luckily for the world of Para-Romance I have more self-respect than that. ;p Besides, according to “rule whatever-it-is” it’s bound to be already out there. >.>
Ok, Wild Tangent exercised, now back to the original rant. It’s just frustrating to be the only one telling me how well I’m doing, and having to lift myself by my own bootstraps, figuratively speaking. And it’s downright painful to have people accuse me of not being sick, now that I’m doing better. Hard enough swimming upstream without the folks around me pouring poison in the water and strengthening the current by weakening me. I know all the explanations: “They’re jealous. They’re afraid you won’t need them. They need to be needed, so they sabotage.” Bull. In my case, while the first might be barely possible, it’s accompanied by so much straight out hate and paranoia that “unintentional sabotage” isn’t an operative phrase…it’s closer to “deliberate malfeasance”. Frustrating? Try infuriating, especially since there’s not a blessed thing I can do about it, not having that sort of temperament, little say the physical, psychological or emotional -ability- for that sort of nonsense. *shrug*
So yeah. It’s almost 5 in the morning, I haven’t written a word in weeks, haven’t even opened my laptop to play games…why should I, I have my phone for that? And so my brain rots slowly away, and my “curious appetites” get…well, curiouser and curiouser, if you’ll excuse the misquote. ;p So I get on tonight, for various reasons, and start looking at craft things. >.< Doh. Sooo many new toys!!! I need all the pretties and shinies! Mia and I are in a constant tug-of-war over all the bright beads and moldable plastics and jello-molds (No, dear heart, we need to actually -use- the ones we’ve bought before we can -maybe- justify buying more…no, not even the 100 count silicone gummi bear mold with the special dropper, I’m sorry. ;p) and so on, until I’m left to wonder…how in all the special hells of Hel do “normal folks” manage to keep from going insane and running ferret-shock through the internetz screaming “Shut up and take my money!”?
Also, is insanity different from creativity, and if so, how? Discuss. ;p
This is now over 700 words long, in case anyone is interested, and since I love you all to distraction…I’m gonna go and stop distracting you. Don’t worry, though…I’ll be back with more whinging and complaining and maybe, possibly, although don’t count on it, some actual creative work. Like a poem or story or something. Not just me/us rambling. Oh, and just in case it isn’t clear or you’re just tuning in to the Kyotzeta Channel…there’s only one of me. Promise. I’m BPD (or whatever new buzz-word they’re calling it now…;p) not MPD/DD. I just happen to have unusually talkative inner voices that refuse to stay inner, and since I’m my own best company, why the Hel not?
TTYL, my internetz!
KC, Mia, et al.
Once there was a little girl who was made out of paper. On the inside she was all empty and missing and gone, but on the outside people had stuck pictures and stories and questions and lies and truths and more stories about how they thought she was and what they thought she was like and they just kept putting more and more on until she had a nice paper shell on, all made out of what everyone else thought and felt and said about her. And she lived all alone, and she kept out of storms, because all the loud noises and yelling and words could tear pieces right out of her paper shell and just let it go it flying off into the wind and she’d never get it back, even if it was a part she really liked. And she stayed away from people in charge, which was hard, cause everyone was in charge, cause they could say things and do things and tear things off of her that they didn’t like, or didn’t agree with, or just because they felt like being mean that day, and she couldn’t do anything about it because there wasn’t any her inside to do anything so she just had to stand there and watch, with her paper eyes, as the pieces tore off (and it hurt, when they tore off) and flew away. And then one day one of the people she loved, one of the people who were closest to her, was sad and mad and scared and got really upset at something the girl did, and so she gave her to the really-in-charge people, and they took her away and locked her up in the dark and the cold and the wind kept blowing all the while they looked at her and she could feel the pages and pieces blowing off and off and off like a storm of her. And then they let her go, but she was so fragile then, her shell was so gone, that bits and pieces of the hole inside shone through, and scared the people around