tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40132524994637959282024-03-04T20:42:25.146-08:00Black Lantern PublishingAn Online Art & Literary Journal
Volume III, Summer 2010Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-21310679923378772462010-01-29T15:23:00.000-08:002010-01-29T15:32:21.602-08:00Black Lantern Publishing, Volume III<span style="color: black; font-style: italic;">"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live."</span><br />
<div style="padding-top: 2px;"><div style="color: black; padding-top: 2px; text-align: right;">- Henry David Thoreau</div><br />
<br />
Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-89687062704201078632010-01-28T15:22:00.000-08:002010-05-06T08:45:30.398-07:00TABLE OF CONTENTS<div style="font-family: Georgia,";">
<span style="color: #cc6600; font-size: 180%;"><u>Literature</u></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br />
<b>Allen Kopp,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/seascape.html"><i>Seascape </i></a></div>
</div>
<div face="Georgia,"" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div face="Georgia,"" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div face="Georgia,"" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>Craig Wallwork,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/girl-in-balloon_26.html"><i>The Girl in the Balloon </i></a></div>
<div face="Georgia,"" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div face="Georgia,"" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div face="Georgia,"" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>Chris Deal,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/pursuit.html"><i>Pursuit </i></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>Elle Pryor, </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/angel-aquarium.html"><i>An Angel Aquarium</i></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>Stelio Cro,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/ceramista-maker-of-ceramics.html"><i>Ceramista (The Maker of Ceramics)</i></a><i> </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>Peter McMillan,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/carpe-diem.html"><i>Carpe Diem</i></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">William Cryer,</b><i><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/variation-on-memory-and-desire.html" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Variation on Memory and Desire </a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Jeffrey Carl Jefferis</b>,<i> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/weirdness-of-foot.html">Weirdness of Foot </a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Stephen Jarrell Williams</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/uplifting.html"><i>Uplifting</i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/uplifting.html"><i>Seeing Through It </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Rachel Lieberman</b>, <i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/doll.html">The Doll</a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Robert John Miller</b>, <i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/metamorphosis.html">A Metamorphosis </a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Richard Bell</b><i>, <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/pillar-on-isle.html">Pillar on the Isle </a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Ben Ellentuck,</b> <i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/theyve-been-taking-things-apart.html">They've Been Taking Things Apart</a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Fariel Shafee</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/being-and-nothingness.html"><i>Being and Nothingness</i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/prussian-flower.html"><i>The Prussian Flower</i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/that-day.html"><i>That Day </i></a><b> </b><i> </i><br />
<br />
<b>Rebecca Huggins</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/weekend-home.html"><i>A Weekend Home</i></a><br />
<i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/02/lonliest-boy-in-middle-of-ocean.html">The Loneliest Boy in the Middle of the Ocean</a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Chris G. Vaillancourt, </b><i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/crying-at-window-i-see-you-there.html">Crying at the Window, I See You There</a> </i><br />
<br />
<b>Chris Castle</b><i> </i><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/face.html"><i>Face</i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/bloom.html"><i>Bloom </i></a><i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<b>Donal Mahoney</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/02/prior-to-conception.html"><i>Prior to Conception</i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Mike Berger, </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/thing.html"><i>The Thing </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Jill </b><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRebecca%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRebecca%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CRebecca%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link><style>
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</style><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Okpalugo-Nwajiaku</span></b></span><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/eating-pepper-soup.html"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;"><i>Eating Pepper Soup</i></span></span></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/03/wristwatch.html"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;"><i>The Wristwatch </i> </span></span></a><i> </i><br />
<br />
<b>Ann Cro</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2010/01/motel.html"><i>The Motel</i></a><i> </i><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/painting.html"><i>The Painting</i></a><i><br /></i><br />
<b>Conan Young, </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/more-things-stay-same.html"><i>The More Things Stay the Same</i></a><br />
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<b>Kenneth Radu,</b> <i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/earthbound.html">Earthbound</a> </i><br />
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<b>Michael C. Keith</b>, <i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/once-year-ride-in-desert.html">A Once a Year Ride in the Desert</a> </i><br />
<br />
<b>M.J. Neary</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-salieri-complex.html"><i>My Salieri Complex </i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/mocking-fires.html"><i>Mocking the Fires</i></a><i> </i><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/lady-in-yellow-chiffon.html"><i>Lady In Yellow Chiffon</i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Dena Daw, </b><i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/breakable.html">Breakable</a></i><br />
<br />
<b>Amanda Paul</b>, <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/to-do.html"><i>To Do </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Beaulah Pragg</b>, <i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/jacket-with-wings.html">The Jacket with Wings</a> </i><br />
<br />
<b>Bruce Memblatt,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/impression-of-life.html"><i>An Impression of a Life</i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Jack Frey,</b> <a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/bread.html"><i>Bread </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Judith Stanley, </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishing3.blogspot.com/2009/12/running-boy.html"><i>Running Boy </i></a><b> </b><br />
