tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68139898061151608262024-03-25T05:15:35.362-07:00Faerie Dust From The Enchanted ForestSherrie LeeFeathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-3949659926790805542023-12-31T19:20:00.000-08:002023-12-31T19:42:41.356-08:00My favorite colors<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzeXZkQl-19_saXH8wiRg0GvQ1DMKrX2cqmSOia_cDS0MvLU3VIRDcECfTDI_zlc7tUMtNosacYko1vjKCw6X4-7Q3g2zbwLM6oVUgJTjsYrOFCmK1ij9EV50r7M2EiU_iqq-CD5YNJXgNVRzKKR9-9pmVtnu4vWnbgedKQ2QuaIUsHplaNF4RWFzRUk/s2023/poker%20night%20031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2023" data-original-width="1239" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzeXZkQl-19_saXH8wiRg0GvQ1DMKrX2cqmSOia_cDS0MvLU3VIRDcECfTDI_zlc7tUMtNosacYko1vjKCw6X4-7Q3g2zbwLM6oVUgJTjsYrOFCmK1ij9EV50r7M2EiU_iqq-CD5YNJXgNVRzKKR9-9pmVtnu4vWnbgedKQ2QuaIUsHplaNF4RWFzRUk/s320/poker%20night%20031.JPG" width="196" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-60186125487527548622023-12-25T15:16:00.000-08:002023-12-25T15:16:39.248-08:00Adoration eternal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Eae7RVbn31y7Fn_FHwEKm5hDD7D5kJbzExvZZTAGbZPr1gdVAjSJbMXzLnXQ4x4CtQzYV_9uNqRA9cN4V1dkbhSkcrBUoVOaqMK5B3TeurYcaLbQ-KtvbMM1PVzv0W5AvauLqNu0ZtIV9NL8puVWba4Q0lEFHpTR5J_5KA14DfrwT02dCSS0F-x0V9U/s1184/005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="1153" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Eae7RVbn31y7Fn_FHwEKm5hDD7D5kJbzExvZZTAGbZPr1gdVAjSJbMXzLnXQ4x4CtQzYV_9uNqRA9cN4V1dkbhSkcrBUoVOaqMK5B3TeurYcaLbQ-KtvbMM1PVzv0W5AvauLqNu0ZtIV9NL8puVWba4Q0lEFHpTR5J_5KA14DfrwT02dCSS0F-x0V9U/s320/005.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><br /><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr">He watched from the branches above. He contained a morbid ghost much like her own, and much like her stubborn refusal to relinquish the phantom, he held on for dear life. There was nothing which could remove him from the darkness-no colour of brighter things. The Raven was a beacon, watching over the tossing seas. He was a lovely dark thing, a forever imprint, even beyound this world into the next.</p>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-15751169321742424342023-12-12T19:20:00.000-08:002023-12-25T12:21:59.656-08:00Feathershal<blockquote style="border: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Aq16OHNgiGFHl4g7oRhPkd11S4amubE2cPUzZUKSk23emr6rKYABIHzJs0v2aUfwFebCzYeRK7cp-4dCwqlu3qw6aPyccl0_LUoG_Uyky3_08U8jeHlkFQI9GhXVk5zRuL1eJgVQTaxCUBJhz3idi0QrLm4nNRZnAy5xJ2Ah_WZUtTSMXuwSQLmJhAA/s2304/sept%20sherrie%20018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="2304" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Aq16OHNgiGFHl4g7oRhPkd11S4amubE2cPUzZUKSk23emr6rKYABIHzJs0v2aUfwFebCzYeRK7cp-4dCwqlu3qw6aPyccl0_LUoG_Uyky3_08U8jeHlkFQI9GhXVk5zRuL1eJgVQTaxCUBJhz3idi0QrLm4nNRZnAy5xJ2Ah_WZUtTSMXuwSQLmJhAA/s320/sept%20sherrie%20018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p></blockquote><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: left;">She’s back there waiting, me thinks. Nah…just kidding. She’s always been waiting with me and watching the winking stars. We lay together, on the grass, blades frosted with tomorrow’s maybes. Yeah, that’s us there - me, the shadow, and the faerie. </p><p>I understand now. We die together.</p>Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-33343551077411380512023-12-10T14:35:00.000-08:002023-12-10T14:35:13.567-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0gJMvSirmFoKD6_X-SIQ_d1bz5eb1zkeLFPpiHCvkg187_Vs6DpOTg2A0kJ4NWZsTuTBSRpW627DilBP7eYWoYZiMCbVh30NMxePw3gcVhv9JkfalLCYqyw07a6GwhlWoPgKeYbDNi4jrM9k7eCInPnRloLchWeWoiRQClhuYOrCLLwpi2dib49YPo4/s2474/HostageTakeOver%20044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2110" data-original-width="2474" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0gJMvSirmFoKD6_X-SIQ_d1bz5eb1zkeLFPpiHCvkg187_Vs6DpOTg2A0kJ4NWZsTuTBSRpW627DilBP7eYWoYZiMCbVh30NMxePw3gcVhv9JkfalLCYqyw07a6GwhlWoPgKeYbDNi4jrM9k7eCInPnRloLchWeWoiRQClhuYOrCLLwpi2dib49YPo4/s320/HostageTakeOver%20044.JPG" width="320" /></a>She doesn't need a villain filter.</div><br /> <p></p>Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-54967761647065502222019-02-21T18:57:00.002-08:002023-12-10T14:24:52.109-08:00More and later and over time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkxXRTUWc8sP5Wnri_cSe-jUEzZtbxZXY-FgTOotcnNRNKDrYCXlST5NMSiLOmXXCMXzLDNoMefcRL6-iHJdVhR_UEcAnUqnnjdy_zuLYBRFNNR9G1XjUQ0OEf5gZevkBccEOVYwOOg6gHRitEbUWahWvgo5TtvJ-DtQamNuPtzkcLP9vXDOKU9cxW-k/s1007/IMG-7419AB.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="923" data-original-width="1007" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkxXRTUWc8sP5Wnri_cSe-jUEzZtbxZXY-FgTOotcnNRNKDrYCXlST5NMSiLOmXXCMXzLDNoMefcRL6-iHJdVhR_UEcAnUqnnjdy_zuLYBRFNNR9G1XjUQ0OEf5gZevkBccEOVYwOOg6gHRitEbUWahWvgo5TtvJ-DtQamNuPtzkcLP9vXDOKU9cxW-k/s320/IMG-7419AB.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />The easy thing to do would be to admit that I am crazy. In ways, I am. But the truth is something else entirely. There is always something hunting me as I hunt them. There is always something there which whispers strange truths into my ear keeping me tormented by reality.<br />
<br />
I can't stop knowing. With this knowledge, there is a desire to act upon this knowledge, but yet, I cannot always understand the big picture, you see.<br />
<br />
I think I want to tell the truth of it all. I think I want to try so hard to explain what happens now. It's different than before. Now, I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, and I feel so sick. There's something bad coming and I cannot stop it. I cannot pinpoint it either...mostly. This is because I cannot connect one with the other in this knowing.<br />
<br />
When they die, I feel it. When they're drawn away, I feel it. I feel when enemies are near. I feel when I am being betrayed. I feel that something is coming. I feel the energy shift and the air gets tight around me. I cannot remember and I don't know where I am. I shiver and shake, my heart races, my breath quickens.....I just know and hate knowing and being cursed with knowing. I hate this so much and wish I was dumb or ignorant or I don't know. I just wish I couldn't know that which I cannot grab hold to. Why do I have to know and not be able to fix it?<br />
<br />
I always wanted to cover up the truth with vampires and werewolves, you know. Because, you know, fantasy is always much more interesting than the truth. I wanted to tell stories about zombies and even silly little love stories too.<br />
<br />
I am tired. I am so tired of pretending that I don't see things and I don't feel a presence. I am tired of pretending I don't hear the words in my head, near my ear, and through the trees. For, these things are not stories. These things are why I cannot breathe anymore. They are why I cannot sleep. They are why I am allergic to all my food now. I cannot contain the knowledge and it's eating me alive from inside.<br />
<br />
Look, I don't know why, but I know things.... a lot...quite often. They won't leave me alone. It's not just about my imaginary friends anymore. It's like the whole world is moaning in pain and expecting me to do something about it, and I can't. It's like they're screaming in my ear and I can't pick apart the voices.<br />
<br />
I hate the dissociation afterward when knowing bombards my brain and strikes me that I am numb. There's just too much. There's just too much of this for me. It's only getting worse. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this? When I know, what am I supposed to use that knowledge for? If I warn people, they think I'm insane. If I attempt to reach out to the knowing, I get nothing. It's like this heightened intuition that comes to me when it wants to and all I can do is freeze and watch its weirdness happen.<br />
<br />
<br />
Just tell me...why does it even show itself to me in the first place. I think I just can't utilize it. I just don't know what to do. :(Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-42943577760946684422019-02-21T18:26:00.001-08:002023-12-10T15:02:59.144-08:00Natalie's truth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipT2oBRQuQuZ4g8yTwlERWo5wrS8poBcPXrfrWvXste9P_FCvf3ZkwHAVbFz4KV7oPWA3jrwOVhm4qoeWvPhdvwAraF5l9u0p4nLGk6LlWM43WTFAvcTmR4nFkG8tcHi0b-asRZT6IyU0ONOUxpxawpEyRXcDsprUqNKnQw_1g2X1BC37BuVAVb3faLdQ/s2859/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2859" data-original-width="2146" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipT2oBRQuQuZ4g8yTwlERWo5wrS8poBcPXrfrWvXste9P_FCvf3ZkwHAVbFz4KV7oPWA3jrwOVhm4qoeWvPhdvwAraF5l9u0p4nLGk6LlWM43WTFAvcTmR4nFkG8tcHi0b-asRZT6IyU0ONOUxpxawpEyRXcDsprUqNKnQw_1g2X1BC37BuVAVb3faLdQ/s320/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20077.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />It's been a while. It's been a long while, to be honest. I haven't written because my life has shifted again. Jake left me alone with them, long after my aunt died and shortly after our relationship failed. I moved from the house on Graham, the one where she died, yes. I moved and they came with me. I wanted them to. I asked them to come the day I packed the last of my belongings into the car. I asked them to come with me because it was just a nice thing to do, you see.<br />