her, so she tried to put things back on, but they kept falling off, cause she didn’t know how to make them stick. Only other people could do that, but everyone didn’t know how many pieces she was missing, so they didn’t know to help fill in the gaps. And so she kept moving and going, cause what else was there to do, and the people-in-charge kept tearing and ripping at her, like dogs with a newspaper, and when she tried to tell them that they were hurting her, they just got angry and tore more, and told her that if she didn’t stop they would lock her up in the dark again and she knew that if they did that, that all her pieces would just fall off, and she’d dissappear forever, so she just kept trying and trying to hold things together, but pieces were falling off and she didn’t know what to do. She tried using lots and lots of glue to hold things on, but it made her sick, and sleepy, and didn’t really help, it just made things take longer to do and still the pieces fell off. She tried to ask other people to stick things back on, but it just confused them, and they got frustrated with her asking and asking and didn’t want to be around her anymore. She even went to the people who made the glue, and asked them what to do, but they said she had to learn to do it herself, and they couldn’t help, unless she felt like she was going to start tearing pieces off, herself, and then they’d lock her up and use lots of glue to stick new/old pieces back on, but she knew that that kind of glue only worked for a little while before it cracked and made things worse than before. And they kept telling her that she had to hold herself together, and keep doing what they said, or they’d lock her up in the dark again, and no matter what she said or did or didn’t say or didn’t do, they just kept tearing and tearing until she was so weak all she could do was lie in a pile and listen to the sound of pages fluttering off into the distance, more and more and then less and less until all that was left was one piece of paper and it had this story on it…and pretty soon now, that one will go too, and that will be the end.
And here it is again, the wonderful web of words, woven by writers who…nah, never mind. ;p It’s Fiction Relay time! Time once again for me to take up the spindle and weave us a tale, hopefully one that will inspire more and more to come! In case you haven’t read the previous weavings (all 46 of them, wow!) then you should follow this link to find links to all…or this one, to read the summary so far. I’m betting that you’ll like it, that you’ll have a good time, and hopefully come back for more!
They had taken 5 steps into the room, long enough for Ephraims pronouncement…when suddenly they found themselves in the hall again. An eerie green glow, the exact strength of Jose’s fizzled out light stick, barely illuminated the room. Any attempt to enter the room resulted in the same response, and finally they stopped trying, “milling around in the hallway like a pack of puppies” was the image that came to Jose.
Jose could feel his “part” in the legends approaching, and clutched his medicine pouch even tighter. Thanks to the stories he’d fed on all his life, and his simple knowledge as a mechanic, he knew that things were about to get -very- bad.
“Just give me a second here, guys…I wanna try something.”
As Jose moved further into the room, Sam could “feel” the resistance, almost a heat, that surrounded him. He pushed on, muttering something under his breath, something less like speech, more like…a chant? Whatever it was, it was working, as Jose -slowly- pushed his way into the room. Sams hand reached for Meaghans, for comfort…and then, because he could, here…he put the arm around her slim shoulders and pulled her to him.
Smiling in the dark, Meaghan curled against Sam, feeling the comfort of his large frame, and smelling/feeling that special scent that always meant “Sam”. “Missed you…love you…” Her murmured words were meant to comfort, but also to distract. His thought were too much on the room, on Ephraims “sight”, and honestly…it got in her way.
As she tucked Sam…and love…and Sammy…and love…away again in one tiny corner of her mind, the power surged forward again, as if she’d released some holding tank, and now it was free. She’d begun feeling it a while back, but kept quiet as it slowly worked its way into her brain. After all, that was what it wanted…and she wanted to give it what it wanted.
Ephraim shuddered, as Jose pushed his way into the room. Jose’s muttered words might as well have been english, for he understood every one. Watching Jose move into the room, he listened, closely, to the chant.
“Anansi! Come, bringer-of-tales, speaker to gods, come! I bring a story, untold! I, your birthed child, come bearing gifts! Gifts that will let you put down he who walks not in beauty, he who claims what is not his, or ever will be! I do not beg, but ask, as is my right as your birthed child…come, Anansi, come!
And with the last word, something seemed to flare around Jose…Ephraim saw, and Sam Saw, and Meaghan…or the power within…saw, and screamed! Screamed not in fear, but in challenge, her form seeming to swell for that moment, going from woman…to Woman…then back to Meaghan. The scream startled them enough to almost forget the form of the great huge Spider that had encircled Jose…and whose brightly glowing web he stood within…inside the room.
“It’s safe now…you can come in. The Widow holds us in her arms.” As they began to file cautiously inside, Sam still holding the now stiff with anger Meaghan in his arm, they could feel the web stretch, then part to let them in. As Meaghan approached, Jose bowed deeply to her, head to the floor at her feet. “Mother-of-us-all, be welcome here, here in Your space, here in Your body, and forgive us our small intrusion? We enter only to remove that One who wishes to control even You, in his impudence…”
Meaghan could feel the power within…relax, and seem to…forgive. She shrugged one shoulder, and chuckled. When the Voice came from her throat, they all started, except Jose, still on the floor. It seemed to fill the room…no, it was the room…no, it was the Mountain, speaking to them.
“Come, Anansi, come, little spider…you are not welcome here, but as you enter on a mission I greatly wish culminated…”
Suddenly, the Voice broke off, as she turned toward the front of the cave. “They come! The witches come! In their hundreds they come! My Children will stop them, for a while…but you must hurry, little spider. Whatever your plan is, whatever Trickery you have planned…you must hurry!”
Blue stared into the things eyes for a moment, too shocked to think…then her new-found power seemed to take over, for just a moment…and she ported, finding herself next to her beloved Bike, staring at the four Walls who stared into the distance, their eyes glowing the exact same red as the Not-Spence.
As she backed slowly toward the bike, one groping hand touched its saddle…and she gasped, as instead of the normal worn leather, its color matching her turquoise riding leathers…she held, instead, a huge lump of turquoise stone, its presence feeling comforting in her hand. A feeling, a prescence, came over her…so strong and somehow…familiar, that her normal cynicism was over-ridden, and she relaxed into it.
“My Daughter…you must come home. The witches come, in their hundreds, and you must Fight. Your Brother will come soon…he was delayed upon his way…but he will come, and in that moment, you will join together in Beauty, and defeat the witches. So it is said, so it is done.”
Blue “felt” her power come over her, her aspect pour through her veins, the turquoise chill within her. Inside, somewhere, a tiny Blue curled up within a turquoise room, a smile on her face as she waited for her Brother, her Love, her other half, to join her.
Well, there it is for now…now it’s up to Dawn, writer of Mouse-tails and Fiction Relays of the finest kind…let’s see what we get!
Okies, here we go again…it’s Fiction Relay time once more! If it seems as if it’s coming to me more often (is anyone complaining?) you’re right, but hopefully only temporarily. We’ve had a few sad departures, due to increased pressure from that horrible beast known as “Real Life”…and a few are just taking a quick break, but will be back with us shortly. But never fear, we are keeping the torch passing, keeping the light in the window, and all that sort of thing…so with no further babble, here is part (I think) 42!
Trotting after the three strange ones through the halls of the Club, Jose kept his fingers curled protectively around the tiny leather pouch in his jacket pocket. Feeling the butter-softness of the ancient medicine bag against his rough palm seemed to keep him grounded, keep him walking in beauty amongst the witches.
He knew it was necessary, for him to be here…had known it ever since the touch of the woman’s quick fingers on his wallet had burned through to his skin, cold as the breath of the Mountain itself. He had known that it was time, finally, and he had known pride that his generation would fulfill the promise…but it had taken all his strength not to turn and run, to leave this place and hightail it home, back among the People.