<br />
It was warm that day, not too hot but hot enough to kick up dust. I had one more load to carry over to my new rental. I packed the rest and sat down by my old flower bed. I was sad, to say the least. Oh god, I was tormented by the move and leaving my little brick home. Then I thought of them, the ones out in the mimosas. I thought about the children that I would leave behind and the others.<br />
<br />
"Hello..."<br />
<br />
There was a breeze there, in those frilly decorative trees I love so much. I realized that I would also be leaving the mimosas. A friend of mine dug up a root and took it with her. Claims she will grow her own mimosa tree. I didn't do the same. I think I had other things in mind.<br />
<br />
"I know you're here. My heart hurts and it's because I'm leaving you."<br />
<br />
For 6 years I held their tiny hands in mine, feeling the pressure left there from their energy. I believed and I didn't believe, and that's why I started hunting them. The disbelief crossed the belief when I couldn't hear them for a long while. Then suddenly they would run squealing from behind the Graham house and across the front yard. I could hear their tiny feet pounding the ground as they run. Then I crossed the threshold again into belief...faith.<br />
<br />
"I don't want to leave but I have to."<br />
<br />
The sadness was palpable. I could taste the bitterness of it. I did not want to leave them and I think it was the worst part. I stared at the brick wall directly opposite of her death bed. I knew she would come with me, but what of the children?<br />
<br />
"Come with me. I want you to come with me."<br />
<br />
I cried then. Shortly after, I left Graham house for the last time.<br />
<br />Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-53912843491599513492016-08-02T21:30:00.001-07:002016-08-02T21:30:29.094-07:00I am you and you are me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IdPMQkgv7o0/V6FzLPaGWvI/AAAAAAAABhA/Q6JaqIq-yTcl3cKjan8pFt-5XNu0KLxSwCLcB/s1600/decapitated.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IdPMQkgv7o0/V6FzLPaGWvI/AAAAAAAABhA/Q6JaqIq-yTcl3cKjan8pFt-5XNu0KLxSwCLcB/s1600/decapitated.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-43379035262370043802016-08-02T20:19:00.000-07:002023-12-10T15:33:27.009-08:00The solomn hypnotic<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSm3dX1NR35_OFpkU-DMUsfgYHJXiQwU6ek8BhGfnQ9s4dopOdg0tCHnH0Dc7Vdvat9VXTBDcOLbMCObr681AbylShbds29uzREOcgduo9_1tSLhV-Ta26DWIznBwn0osf2yFTJA3k_rCi7FSjBprUxXICY0aMwhqVUnoStkMCATo3evqZ314PUHLFlaA/s3872/awesomeness%20288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3872" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSm3dX1NR35_OFpkU-DMUsfgYHJXiQwU6ek8BhGfnQ9s4dopOdg0tCHnH0Dc7Vdvat9VXTBDcOLbMCObr681AbylShbds29uzREOcgduo9_1tSLhV-Ta26DWIznBwn0osf2yFTJA3k_rCi7FSjBprUxXICY0aMwhqVUnoStkMCATo3evqZ314PUHLFlaA/s320/awesomeness%20288.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />"Can you hear me?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood beneath the withered trees and the climbing castle towers, and I was here again to find him. Looking to my right, I saw a pathway winding through a thin cluster of trees. It was always a place that looked like madness. My soul gravitates toward darkened pathways, lonely sidewalks and avenues between churches and two-story southern homes left vacant and dusty. On the left, I saw the church and right beside it was the old two-story white house. The shadows between the two ran striped patterns across the grass.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I was always here, moving between mimosas, oaks, and other spindly little trees. For, I have yet to leave my past behind and cannot grow old despite my age. I was hollow again, my heart ached as if I had lost something. Maybe I had lost something, a thing fairly tall and dark as everything around me. I could have been something that barely slipped across my fingertips and dropped away, or maybe I was just fantasizing. But I could not call out to the thing because I was terrified of the silence between us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am imagining things again, aren’t I? It is lost but it doesn’t know it’s lost.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spoke to one who was holding my hand, the dark thing chirped and whirred like an insect. It was a culmination of all I had hoped for, the dark thing, she was. She was a compiled form that was taken away slowly, and with cold severance. But in quiet, while no one was looking, I whisked her away to myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was here, I thought. I looked at my hand again and it was gone. Turning my palm to my face, I saw nothing but remnants of black smoke gently gliding up into the navy blue sky. The tendrils of darkness danced between the withered fingers of the trees and then disappeared.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I was too old for this. I was too old to play in the dark world that I had created. I brought her back to help me and she showed me that everything and everyone was gone now. She laughed despite my terror.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You are there or you are here. There is no in-between, my dear.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I rode the in-between like it was the firm stitch in the cloth of my ratted tattered gown. I was torn, torn as the hem of my gown. I wanted to lie in the crisp bright day, the sun warming my skin and the birds reminding me that I was smiling, but…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You cannot ride the in-between.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a revelation or sorts, but the same revelation heard over and over, years and decades before. Dare say I felt a few centuries in my soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shhhh, it’s a secret. Look between the church and white house. He waits there for you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A dark figure pronounced that my surroundings weren’t that dark at all, at least not as dark as he. I moved toward him but tripped falling to the pavement. An ebony bright puddle of water looked up at my me. But it was a cold white fabric face, stitched as well. I removed the mask and I saw her there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He doesn’t know who you are.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was pale, dark-eyed and framed with dark red hair. My face was my own, but it was hers as well. I had been crying and it marred thick bands of darkness around my eyes. I followed trails of blood to the corners of my mouth. For a moment, I saw curtains of dark glitter fall all around my messy face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I have failed. I let the moment pass and now it was too late. Is he still there, dark one?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked up from the puddle and the alley was bare. I saw movement in the trees and then figures weaving in and out from behind the church walls. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who are they.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They don’t know yet. They’re waiting for you to name them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stop this! Stop this madness! Help me!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She reached pulling me from the road and from my shame. A distant bell sounded and I knew it was midnight. But midnight didn’t matter anymore and the moon was still large. All the things I had created were somewhere playing a role or waiting to exist again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was standing between a school and a church glaring toward the soft grass by the old white house, and the castle loomed above it all. There were roads in all directions and the one I stood upon started to shift between gray and black. Amidst the melancholy detail of my existence, I could almost see her form, solid. Flittering things made the air look blurry blue across her back. I could smell the rose scent coming from her skin. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why did you think I could help you? This is your doing. You are the one who cut it away. The fabrics of many colours-the coats, to be religious about it, you divided them, crumpled them and set them aflame!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I did. I was coarse, hard and unrelenting. The dark figure embraced me and I screamed until every shadow disappeared and the earth was heaven counterfeit. I watched the shadows move away, handsome in features, dark eyes, dark hair and a softness that cradled my heart. I couldn’t see it, nor could I feel it and so the complacency of it all gave way to false hope and comfort. Did I kill it? No, but surely there was no difference between death and this wretched agony.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If only I could touch his fingertips-the one that surely waits within the trees.