Until yesterday he had believed the stories, of course. As you believed all the stories. Of course they were true. Why would they not be? But true now…in this world…to suddenly be told that you are a messenger, and that your time is -now-…he took a deep breath, fingers once more caressing the tiny bag as they hurried out into the deepening dusk.
Alone again, the man known as Sanderson hopped back up into his favorite position, cross-legged on the marble-slab conference table, looking out into the coming night. As always, when unobserved, he faced the Mountain.
Beneath the layers, shorn of (most) pretence, he was much closer to the young man of Ephraims vision…the craggy cheekbones and deep-set eyes of ice-water blue under that waterfall of white hair gave him a startling resemblance to the Mountain that he tried to keep hidden.
Of course, he liked to believe that the Mountain had come to resemble him in some ways, as well. In order to keep him out, it had needed to let a bit of him in. To become more…flexible, less rigid. And in doing so, although it had taken him an eternity to prepare, to sacrifice…it had become its own undoing.
And now the tools were at hand. And now the first sally had been sent. And soon it would be seen if the arrows he had labored so long to create would make their mark…or break against its stony hide.
Melissa dreamed. And Raj was ready. He had been mustering his “strength” for this little exercise for a while now, and he was finally ready. Carefully, warily, he widened his area of focus, pushing his awareness out into the room around him a bit at a time, until finally “he” stood away from his motionless body. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the disgusting layer of sweaty-grimy-dirty-slime that was the psychic residue of thousands of weary travelers over the years, and made his way gingerly across the space that separated him from his sleeping target.
Halfway there, he received a rather nasty shock that set him back a bit…the coyote “statue” suddenly turned its glowing eyes in his direction, pinning him in place in a most literal fashion as he felt it heedlessly rummage through “him”. Whatever it was looking for, he must have passed, however, because the eyes dimmed again and the tension was released.
The incident shook him, but nothing would stay Raj from his goal, at this point. He’d been waiting far too long to let some little…totem, guardian, low rank ancestral spirit, whatever…get in his way. Ignoring the sound of quiet snickering, he pushed on until “he” stood staring down at Melissa’s sleeping form.
For a moment he simply stood, telling himself that it was necessary to gather energy before the final push…but knowing that he wanted to savor the moment, his final triumph against the murderous bitch who had tried to stop him. Staring down at her, he reached out an ephemeral “hand”, and traced the lines of her face…from this side, it was easy to see what the waking world could not. To see behind the semi-permanent illusion she wore, to the biggest secret she held.
Although their faces weren’t -exactly- identical…Meagan’s chin had a bit more point, while Melissa’s cheekbones were a touch stronger, for instance…the resemblance was crystal clear, and the relationship undeniable, to those who could see. How had it felt, he wondered, to give that up? To know that your closest relation…the closest relationship it was possible to have…wouldn’t recognize you? Wouldn’t even remember you? Was it worth it, in the end? Was the extra power worth the loss? Was that why she had never changed her name, trying to hold on to even that weak link to her twin? He shrugged, impatiently. Whatever. Time to play.
With a sound half laugh, half snarl, he moved to kneel over her on the bed, phantom hands on either side of her face. At the contact, she moaned, thrashing a bit on the bed, but didn’t wake. Gathering himself…literally…Raj brought his face down until his ephemeral lips touched hers. Her thrashing worsened, but her head was held still…and Raj grinned against her mouth, swallowing her increasingly desperate moans like fine wine. “Time to wake up, little one…wake up, and kiss me goodbye!”
An impatient snarl fell from his lips as her eyelids flickered, but didn’t open. Attempting to strengthen his hold on her, drag her up from her nightmares by brute force if necessary, he was distracted for just long enough. “Bitch! Wake your ass up, little whore! Wake uhhh…”
Gasping desperately for air, Melissa sat straight up in the nasty hotel bed, the remains of the dream still echoing in her mind. Shuddering, she curled into a ball on the cheap sheets, tears pouring down her cheeks, unheeded. Raj had been her first and greatest love…and her worst enemy, so far…but even he hadn’t deserved the fate served to him in her nightmare. The sound of his screams as the pack of wild…dogs? wolves? somethings had torn him apart would likely echo in her mind forever.
After a quick glance to make sure that the not-quite-a-corpse still sat in the lounge chair next to the bed, that its position of slumped, sheet-covered gloom hadn’t shifted…that it wasn’t, in point of fact, torn and shredded, bloody scraps all over the room…she curled into herself, all dignity gone, all restraint lost, and sobbed herself into an uneasy sleep once more.
And on the dresser, the eyes of the statue flickered. The shadows played around its muzzle, giving the impression, almost, of movement…if one were fanciful, one could even imagine it…laughed.
Whoops. Missed an important part of the game…passing the stick. Here y’go, Dawn!
(Once again I get to play in the awesome writers playground that is the shared story, “Suzi’s Saga” or “A symphony in Blue”. ;p Hopefully you’ve read some of the other chapters, but if not and you want to catch up, follow this link to find links to the other 37 chapters, and even the names of the perpetrators of this deed. Here’s to my fellow FR’ers…hope you like it!)
With a squeal born of pure rage and hysteria, Melissa stared wide-eyed at the apparition, the sudden appearance of the hated one temporarily destroying her fragile hold on sanity. Fingers like claws, she grabbed for Blue, trying to grab her collar, eyes still locked on Suzi’s. As Suzi’s mocking grin grew wider, Melissa’s fingers groped impotently, and she turned her head…and saw an empty seat.
“Wha…what??” She scrambled across to the door, tried the latch, and shook her head again, confused. “It’s still…still locked? But…” With a snarl, she turned on Suzi, eyes glowing as she gathered her power to her…only to find the window closed as well. Scrabbling at the latch, desperate for some explanation, some…sense, she heard the sound of car horns fade in, outside, and the rush of traffic.
The window slid open, and the voice of the driver drifted back, sounding bored and impatient. “You ok, lady? Need some help getting out? We’re here…” Baffled, she looked to the car windows, and saw the street in front of her hotel, as noisy and real as if it’d never gone away. “I…”
~Come on, Mel…pull yourself together, girl. Something freaky is happening…what’s new about that? But above all we can’t let anyone know we’re upset…or inconvenienced…in any way. Just breathe…~
With a deep breath and a brush at her ruffled hair, she spoke, pitching her voice low to sound in control. “No, this’ll be fine…thank you for making such good time. How much do I owe you?” The man shrugged. “Well, with the extra stop to pick up your friend, I guess…$40?” Bemused, she pulled the money out of her bag and paid, stepping carefully and slowly out onto the well lit pavement of the hotel entrance.
As she turned to go, the man called out. “Hey! Don’t forget your “luggage”!” and she heard the trunk latch click. Moving slowly still, she moved to the open trunk, and blinked at the blanked-wrapped bundle inside. For some reason she felt as if she should recognize it…didn’t it belong to her? But the memory fell from her confused mind like water, evaporating as it went.
Blinking again, she motioned to a bellman, and asked for help carrying the bundle to her room. Following the cart, locked in her own head, she made her way to the room. Placing the bundle on the floor at the foot of the bed, she slumped down beside it, one hand resting on it…and fell asleep.
As Blue opened her eyes, the familiar walls of Spence’s room at the compound fading into view, she burst into delighted laughter, picturing the look on Melissa’s face. “Oh, lord. I wish I was there to see it. Wonder how soon it faded? Hope she made it “home”…we still need her. Need all of them, unfortunately. For now. Until mom and I are together again…”
She sobered for a moment, turning the image she’d plucked from Melissa’s mind over and over in her mind.