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Her dark figure was the only one before me. All around the little houses and the winding roads-they were silent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“ Help me find him, please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She leaned close and wrapped her own filmy form around about me. She pulled my stitching tawt and wiped the dark blood from beneath my eyes. Her eyes were mine and mine were hers, as everything else about us. I cried again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Open your mouth.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She bent forward as if to kiss me. I saw it, there in her mouth, a winged thing. It fluttered, passing from her lips to mine and I gasped. The dust from its wings coated my tongue and the roof of my mouth. She closed my mouth and pressed the palm of her hand against my lips. I felt the thing flitter and flop inside my mouth. I whimpered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shhh”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She kissed my cheek and felt her smile against my skin as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now, close your eyes.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DQnZ7v0X4z8/V6FlBUMgJqI/AAAAAAAABgo/nBE6GzQXUFAdQle7ukD0bo5dBnECde4YQCLcB/s1600/painting%2B463%2B-%2BCopy.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DQnZ7v0X4z8/V6FlBUMgJqI/AAAAAAAABgo/nBE6GzQXUFAdQle7ukD0bo5dBnECde4YQCLcB/s320/painting%2B463%2B-%2BCopy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-83775570781489983262016-08-01T20:32:00.003-07:002023-12-10T15:04:24.230-08:00Come in. Have a seat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPJmE9pq-YGgWJcW1J5ODmI26nMlj8DNsqJuXQEghXNub_8vvoX6v6h9GB1_wDHiC8ginKuX170acR842XfLigahH1Lu59MAOe8I6kK41TPqWYRgOzhV2VCXD3xcobFNzPLLfJBU9ax8BlME7egwnWk9k-sGWytAQE34RMqEPoBv-oxt5xDhmvhqLXtQ/s4288/something%20new%20029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPJmE9pq-YGgWJcW1J5ODmI26nMlj8DNsqJuXQEghXNub_8vvoX6v6h9GB1_wDHiC8ginKuX170acR842XfLigahH1Lu59MAOe8I6kK41TPqWYRgOzhV2VCXD3xcobFNzPLLfJBU9ax8BlME7egwnWk9k-sGWytAQE34RMqEPoBv-oxt5xDhmvhqLXtQ/s320/something%20new%20029.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />Hello darlin'. Nice to see you. It's been a long time.Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-73302151487693142202016-07-31T23:21:00.002-07:002023-12-10T16:04:54.013-08:00What I am thinking now August 1, 2016<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
My mind is a-swirl with some of the same things and yet, difference has made an appearance as well. As you may or may not know, I am medicated for the most part, but this is what I have done:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have stopped taking the spirit killer because I couldn’t breathe. There was no motivation to leave the couch and there was no fire to fight with. I wanted to sleep most of the time and my chronic physical pain helped with that as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh this is so boring, so boring! Basically, I am holding tight reigns on her and it’s more difficult than you think. She burns within, bursting through every layer of my defenses. Somehow I manage to keep the outer gate closed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How much more? How can it be so damning to yearn for release. I am so tired. So unbelievably tired of having no pasture for my fairy to run, no ocean to swim and no forests to frolick. I am in pain, literal pain. This restraint is breaking me in two.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just my thoughts, I should sleep<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
If she lets me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwa5BpvM9yKQOFXmAmI3waQkNU31eLLE5gn90IMxrbv9gj4I9kwA5kV5y6umHn6vwBUyHi_7a2eI1O4yBkxuyAYf5G2v_myWUoqOfu5gAvWjgpkwstrn93gFbxrpKdu5mebcgoiZXA6neaid7W5edATYy5mXmUTav92J6H2xph3orP_cpA0ptCvee5Hu8/s720/Sherrie%20Finals-1835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="720" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwa5BpvM9yKQOFXmAmI3waQkNU31eLLE5gn90IMxrbv9gj4I9kwA5kV5y6umHn6vwBUyHi_7a2eI1O4yBkxuyAYf5G2v_myWUoqOfu5gAvWjgpkwstrn93gFbxrpKdu5mebcgoiZXA6neaid7W5edATYy5mXmUTav92J6H2xph3orP_cpA0ptCvee5Hu8/s320/Sherrie%20Finals-1835.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-91284956186680300762016-07-31T22:38:00.000-07:002023-12-25T12:27:53.537-08:00Natie and Jake, she's here now<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15RDcuglFGlZKxoZAvP18FjEqaeyfjnmhVurPUs07NMctF9OyhFG7h2OHiuAgRD0hWj-KFSRNp3P35WIysixuB75QnR50zAk9Jd-Phyphenhyphencjfkx-_HNoxJoqOueaIPe6Z2mvUVbc-rviNwJEHQ7B8t5iKY9FBgB_hhhjWsicf7zs-tZuNpUgS07Z3nNGOLI/s4288/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15RDcuglFGlZKxoZAvP18FjEqaeyfjnmhVurPUs07NMctF9OyhFG7h2OHiuAgRD0hWj-KFSRNp3P35WIysixuB75QnR50zAk9Jd-Phyphenhyphencjfkx-_HNoxJoqOueaIPe6Z2mvUVbc-rviNwJEHQ7B8t5iKY9FBgB_hhhjWsicf7zs-tZuNpUgS07Z3nNGOLI/s320/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20096.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>He took several pictures of the outside wall while I stared into the mimosas. The blooms were gone now, and large pods covered the ground beneath the trees. As I stepped into the foliage, carcases of seed pods crackled and shifted with the weight of my feet. I was pulled away from my grief momentarily by the speech of their dry dead bodies. Dead, they were dead too, come and gone so fast and no one cared. Does anyone really care about anything after its dead for a while?<br />
<br />
“Natie look!”<br />
<br />
I turned toward Jake who stood directly in front of the back brick wall of my house. He was staring at the pictures he had taken just a moment ago. Something was obviously stealing his attention.<br />
<br />
“What is it, Jake?”<br />
<br />
He turned to me and smiled. His shaking hand revealed that he wasn’t altogether happy, part of him was terrified.
“Look at this.”<br />
<br />
Jake pushed the camera toward. I took a look for myself. The picture was nothing special at first, just a brick wall with a high window. Then I saw what he was talking about. It was a face, or at least, it looked like a face.<br />
<br />
“It’s her, right?”<br />
<br />
I didn’t speak for a moment. I stared at the window with the image smeared onto the glass. It wasn’t that clear and so I handed the camera back to Jake.<br />
<br />
“I’m not sure. I cannot tell who that looks like, if it’s really a person at all. I think it’s possible that you could be grasping at things. My son could have pressed his face against the glass and made that impression, you know.”<br />
<br />
But I did notice the face and I didn’t remember my son pressing his face against the glass, yet I didn’t want to get too excited or frightened, not yet.<br />
<br />
“Natie, that’s a face, and see…” Jake clicked through the images. “Here’s another one, but the face is gone. Oh Natie, that ghost is in there, and it wants to contact us.”<br />
<br />
I stared at the clear window in the photo. I was terrified by the fact that my aunt could be in that room, the room where my children sleep every night. The nightmare images flashed momentarily through my mind and I shivered. The thought of Franklin was completely gone now, only the thought of coming face to face with a dead thing prevailed.<br />
<br />
“Jake, do you think we should stop?”<br />
<br />
Jake put his undivided attention on my face, then my chest and then my face again. “I…I don’t know. What do you want to do?”<br />
<br />
I took the camera from Jake and looked at the images again. There in one image was a face, and in the next one, nothing at all, Just the edges of the curtain.
“Take another one, Jake.”<br />
<br />
Jake took a couple more pictures of the window and then took pictures of the wall, the mimosas, and a few pictures of me.<br />
<br />
“Smile babe.”<br />
<br />
But I didn’t want to smile. I wanted to cry and go somewhere else, but I had nowhere else to go.
“Let me see the pictures.”<br />
<br />
Jake chuckled softly and looked down at the camera. He clicked to the viewing screen and nodded. “You are beautiful in front of the Mimosas. The green of the leaves contrasts with your red hair…sexy.”<br />
<br />
“Jake, can you get on with it. Do you see anything?”<br />
<br />
Jake clicked and clicked until he stopped. I saw his face change, his smile dropped.
<br />
<br />
“What is it?”<br />
<br />
Jake looked at me and then back at the screen.<br />
<br />
“Is the face in the window?”
But the face wasn’t in the window, and the face wasn’t looming within the mimosas.<br />
<br />
“Look, don’t freak out.”<br />
<br />
“Give me that!” I snatched the camera from the idiot who thought it was better to drag things out.<br />
<br />
Maybe a face wasn’t in any of the other pictures but there was a face in the image on the view screen. It was a picture of me standing by the wall, and there within the bricks were the contours of a face. Rounded surfaces pulled the hardness of the wall into a bulging image. It seemed to be scowling. Dark brick eyes were glaring at me.