~Hmm…I do kinda look like her. Good. More her than him, thank god. That’ll help her recognize me, I hope…if she can’t just feel me, like I feel her.~
Still a bit dizzy from the effects of the unexpected alcohol, and the brand new feeling of “Jumping”, she sat down on Spence’s bed, briefly considering how nice a quick nap would feel. Sighing, she shook her head, and stood. “Time to go get my baby back…and show that guy what happens when he drugs the wrong person.” Grinning happily, she strode out of the room, her steps confident and sure.
In the Clubs private dining room, its panoramic glass windows looking out over the beautiful view, dominated by the sacred mountain that loomed in the distance, three pairs of eyes stared at the man calling himself Sanderson. Jose, a confused look on his face, looked at them. “You did not know this? You did not know that this…this witch, this destroyer-of-beauty, was their leader? And yet you came seeking him…” His eyes thoughtful, he settled back in his chair, watching them all now, warily.
“Sanderson” laughed, the hearty laugh of a strong man, and nodded his head to one of the brick walls. “Bring me Spencer…I need to have a word with him, and I want these folks to hear.” With a nod, the man left. He moved surprisingly lightly and silently, although he had to turn sideways to fit through the door.
“So…” “Sanderson” turned back to face the others, winking at Ephraim as he did. “You must be “Ephraim”. The Seer. It is a pleasure to meet you again. I am pleased to see that you have learned discipline and discretion as you matured.”
Chuckling at Ephraims baffled expression, he turned to Sam. “And you would be “Sam”…the See-er.” He laughed at his own joke, even though the rest just looked puzzled. “Be careful how deeply you See…some things do not -wish- to be seen, and have the power to make you regret crossing them. On the other hand, you are the father of my favorite pupil, so I can forgive you much.”
“And last, but most important…my little Suzi. I’m glad you managed to find us again, despite your sisters efforts to the contrary. She never quite trusted me for some reason..”
Startled, Suzi opened her mouth…but shut it again as the brick wall returned, ushering in a young man of about 18. As he approached the table, she gasped, fingers tightening on the table, and glanced at Sam to see if he felt it as well. Finding him looking down the table at her, she mouthed “He feels like Sammy!” and watched him nod, once, before turning to watch as “Sanderson” began to speak.
The young man stood impassively in front of the big man, almost seeming to stand at attention, military style. “You asked to see me, sir?”
When “Sanderson” spoke, they all stifled a gasp…his voice had completely changed! This voice was that of a much younger man, although still older by far than the young man…a peevish and fretful voice, used to being in control but holding on to that control with both grasping hands.
Stealthily and warily, Ephraim risked a peek at him, controlling his reaction at what he saw. A man sat in the chair, balding and middle-aged, in an approximation of a military uniform. From the markings and the younger mans attitude, Ephraim deduced that he was of a high “rank” in whatever organization he belonged to.
“Yes, soldier, I “asked to see you”. I shouldn’t have had to! What were you thinking?” The young man, presumably “Spencer”, stared resolutely at a point just over “Sandersons” shoulder as he spoke, his voice crisp. “Sir…I was tending to an asset, sir. Per your previous instructions, sir.”
Ephraim watched as the shadow-man pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously a habitual gesture, and shook his head. “Spencer…son…she’s dangerous, you know that. I don’t want you risking yourself in case…no, -when-…she goes rogue.”
The young man seemed to pull himself even straighter. “Sir…understood, sir. With all due respect, I believe I can handle her, sir. She listens to me. And, sir…grandfather believes I can handle her. That is enough for me. Sir.”
The man bristled, fists clenched in his lap under the table. “Your grandfather is no longer in charge of this organization, soldier. He is unwell, and has turned all policy making and organizational matters over to me. And I -order- you to stand down re Private Blue. Just this once…do as I say?”
Startled, Meagan clapped her hands over her mouth, senses reaching out almost automatically to “read” the boy who stood before her. Recoiling as she felt the strength of his connection to…Blue…to Sammy…she glared at him behind her hands. Sammy is 14, for gods sake!