I didn’t mean to, but I dropped the camera. Thanks to the dead pods from the mimosa, Jake’s camera was cushioned and safe.<br />
<br />
“Jake?”<br />
<br />
“Yes Natie.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t leave. I’m scared.”<br />
<br />
“Okay, sure.”<br />
<br />
Later that night, as Jake and I sat at the dining room table, I retraced everything we had done. We tried phantom writing, we tried EVP, Pictures, and video and checked for temperature changes. We even kept a close check on the electromagnetic readings. I was exhausted and the hard chair was hurting my butt. I stood to give my tailbone a little relief, and my chair moved backward of its own volition.<br />
<br />
“Jake! Did you see that?”<br />
<br />
Jake’s mouth was hanging open so I assumed he saw it too.
“Yeah, I saw that.”<br />
<br />
A soft tapping started somewhere near the refrigerator which was behind Jake and across the room. The tapping grew louder and then cereal boxes, and a cake plate flew from the top of the refrigerator and across the room. I screamed and tackled Jake in his chair. One hand was full of Jake’s leather jacket, gripping just as his shoulder, while the other hand hugged him for protection. He pulled me off him and stood to face the clutter.<br />
<br />
“wow. I think we’ve started something.”
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-43730324680238005062016-07-27T23:44:00.002-07:002023-12-25T12:29:07.792-08:00Natie and Jake should take inventory and counsel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdmNEALTqTTPil9_f_UbTBh63fhKWeyqnrxw3-Kk5OsSF0A01JXnS6fbjWkX-xIyJNGUPvyh3gv1SUAI6eN5KSUvoKiutOj3A7gAAYINIDnifh50vMIsw6u51LKgdAqVb9xo1Xlp2jR3um-6xTos47tTjUIMjhekr9fi_DqaGxOjyctoHq5o_UZjow2U/s4288/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdmNEALTqTTPil9_f_UbTBh63fhKWeyqnrxw3-Kk5OsSF0A01JXnS6fbjWkX-xIyJNGUPvyh3gv1SUAI6eN5KSUvoKiutOj3A7gAAYINIDnifh50vMIsw6u51LKgdAqVb9xo1Xlp2jR3um-6xTos47tTjUIMjhekr9fi_DqaGxOjyctoHq5o_UZjow2U/s320/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20084.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Even the cheap gadgets worked. Those little phone apps were more than I had bargained for. Now Jake was angry at me about Franklin, and I did sleep with Franklin. I just wish that Jake wasn’t right and I had to figure out a way to get his attention off the whole ordeal. Because I wasn’t cheating on him now and Franklin had been out of the picture for weeks.<br />
<br />
“Jake, stop being a jerk.”<br />
<br />
“I will stop being a jerk when you tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you’re not sleeping with my best friend.”<br />
<br />
I didn’t want to lie but I wanted to lie to Jake. How would I do it?<br />
<br />
“Listen, you know that app is full of crap, right? It’s ridiculous, Jake, please stop being so jealous. It’s just a name, it could have been any name, for that matter. Come on, I need you to help me contact my aunt.”<br />
<br />
Jake wasn’t convinced and I knew he would come back around to this topic sooner or later. I just wanted to buy some time and try to smooth things over. After all, Jake and I weren’t really together when I was seeing Franklin, so I didn’t understand why the app would say his name.<br />
<br />
As I struggled to get a hold on my situation, I felt the goosebumps rise up on my arm. I realized it was cold in the living room.<br />
<br />
“Jake? Can we check the temperature readings now?”<br />
<br />
I didn’t know what he was thinking, but he stood and gathered his camera and EVP metre. Then he put them down again. He was confused, running his hands through his hair. He picked up his equipment once more than looked at me. Even an adulterous girlfriend couldn’t keep him away from his ghosts. Even I, as complicated as I was, could not drag Jake from his own reality. Jake wasn’t a jerk, he was magnificent. It’s just bad timing for us and I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant as pie from here on out. But I was desperate. Jake looked at me and he could see the desperation and sadness in my face.<br />
<br />
“You really need this don’t you?”<br />
<br />
I was caught off guard by his words, but I caught on. “Yes, she died in there and going in the closet isn’t good enough.” I motioned toward the back bedroom. “ That corner has been dark ever since. I think she wants me to come to her, the cold place, you know.”<br />
<br />
“I got it. Let’s go. Grab the other camera. Oh and, bring your phone too. Make sure that ghost hunting app is still on.”<br />
<br />
“Are we going in there, in the room?”<br />
<br />
“No, I have an idea.”<br />
<br />
I never heard Franklin’s name again as we walked behind the house. I heard a few other strange words like ‘syringe’ and ‘number’, but no ‘Franklin.’ I guess the ghost was done being comical and devious. I guess it’s fun for the dead to watch the living squirm under pressure. They were the real jerks. Suddenly I felt bad for calling my aunt a jerk because my aunt was among that throng of the dead. I wondered if she was playing havoc with me and enjoying the torture.<br />
<br />
“What about here? Is it this window or the one on the other side?” Jake stopped and looked around the yard.<br />
<br />
I looked up at the high rectangular windows and shivered. “It’s these windows. Why are we outside the room, Jake?”<br />
<br />
“Because sometimes the spirits lurk outside the room they died in. They are scared of that room, almost as much as you are. She could be wandering anywhere outside these windows, even in the woods behind us.”<br />
<br />
I spun around and gazed into the darkened center of the woods. Vines and saplings invaded the yard and high limbs from trees tickled my head with dying leaves. I jumped back by a sudden scratch from above.
“The woods are too close here, Jake.”<br />
<br />
“Why do you say that?”<br />
<br />
I leaned against the brick wall and whimpered. “I’m scared, Jake. What if she is still mad at me?”<br />
<br />
“What do you mean, mad at you?”<br />
<br />
I looked at him, pouring every fiber of sadness into the air between us. I wanted him to read my mind, but I forgot that he couldn’t do that. I wanted him to hold me then and I wanted him to forgive me about Franklin. Jake knew why I was scared. He kept telling me that it wasn’t my fault, but I knew better. It was my fault.<br />
<br />
She was coming for me, pushing through the fabric between purgatory and the living. She was already in my dreams, along with blood and exorcisms and screams. I saw knives cutting flesh and I saw a door opening. There behind the door was her face. There on the table, being rid of his demons, was my father, who was also dead. My aunt and my mother, both dead as well, were holding him down while my son took a knife to his throat. I instructed my son to kill him, and he did.<br />
<br />
“I am not your father. You cannot kill me.”<br />
<br />
“Hey! Natie, are you okay? What do you mean? Why would your aunt’s spirit be mad at you?”<br />
<br />
I couldn’t speak. I kept seeing her face coming back to me. She kept coming back.<br />
<br />
“Natie, why would she be mad at you? What did you do?”<br />
<br />
“I killed her, remember? I killed them all.”
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-71708909395963154232016-07-07T23:26:00.003-07:002023-12-25T12:30:54.851-08:00Jake and Natie, sleep will never come<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIIbGQkeFiU95CVlqzpHw75tVUfeg6rFhNao2iOP8BacN1faX49M5zFq1ywK9ekD90acP5yI1dAKs44gLMVC84Q-sNnka5BQ45NVmjICWkmmfk1xXpcy_K_ESLy33Y8oTRwqueNHIo0tjNNizQgNQGAEJmEHujgTM9_r_-p9ica3Xl8Zj8Z_XJfwHVH8/s4288/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIIbGQkeFiU95CVlqzpHw75tVUfeg6rFhNao2iOP8BacN1faX49M5zFq1ywK9ekD90acP5yI1dAKs44gLMVC84Q-sNnka5BQ45NVmjICWkmmfk1xXpcy_K_ESLy33Y8oTRwqueNHIo0tjNNizQgNQGAEJmEHujgTM9_r_-p9ica3Xl8Zj8Z_XJfwHVH8/s320/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20101.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
He left me in the closet with a pen and piece of paper. It
was an exercise, he said. It was a way that she might choose to come through
for me. All I had to do was close the door and be silent. It was dark and I
could not see the pen nor the paper, and this was how Jake wanted it. I was to
place the pen against the paper and wait for her to write for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How long does this take, Jake.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Be quiet, Natie. I don’t know but I’m sure it’s not going
to work if you are talking.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I waited. I tried not to will my hand to move or not to move
and it was weird. It was no different than the Quiji board, no different than
holding that little plastic thing together with everyone else’s shaking
fingers. In the closet, all I could do was listen to my breath and forget that
my fingers even existed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jake, I don’t like this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake ignored me. He refused to carry on a conversation
during the serious exercise, well, he thought it was serious. I was growing
weary of all the tricks and exercises and I wanted something real. I wanted to
get out of the dark closet and sit in the living room. I just wanted to use the
recorder or take pictures. This phantom writing stuff was crap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jake please….”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He opened the door. It was obvious that he was peeved at me
from the look on his face. His dark hair was disheveled and his forehead was
creased. Jake reached in and took the piece of paper from my hands. He froze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you do this? Did you write this?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake held the paper in front of me as I climbed from the closet.
There was a word scribbled at the top of the page. I looked at him and then
back to the page. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I didn’t write anything, Jake.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake pushed the paper into my face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s this then?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the top of the page was the name ‘Franklin’.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Whose Franklin, Natie?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I…I don’t know, Jake. I didn’t write that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake’s eyes grew wide and he smiled. “Natie, do you know
what this means? If you didn’t write this, then someone else did and you were
in that closet alone…but you weren’t really alone. Do you see?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I realized that I was never alone in that closet and so I
jumped away from the closet door immediately. I looked back inside only seeing
my clothes and shoes. There was nothing or no one else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jake, I was alone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No Natie, you were in there with a ghost, babe. It was her!
I just don’t understand who Franklin is. She never talked about anyone named
Franklin.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How do you know it was her, Jake?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake was silent. We both walked back into the living room
and sat down. He picked up his phone, which was set on the Halloween ghost
meter app. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jake”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ghost meter spoke Jake’s name and immediately got his
attention. Jake stared at the screen watching the radar needle spin around and
around. He looked at me and smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How’d you like that, Natie. It said my name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ghost detector spoke again. “Franklin”. And again, “secret”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake put his phone on the couch and turned to me. His eyes
traveled from my eyes to my hands. He noticed how I wrung my hands and
scratched at my jeans because I did. He looked back into my face and silently
wondered who Franklin was, silent until he asked me again. And he should ask me
because I do know a Franklin, a few of them actually. What he wanted to know
was why did my aunt want to talk about a guy named Franklin. I don’t even know
if this was her or not. It could be a demon, they say that demons masquerade as
loved ones to draw us into their trickery. This could be a demon, yes, a demon.
But I did know a Franklin and he was going to ask me, I just know it and ….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Whose Franklin?”<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-27716805878709629662016-07-07T22:42:00.003-07:002023-12-25T12:36:45.503-08:00What I'm thinking- July 7, 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRyN9s5tIdLvKIed6OUXwBO9ejnXhBenw-Ix_9KKqJlAzhpPVKaiOYFZpTDiYERZkD65KT95APHbMFc-N1fFn6l9X2E2SlMwMfGGM7k3rMzFEJvt9WYgPKYo8wQGZZWtH93ZTpoRnMtVrr2wMFefAsOvmJbs9nSMkEyVqTfnOlHmxGbQPFyN-wzBudpo/s4288/DSCF2227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRyN9s5tIdLvKIed6OUXwBO9ejnXhBenw-Ix_9KKqJlAzhpPVKaiOYFZpTDiYERZkD65KT95APHbMFc-N1fFn6l9X2E2SlMwMfGGM7k3rMzFEJvt9WYgPKYo8wQGZZWtH93ZTpoRnMtVrr2wMFefAsOvmJbs9nSMkEyVqTfnOlHmxGbQPFyN-wzBudpo/s320/DSCF2227.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
The aftermath is never filled with writing fodder. Honestly, I don’t know why I came here at all. I guess this is the last frontier. I saw the beauty of Jupiter and I wanted to go. It’s creamy milk clouds swirled with dark brown storms and winds making its moon stand out in detailed glory. Lo and behold the splendor of the artist’s rendition of the Great Red Spot. Excuse me while I capitalize whatever I please. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I sit there, growing fatter by the hour because of some strange sleep hormone and all the posted signs. I hate this torture, this caged bird mentality that my sleep holds me sway. Tomorrow, I shall try again to put one foot in front of the other in a neighborhood safari, but the forest still calls-oh God! The agony is too great and call me ungrateful if you wish. Say that I am spoiled because I have everything that I want! Say it!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the aftermath of all this death is still not affording me something to talk about. I do feel another one coming on, another premonition of some great legend dying and some injustice waiting in the wings. But it’s just like always, from the time of my birth until now and it will never change. It’s like the calm face of the woman whose husband was gunned down in front of her, it’s life and life to me is this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will take two steps to your one but I will never know where I am going.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you understand?<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-8251411085765269682016-06-25T21:29:00.005-07:002023-12-25T12:39:21.569-08:00What I'm thinking--June 25, 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLK11WgZwx3pN0x49J8W1fTtBWufGkdZqk1kUt4gnqf0mrXi7oD1-8VtMDlAgEAVfV6LHzb8R6VDd2nAkBq-2WByQBO065uvah3ZrYmpjUXfLSBEPsmi7EoJNi50nCUSPj1wGYLdlTT_DVXs82KMMwmwQ-HfVTIDoeeLttx3cWnvDkaZygy9ZI0nRPhQ/s640/another%20bite%20028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLK11WgZwx3pN0x49J8W1fTtBWufGkdZqk1kUt4gnqf0mrXi7oD1-8VtMDlAgEAVfV6LHzb8R6VDd2nAkBq-2WByQBO065uvah3ZrYmpjUXfLSBEPsmi7EoJNi50nCUSPj1wGYLdlTT_DVXs82KMMwmwQ-HfVTIDoeeLttx3cWnvDkaZygy9ZI0nRPhQ/s320/another%20bite%20028.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
I came across my anger, as if I had never seen it before. It was alien and unstoppable. All around the room, their faces made me mad. It was the inconsistencies, the lies and the ignorance which set my mood aflame. I wanted to say “I will not suffer fools”, but that would be too cruel. I love them, all of them, I do. It’s just that sometimes I have to be hard to stand my ground. They tell me to express my inconveniences and my issues, but do it in a civil manner. Whenever I try to be civil, I am met with this arrogant threat. It is hypocrisy<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s all a myth. When you disagree, you cannot be civil. No matter how calm you are, to some, they will never be able to accept that you disagree with them and that you wish to tell them no. I wish to tell them no, all the time, just for the fun of it and just to make it even with my decades of yes’s. I want to say no and with that no, stand straight and tall in my convictions. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of them want to instill fear as a means of control and then say that you are trying to control them. IT’s a form of manipulation, old really, and when first introduced with this manipulation, it can be startling to the senses. Once you encounter this trick, you can conquer the symptoms of fear. Fear, fear fear, they love to use the tool of fright to deny they have an allegiance with fear at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I came across my anger and at first I was ashamed by it. I prayed against it and I held it down with all my might and 200 stacks of books that I read week to week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Be kind”, “Don’t make assumptions” and “Control your temper.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are supposed to be sage words. These words are supposed to remind you that you are not a slave of fear and anger any more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, why, when I finally get angry, do I feel like I’m finding my worth? It’s confusing at times, it’s hard to not get angry at ignorance and evil. And yes, there is pure evil out there, it’s the pride of mankind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I came across my anger and I was reminded of my savior in the temple, driving out the vile. To anger is not to sin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a time and palace and my anger is mine. I am not a slave to my anger, nor anyone else.<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-22955904284699770192016-06-23T21:38:00.004-07:002016-06-23T21:38:58.502-07:00The only name I remember<div class="MsoNormal">
To know a name is to command power. I wonder about this sometimes and the wondering leads me back to sleep. How can a name entrap a human being and force this human being to bend?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I call your name and you must do as I say.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This doesn’t always work, you know, so how shall this work on demons? You’ve seen the movies, the exorcism flicks and horror based movies. In the story, the name of these spirits holds dominion. Once you know the demon’s name, you can cast it back to hell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In the name of Jesus, I bind you and cast you out!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, that works in the movies. It works in reality as well, as long as one condition is met.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Faith.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is where my wondering stops, right before I fall from the cusp of sleep. I drift into another place, filled with impossibilities and communions with the dead. I follow a path to a land where names mean nothing and faith is like the blood in my veins. Here I have faith but no name and there I had names with no faith. My quest, within the dream, was to fuse the two together so that I could fight my demons.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The darkness said no, but I kept trying to remember names when I awoke.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One morning I remember a solitary name and with it, faith of a mustard seed. I called to the father with the name on the tip of my tongue. My faith was burning like a grain of hot sand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In the name of Jesus, I bind you and cast you out!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spoke sternly, with one name on my tongue. It was a name I could never misplace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was my own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I cast you back to hell.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-40201563363547180202016-06-11T23:04:00.005-07:002023-12-25T12:41:58.569-08:00Jake and Natie....I cannot sleep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXSJmuAn4i-y3IYipUwwV5rPNd-WPxFRudoHpCUqeueDir9cuaIVbrkDlWFkyK6jCPQiyRcJL9cEZKdzlRsBopZIUgL82AEQjnYlLe_fjsHm-m32gCxVJm4boGsYtOVorAm96SNmtS5RFj0ncJy03KI_uhvoB94UJCKDqLHL_A_RuHo21l9AqRiQURoU/s4288/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXSJmuAn4i-y3IYipUwwV5rPNd-WPxFRudoHpCUqeueDir9cuaIVbrkDlWFkyK6jCPQiyRcJL9cEZKdzlRsBopZIUgL82AEQjnYlLe_fjsHm-m32gCxVJm4boGsYtOVorAm96SNmtS5RFj0ncJy03KI_uhvoB94UJCKDqLHL_A_RuHo21l9AqRiQURoU/s320/Mandy%20and%20stuff%20102.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