With a crisp salute, the boy half-turned to the door. “Sir, yes sir! Understood sir!” He turned and headed out the door, still speaking, but softly now, his voice fading as he stalked down the hall. “…comprehende…gotcha…dohn…comprendre…”
Shaking his head, “Sanderson” settled back, looking back to Meagan. (Ephraim watched the shadow-man fade, and the coyote-man come to the fore once again) “I apologize for that. The boy has his own brand of courage, true…but much like your Sammy, not an ounce of discipline.”
Meagan frowned at him. “I don’t understand…how can he be your son? I mean…I know you’re not…well, not human?”
He chuckled. “Ahh, but he is -not- my son. He is “Sandersons” son. And Sanderson is -my- son…at least as far as the Club is concerned. You understand that I am handing you some of the deepest secrets of the Club? And I know you’re all smart enough to wonder…what does he want, in exchange for these secrets? Well, I will tell you…”
(*giggles* On to you, Dawn! Have fun! *hugs*)
I need to make it clear,
the deadly way I feel,
that all the while I’m here,
this world is not quite real.
The floor beneath my feet,
the walls that box me in,
the voices on the street,
the screams beneath my skin.
My eyes within the glass,
my heart within my chest,
my too abundant mass,
a long unwelcomed guest.
I strain to breach the wall,
to shatter all the lies,
but still the wall stands tall,
and the world wears its disguise.
My fight will never end,
my dawn will never come,
my signal never send,
my voice is locked, and dumb.
The words come from my mind,
and from the deepest well,
and every line is signed,
with love, to you, from hell.
nursing invisible bruises, inflicted by words used like heavy hammers, pounding away at the core, printing their story for a trapped and desperate audience of one.
bandaging invisible scratches, deep and painful, grooves cut sideways through the music, against the rhythm of a life. sharp-nailed words and thoughts, expectations that can never be met, an oyster with no pearl.
sewing up invisible slashes, some shallow and weeping blood tears, some deep and gaping, deepest thought and belief open to the eye, ravaged and torn. how can they know, those who strike, the perfect spot to place the knife?
how do they know how to hurt, how to bruise, how to scratch, how to slice…how, finally, to kill? and how can they, and feel nothing themselves??
The deviant moon shines up above,
The paper lies naked before me,
I call to the words that lay all about,
But they only laugh, and ignore me.
I coax and cajole, I whine and I beg,
I promise them ice cream, or candy,
I throw temper fits, I scream and I hit,
Beat my head onto anything handy.
Finally, finally, they rise and they stretch,
And lazily saunter toward me,
And one after one, they crawl onto the page,
Like a present they brought to reward me.
I shake my head, sigh, and shift them around,
Like a puzzle, link one to another,
Obedient now, they slip into place,
Each one lying next to its brother.
I pet and I praise them, each adverb and noun,
I treat them with care and with love,
As they lie on the paper, so proud and so true,
And the deviant moon shines above.
My 25 word pitch for my book, Blue and Grey, is up for dissecting over at Madisons blog. If you want, run on over there, check it out, and give me your honest opinion…would you buy it? 😉
Edit: Since Madison has moved, I’ll put the pitch here, in case anyone digs and finds this post. 😉
Blue, an unwilling cat shapeshifter, and Grey, a master burglar and shapeshifting fox, form an uneasy alliance in a post-apocalyptic city.
This one is for/about a friend of mine in Sacramento. He inspired it, anyway, but it’s mostly just the picture in my head of that time.
Shot glasses and swastikas, buzz-cut and bowlered,
Trickster sits on my couch in the summer heat.
His facile tongue dances around words as casually
and as beautifully as a moth around a flame,
soaring and diving, in and out of trouble,
in and out of drama, melodrama, and foolish humor.
Taking side trips into blackest despair
before climbing back out again
to dance around the fire, laughing,
like a sacred clown.