“I know you want to see her, hear her or whatever, but it takes time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you think we will get something tonight?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake had new equipment. He explained it to me but I have already forgotten what it was. Seems like he called it a spectrovolumizer or something like that. These devices are special made to detect things like cold spots and electromagnetic fields or whatnot. I guess I’m mutilating the names and processes of this equipment, but I wish to learn more. I want to do what Jake does. Jake talks to the dead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jake, did you say that was a voice extramologer?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake laughed way down in his belly. His smile was huge. He would have been cute if he wasn’t making fun of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He could barely speak through his guffawing. “It could be a prestidigitator working through the flabnoid erupter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wasn’t impressed. Our neighbor had already said those ludicrous words while banging on his alternator with a screwdriver. I wasn’t the only one who was clueless. Heck, the world was infested with ignorance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jake, I’m sorry. I can’t pronounce those words and I forget all the time. I just want to talk to her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He took my hand and lead me over to the couch. There, lined up against the edge of the rug was three devices. One was large and the other two no smaller than a cellphone. He was making a list of what he needed for the trip. Apparently, these were his ‘prime babies’ as he called them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You see this?” Jake picked up something that looked like a calculator. “This is my portable ‘spirit box’. You wouldn’t believe how important this thing is.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake took the little electronic and sat down on the couch, pulling me down with him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, how does this work? Is it complicated?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay, when we get there, we will first use the infrared thermometer to detect cold spots. You see, where there’s a ghost, the air will turn icy. The temperature will drop so suddenly that chill bumps will appear on your skin. It’s true. Then, we use the other devices in unison-EMF meters, ion detectors and cameras. You know you want the good old fashion photos as well, huh…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wait, slow down, Jake. What is an ion detector?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Natie, you wouldn’t understand if I told you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hated it when he assumed that I was an idiot. A good hard frog on the arm would fix that. I punched him and punched him hard.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ouch! Okay, look. An Ion detector is another way to detect a form of energy. Except this one detects radiation or static electricity.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, so why does a ghost make static electricity.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It doesn’t. Let me explain something to you. When a person dies, they do not go away. Nope, never, they simply transform. I know you’ve heard bunches of people talk about this before. It’s not new. Anyway, we are energy, plain and simple and when we die, our energy persists. It weakens but it does not cease to exist. We no longer have a body and therefore, we cannot speak, see, hear or anything of that nature. Are you following me so far?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes Jake. Clear as mud…I mean a bell.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I take this opportunity to roll my eyes because I grow weary of waiting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay, so imagine your loved ones who have passed into this different state of being. They may be trapped here or simple have no interest in going somewhere else. Don’t ask me about God or anything because I want to approach this from a secular viewpoint for now. So, you’re dead, bear with me and pretend a moment, Natie. You’re dead and you wish to talk to someone who is alive. What can you do? If you cannot talk because of lack of vocal cords, then how do you get the message across?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know. I would have to do something or just wither away in desperation-if withering of anything was even possible.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake smiled. “If you were dead, you would take that energy you had left, which was you, and you would push that energy toward the object of your communication. That is what you would do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you said the energy was weakened by death, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Right, but think of all the electronic devices! This is what they do. I have no idea how these entities learned to do this, but they did. Whatever is left of you could have a consciousness, somehow, maybe an electric powered soul or some sort which was so thin that it was vapor. I have to stop before I get to a place I am unfamiliar with and get lost trying to show you the way. Listen Natie, all this stuff serves an important role in what we are going to do. If you want to talk to her, just you wait. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you think it will happen, Jake? Do you think she can come through to us?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jake brushed my hair from my eyes and kissed my forehead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I hope so. I cannot stand to see you suffer so.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-60798442780743078022016-06-11T21:57:00.000-07:002023-12-25T14:40:48.338-08:00Ghosts down by the Volcano<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-q8JdYK5DJ38h9TnpG-P-9odTnDXGvLuW9pEs6uZoS-ki1QRsLpmuLJYkTfcdWPhmL3VQj_7XBP_R95I0t1MkLEBwbef0cV_8dXzhkQTuME9aF0QgpyWaPk8uBY-LgK5a40v7E8vKcU7zzFYhy6E4rh-egZRK015QNewa4VBgdVsnmYjJs6aLHszz_pE/s450/i-8hsmw3M-M%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="299" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-q8JdYK5DJ38h9TnpG-P-9odTnDXGvLuW9pEs6uZoS-ki1QRsLpmuLJYkTfcdWPhmL3VQj_7XBP_R95I0t1MkLEBwbef0cV_8dXzhkQTuME9aF0QgpyWaPk8uBY-LgK5a40v7E8vKcU7zzFYhy6E4rh-egZRK015QNewa4VBgdVsnmYjJs6aLHszz_pE/s320/i-8hsmw3M-M%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
I visit here often. It’s a barren flat land riddled with zig zagging cracks. The sky is dark, of course it is, because only in the dark do secret things congregate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is fire, lava and dark rock at the bottom of a pit. I sit by the edge and think about those who’s love I cannot shake. I sit there watching fire blaze up over the boiling lava, and I close my eyes to see it more clearly. Sight, as I have learned is only partial to being able to see. Sight, in honesty, works its magic from somewhere deeper within as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not always alone here. I call them to me. Most of the time I remember how many there are. Let’s see, I will have to think a minute…Maybe there are 12 or 13 of them. I watch the ones that I can remember as they shuffle from behind a large outcrop of black rock. They are bewildered because they do not know how they got here or why. They cannot understand the possibility of this place. Then they see me. A wave of recognition makes them whisper questions one to another. I surmise they want to know why they are together and I am there waiting on the edge of the chasm. They are unsure, but they start to gather that they are all connected to me. Some of them know this immediately, while others are strangers which gather the information through exchanged glances. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I beckon them to come sit with me. So we talk. It’s not laboured or uncomfortable at all. I want them to know that despite the world we live in, they have to fade. There are some that will not go, will not move into the darkness and away. When at last, I feel alone, all that were before me are gone away, I breathe in remorse and content. It is a strange potion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The night is silent, save for a few crackling sounds from the churning heat below. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can come out now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hear the flutter of wings from behind me. I reach back holding out my hand. Talons wrap around my finger and squeeze. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Non dimenticherò mai l'uccello nero.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-39379188565786257762016-06-08T20:44:00.000-07:002023-12-25T14:46:21.341-08:00Reclaiming home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYpWm5Jt4SZuRUttrGQEfZQxYyT5q4kiU_YOAdtOmK5UFa4pIws_pUsGhpWB4s6d9mIcOSzXck40npORf-gZ3UGY_PQms01t6UrLc1RpVbdkou9H9Qb5uQFBTD1AA90_TkRoiy1n8oETPbtqhOFKudDfIVcygPVzAoWanqUZCnUPV6Pb3gfHR4w-fe3E/s3872/DSC05906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3872" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYpWm5Jt4SZuRUttrGQEfZQxYyT5q4kiU_YOAdtOmK5UFa4pIws_pUsGhpWB4s6d9mIcOSzXck40npORf-gZ3UGY_PQms01t6UrLc1RpVbdkou9H9Qb5uQFBTD1AA90_TkRoiy1n8oETPbtqhOFKudDfIVcygPVzAoWanqUZCnUPV6Pb3gfHR4w-fe3E/s320/DSC05906.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Traveling to the west, only a few hundred miles, is akin to traveling to another country, well in a way. I cross the river into the central lands and there are different words, dialects and postures. I knew it would have some variables, but when I find the truth of it, I find it preposterous. Within a finger's joint on the face of my map, I can be completely misread. So be it.<br />
<br />
It's lovely to be home again. Although it's changed, I know I prefer it. It's still dark, cold and wet, for the most part, but it's home. You know how home can be hell, but it's your hell? Yes, you see. Even if you return in a mortal coil unknown, you return regardless.<br />
<br />
There are too many places to go, you see, because there are too many portions of me. Hundreds more miles south of here, I will visit another home to me. When I close my eyes, I will be there, upon the banks of another river. Music will heighten senses and smells will reignite nostalgia. Bustling crowds and the sound of bells awaken my memories now.<br />
<br />
Again, it will be different. Only a few hundred, many three, and the dialect will change, the mood will deepen and I will have to tap into something else. Within a finger's joint, I will travel to another world, a modern world, one that is foreign, in all aspects, to the world from before. Just as in distance, in time...I will be completely misread. So be it.Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-68047786026667871992016-06-04T21:40:00.003-07:002023-12-25T14:48:15.975-08:00Das ist meine kamph<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0L-L2q5kJoXi3N-5SGR4ZfgSuQCO7yiRujGEAUk6SZq1u4p5TWCYPq2rhFLyYHRMyKkO2smm6in6l3_c9GfvUQCXZ6qofp41RYEd-l68WnP21-ka9m08cFB5oVNfRBMy-3m-qW0KOtu-cCo9zZqIAMDbsaPtLUasIC_vazUPQAKx7mMotqja59L4JZts/s3539/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3539" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0L-L2q5kJoXi3N-5SGR4ZfgSuQCO7yiRujGEAUk6SZq1u4p5TWCYPq2rhFLyYHRMyKkO2smm6in6l3_c9GfvUQCXZ6qofp41RYEd-l68WnP21-ka9m08cFB5oVNfRBMy-3m-qW0KOtu-cCo9zZqIAMDbsaPtLUasIC_vazUPQAKx7mMotqja59L4JZts/s320/5.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Does it make sense to continue when the pain is so ripe? It is so vicious that an emptiness is left in its wake. I think of different ways to do it, every night. I fantasize about shooting myself in the head, taking too many pills and even walking in front of a truck. I think about other ways as well. It does get that bad, you know. It’s almost unbearable at times, and no one understands just how difficult living is. It’s hell, as if hell was a hollow place stuck in repetition. So, does it make sense? What meaning comes from this endless misery? Mein Kamph…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know you wonder why it hurts too much. I have no simple answers and that only makes it more painful. There are too many words and too many images inside my head. I have a thirst for too many things, to boot. There is definitely a stimulus overload, an attack upon my senses. At any moment, someone could walk through my bedroom door and ask me what I was doing. I couldn’t tell them because I have forgotten what this story as supposed to be about. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Last year, I thought I was Cinderella. I lost my shoe in the midst of monstrous machines, grinding and molding steel all around me. A blue-eyed prince pretended to save me and in the process cut off my head for the queen. I was no longer Cinderella, but Alice. In the looking glass, I saw the truth. My face was not mine, but another. At midnight, when I was still on the verge of turning from Cinderella mindset, I turned to the prince in order to tell him my secrets. It was a time when I knew what I wanted and felt like human. It was betrayal, the night before he killed me. I knew it was too deep and he might drown without my unwilling sacrifice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was a year ago, wait, maybe two, or no, it was three. Time has passed, I have disentigrated and something happened to my muse. I cannot saw the darkness is gone, because it coaxes me to end it all. The darkness is different, and I think it doesn’t grow in the same vessels as before.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In times such as this, my words do not make sense. I think it is because the filing cabinet was tipped over, spilling the contents across the floor. Cinderella and the prince came waltzing in, scattering files all across the room. They didn’t care how messy they were or how their actions would bring devious consequences. The wind blew twice, no thrice and the paper flew into the winds of time, scattered among the grasses in the field, between the pines and deep within the dark corners where the fairy hides. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I want to end it all, I do. I am in so much pain. Every day, full of sunshine and glorious blue skies, I see darkness. I hear despair, my chest is hollow in a dull thudding ache. I want to die, die as they died, all of them. All the humans die and it is over. Whether there be heaven or hell, nothing or nothing, I want to die. There is no point in fighting this war. I have no solution. I have no plans.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have no art to spare. There is nothing left here.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But, of course, that’s how I feel tonight. Tomorrow, on the other hand, I could right as rain and bright as the sunshine’s smile. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am unpredictable and utterly confused. There are few constants for me, they are dark, they are sordid and they are Godlike. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Till morrow then…<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-62009499632985181002016-06-04T00:17:00.003-07:002023-12-25T14:58:38.351-08:001817 Bromley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlGbyDGHxWhMGMylawbaCpPFGBXamETmBWqV5G5hIkdhcNsxqC3xyDVW4arLlmbtbhqzW3XjJx0nveTzTtVH-gkbQTQApRWk7InZ2pSQR5jOZ5FNo7G1S_8rU0XAVRuv3haK8yEo204sZQGCkLziTjMLNEe5bqcGmK_Ifq9rzX2DAGUVYp3lYBfX9hxw/s450/i-tshh7Np-M1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlGbyDGHxWhMGMylawbaCpPFGBXamETmBWqV5G5hIkdhcNsxqC3xyDVW4arLlmbtbhqzW3XjJx0nveTzTtVH-gkbQTQApRWk7InZ2pSQR5jOZ5FNo7G1S_8rU0XAVRuv3haK8yEo204sZQGCkLziTjMLNEe5bqcGmK_Ifq9rzX2DAGUVYp3lYBfX9hxw/s320/i-tshh7Np-M1.jpg" width="171" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
1817 Bromley<o:p></o:p></div>
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Father didn’t come home as he promised. It’s been days since he was to make an appearance. There were men, come calling, I heard them tell father to travel into town. Father was strange after that, but he promised he wouldn’t be long away. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I watch by the window because my heart is heavy for him. Although he is hard with me, I cannot stop feeling guilt for how I displease him, how I failed to be a lady. Even my book of poems fails to bring me peace-Rosetti, this one is dark and tragic. I cannot remember the name, as my book in on the floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is a knock. I know it’s Erzebetha but I do not wish to see her or talk to her. I do not want to hear her breathe. I hate the way she looks at me with pity. I see it… I know something is not right. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Mistress, you should get some rest.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She tries the door but I have locked it against her. I pick up my book and sit back down at the window. I can feel the winter chill creep through the cracks around the glass. There's a raven, on the branch of a tree by the garden. He turns to look at me and I feel the darkness twist and churn within my chest. The black bird flies away and it deepens my despair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Leave me be.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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The dark comes outside my reading, and with it more hopes dashed and tears welling. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Father, please come home. I think I heard mother wailing from her earthen bed and the night birds sing a song that turns my blood to ice.” I whisper into the corners of the room, hoping some lonely insect might hear me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Father…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I close my eyes and I remember a face. It was a brown face with almond eyes and full lips. Yes, it was a native, I am sure of it. Of all things now and then, I remember that face, and yet I was just a child. There is an image dancing, the bellowing deep throat calls ringing through a scorching night. I remember the fire, fire everywhere and the smell of death. Yes, I can remember this, just as I remember the ocean, the smell of musty salt water sloshing beneath the hull of the ship. I remember the great storms and the men who pulled me down into a darkness of the ship.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I saw London and I see Bromley, a cold place, my home. There are so many memories rushing through my head now. I want to keep my mind occupied, I want to stop the horrors that my imagination creates and I have to stay awake. I know, if I fall asleep, I will wake with a new dread, an empty digging feeling because father has yet to come home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I cannot stay awake. It’s useless. I feel it pulling me under, the arms of sleep. It pulls me beneath those crashing waves, those deep green, foam-crowned waves and it takes me back to that strange place. It’s not working. I wish to return home but I keep waking up on the red banks of the savage land. I see her, she is brown with long black hair and piercing eyes. She carries an infant in a satchel on her chest. There are others with her, Europeans maybe, three of them. Their voices converse in kindness and not condescending as the others. They stare down at me and frown. The brown lady speaks in a language that comforts me. I lift a hand to my face and gasp. My hands are brown, brown as the brown skinned lady towering above me. I feel my face and I imagine that I would look like the natives too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Waking from sleep, I whimper. Images flood my mind as fast as I can catch my breath. My breathing is labored, just as my mind is fighting too. I push off the cotton sheets from my bed and rush to the window. The sky is overcast, hung with clouds. I turn toward my door and call to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Father, are you here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is nothing. I can hear creaks and moans because my home is silent but for the snores of the servants. I am no lady. My dress is stained, and I hold the hem of my skirt in clenched fists. In the looking glass, I see no signs of my salvation. I see her face. It is not my face, it is not the face of my father. I see something peculiar, something alien in that image. She looks back at me and shakes her head.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I trace the lines of my prominent nose, my lips and my almond eyes, all with the tip of my brown finger. I will never be what father wanted. Even the light from the window cannot illuminate my dark skin. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Father…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember the dead, in piles around me. I hear voices, angry voices sounding across the masses of savages. They are coming. I see them walking amongst the bodies, they are pale, different and I am frightened. I weep as pale hands lift me from dark dead hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Father…<o:p></o:p><br />
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My reflection whispers back to me.<br />
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"Wake up, spirit."</div>
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Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-37478335376252718932016-05-21T20:35:00.001-07:002023-12-25T15:02:32.893-08:00Forceful writing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0ov5r9VXvxn7JNIcrjYoh5qqevkxDaIZBF7LqM0ZvFdkzzbKFBU5omPBlI9okJUIqUH5-eMv-AeTvgvfQKmUY6R35ANwJcM5AIKrmSUEwpTqjORPQILgl3X8Up9DydBFUyg5tHEHh0Kfh8Rq0i2AmtwRaX67yN0rHbmgOLFquTlYaqKDuHVjoiWWz_4/s2304/sept%20sherrie%20008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="1728" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0ov5r9VXvxn7JNIcrjYoh5qqevkxDaIZBF7LqM0ZvFdkzzbKFBU5omPBlI9okJUIqUH5-eMv-AeTvgvfQKmUY6R35ANwJcM5AIKrmSUEwpTqjORPQILgl3X8Up9DydBFUyg5tHEHh0Kfh8Rq0i2AmtwRaX67yN0rHbmgOLFquTlYaqKDuHVjoiWWz_4/s320/sept%20sherrie%20008.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
They say one of the best times to write is when you feel horrible inside. It’s then that your words can have depth unimaginable. In ways, this is true. In ways, however, I feel empty. I fantacize aoout death because I want to stop hurting, and death would eliminate the hurt. I can write about that, but there isn’t much more I can elaborate on, at the moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can try, and here goes. I wanted to read a book, a book about fairies. IN fact, the book is called ‘faireies’. I looked through the first couple pages, gazing at the illustrations and reading a little bit about the Cornish beliefs. The boundaries kept by the fairy folk, elf folk alike fascinated me. It was just past the boundaries of human properties that you would find the fairies and elves. There, you could be tricked by all sorts of fancies-intelligent vegetation, living and material tunes, even whispers and you could even be fooled by another human. Of course, it wasn’t a real human in origin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I like this book. I think I will continue reading for a while, It reminds me of the past, when I would wander through the forests listening to music, reading poetry and turning into something else. I miss the forests, and I wonder now, if that is why I think about committing suicide. I cannot go home. Home, in so many ways, does not exist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I want to write and yet, I want to stop writing. This feeling is so complex that I couldn’t be explained in its entirety.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel horrible inside, but I think I will try to sleep. Sometimes, sleep is how I stay alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-57372707686637091062016-05-10T17:58:00.001-07:002016-05-10T17:58:32.261-07:00The Morbid Ghost, Shared Interests<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m going to tell you what the sun feels like to a dead man. “<o:p></o:p></div>
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I spoke to nothing because nothing was all that was left when the end didn’t come. It’s like the universe in a bottle, confined with no end. The sun would be merciful if only I could fly that far.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sun is a ball of fire, when far away from humans, it burns the top layer of their skin. I was human once, and I can vaguely remember strolling along the Sicilian coast basking in the sunlight. I think that happened, just as I think I remember the taste of fresh bread and fruit. These things are distant, but the sun to a dead man is something I can relate to. At the moment, the sun is digging its fingers into my flesh and sending tingling sensations from top to bottom. My head hurts, it’s filled with thousands of buzzing insects throbbing beneath my scalp and my fingers, they are growing, stretching outward expanding the bed of my nails. The vast network of my circulatory system is alive with burning blood. I feel it and it’s as if I am human, but not quite. My objective is to let the sun finish burning me. I have high hopes, although I’ve lost count of my suicidal attempts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So why will it work this time? It won’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I open my eyes and they are alive with fire as well. My left eyelid sticks open, but I peel it free. There is little moisture and it is pink with my damned blood. I wipe the pale red splotches from beneath my eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“It hurts. Good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why is it good for you to hurt?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The voice is smooth and sweet, and It encases me in its loveliness. It sounds like a woman, and because I love to look at women so much, I have to see this one as well. I turn to see something moving against the backdrop of the treeline. It is thin, a momentary smudge in the green landscape. I watch the thing grow bigger, painting a gray smudge against my surroundings. This is no ordinary woman, this one is a phantom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hi there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The gray soup boils in the air. It turns and swirls creating knots of solid looking pieces. The pieces meld together and pull into portions. Two portions form hands and one large ball of smoke forms a mass high and center. A head and face, surrounded by red billowy hair frames the image making an expression. It smiles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“hi”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She was beautiful, or rather her own memory of herself was comely. I know a bit about phantoms and that’s how it works. When you see a ghost, you are only seeing an image of how the dead saw themselves in life. Of course, they could be projecting the most attractive rendering of themselves to date, but either way, a ghost was only a memory incarnate. I’ve seen only a few ghosts before. My brother was a phantom, he came to me long after his death. His apparition was the only one I had encountered until I moved to the New World. Here, I saw things that weren’t ghosts, they were something else.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Seems as though you’re deep in thought, sir.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“yes, I was thinking of…phantoms, to be exact, demons rather. Are you friend or foe?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She looked confused by my question. The features contorted sending tendrils of gray spinning away from her face. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Friend or foe? I came to say hi. It’s not that serious, you know.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw a scowl form on her lips and even though she was dead, she was adorable. I thought she might enjoy a little teasing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Well, I believe you’ve come for me soul. I am damned and God has sent you to fetch me, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her scowl deepened. “I guess you are going to be a pain in the arse. This was a mistake.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The beautiful girl’s form began to fade. Her face faded back into the gray mist that birthed her. I immediately felt regret.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Wait, I’m sorry. Won’t you please come back and speak with me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No”<o:p></o:p></div>
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But that phantom lady lied. She swirled around me and hovered just above my head. I looked up to see her pretty face. She gasped and pulled back into the cloud. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I saw you there.” I pointed while looking up. “So Come out and speak with me. I promise I will behave this time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was silent. The sun of high noon was dampened somehow, and all around me, the air grew cold. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Is that better?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her voice was sweet and filled with pain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Is what better, my dear?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The sun was hurting you, burning your eyes. I thought about shielding you and there you have it. It worked.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed, for I realized what she had done. IF heaven had come down to protect me, it would be something like this. Too bad I didn’t want protecting. She seemed amused by her feat, I heard her tinkling laughter on the wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I did good, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not really. Why do you think a vampire is out in the noonday sun? Why do you think I’m not burnt to a crisp?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She gasped. “So, you are a vampire then. Wow, how do you stay alive? Is the sunlight thing just a fantasy story?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, partially. Besides, I’ve been coming out here for quite some time now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Why? Do you like the sunlight, then?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“I have no preference. The sunlight brings back memories, no doubt, but I am angered by the sun.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Then why do you come out here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I wasn’t sure of the reason myself. I only wished she could read my mind and be done with it. How could I explain the complexities of the whole thing?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her face formed right in front of mine. She was grieved by what I was saying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>“Would you like to read a book which never ended?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She didn’t speak. Her gray mist didn’t attempt to help her form words this time, at least not for a moment. I saw something in her face, something familiar. Her countanence hardened then and I knew she was about to lay on me, what Jim always referred to as, “a revelation.” She wasn’t just a spectator here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You understand, don’t you?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Her expression softened and melancholy took the place of her anger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know how it feels to never have an ending.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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“How can you know what it feels like to never die? You’re dead.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her face changed somehow, the mist grew darker around her eyes. She laughed, and as she did, birds erupted from the pines on the border of the field. Her laughter was human and it sounded throughout the forest, making echoes. The silence and the creaking trees replaced her maddening laughter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt a tickling sensation near my right ear. Words, silken and sad pressed into my ear. Although there were no biological mechanics in which she could form speech, and there were no fleshly lips in which to utter the words, she spoke regardless.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who says death is the end? You can stay out here until your flesh crisps to nothing and your bones dissolve, but…it doesn’t always end.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood still letting her words move their way down into my being. I understood what she meant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, why are you here? Why did you choose to speak to me? You cannot move on, can you? You’re trapped.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was gone, just as suddenly as she appeared. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to know why she was here in this time and this place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why did you speak to me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it was too late. She was gone, melted into the shadows that formed at the edge of the field. The sun dropped behind the clouds and drops of rain pelted my face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another day was ending but my end was nowhere in sight.<o:p></o:p></div>
Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-6307347778807358362016-05-04T19:49:00.000-07:002016-05-04T19:49:03.926-07:00Corvus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Feathershalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00469591336776098262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6813989806115160826.post-4146662791715504262016-05-04T19:43:00.000-07:002016-05-04T19:43:04.560-07:00 Piscis Austrinus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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