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<b> </b><span style="color: #cc6600; font-size: 180%;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Artwork</span></span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Zimeleea</span>, <a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/magia-gandului.html" style="font-style: italic;">Magia Gandului</a></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Marisabel Munoz</span>, <a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/sky-dragons.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sky Dragons</span></a><br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Natasha N. Sova</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,";"></span><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/wise-old-owl.html" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-style: italic;">A Wise Old Owl</a><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><br /><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/incantation.html" style="font-style: italic;">An Incantation</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bianca Lucchesi</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/that-old-frog-story_24.html">That Old Frog Story</a><br /><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/bubble-pop-electric.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bubble Pop Electric</span></a></span></span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";">Laura Tolton, </span></b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/jungle-crossing.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Jungle Crossing</span></span></span></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";">Jenny Li, </span></b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/lifeglass.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lifeglass</span></span></span></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";">Alex Pelayo, </span></b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/iguales.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Iguales</span></span></span></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";">Jeremiah Morelli</span></b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/ocean-cave.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ocean Cave</span></span></span></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/ladder.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Ladder</span></span></span></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><b>Romina Pallota</b></span><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-want-to-be-giant.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I Want to be a Giant</span></span></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/miedo.html">Miedo<b> </b></a></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";">Pebbles, </span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/trees-are-calling.html">The Trees are Calling</a> </span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";">Anna </span></b><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link>
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</style><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Majboroda</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"> <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/please-take-orchard.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><i>Please Take the Orchard</i></span></span></span></a><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/hush.html"><i>Hush </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Marissa Smith</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/boatswains-call.html"><i>Boatswain's Call</i></a><br />
<i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/and-well-be-like-brothers.html">And We'll Be Like Brothers</a> </i><b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Berk Ozturk, </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/puppet-master.html"><i>The Puppet Master</i><b> </b></a><br />
<br />
<b>Blackmago</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/when-dreams-are-given-away.html"><i>When Dreams Are Given Away</i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/dying-from-inside.html"><i>Dying from Inside</i></a><i> </i><b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Julia Maranto</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/red-balloon.html"><i>The Red Balloon</i></a><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/bird-people.html"><i>Bird People </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Chris Young</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/puppet-man.html"><i>The Puppet Man</i><i> </i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Jim Fuess</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/abstract.html"><i>Abstract</i></a><br />
<br />
<b>Anita Olsen</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2010/01/keeper-of-scrolls.html"><i>Keeper of Scrolls</i></a><br />
<i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/ive-been-waiting.html">I've Been Waiting</a></i><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<b>Anna </b><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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</style><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tkacheva</span><i> </i></b></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/living-tree.html"><i>The Living Tree</i></a></div>
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/white-birds.html" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>White Birds </i></a><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </i><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </i><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>Walker Huggins</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/float.html"><i>Float</i></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/wood-witch.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Wood Witch</span></a> </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b> </b> </i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Allya</b></span><br />
<i><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/do-not-go-to-woods-tonight.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Do Not Go to the Woods Tonight</span></a></i><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/mother-nature.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Mother Nature</i></span></a><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Miki Sato</b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>, </b><a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/wish-to-meet-you-soon.html"><i>Wish to Meet You Soon</i></a></span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </i><br />
<br />
<b>Zuzanna<i> </i>Roszkowska</b><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/font-definitions-font-face-font.html"><i>Liquid Slavery </i><b> </b></a><i></i><br />
<a href="http://blacklanternpublishingart3.blogspot.com/2009/12/know-difference.html"><i>Know the Difference</i></a></div>
Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-5608061697768517432010-01-27T15:26:00.000-08:002010-04-12T10:29:08.478-07:00Seascape<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><style>
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</style><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">by Allen Kopp</span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<m:smallfrac val="off"><m:dispdef><m:lmargin val="0"><m:rmargin val="0"><m:defjc val="centerGroup"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>B</b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">lanca Longworth and her husband checked in on a brilliant, sun-infused day in early May. They had a delightful room on the fourth floor with a little balcony overlooking the ocean that from that distance was like a mirror reflecting the sunlight. Feeling tired from the long journey, Blanca lay down on the enormous bed to rest her eyes and soon she was asleep. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When she awoke, she knew from the way the sun slanted into the room that it was very much later than it had been. She arose and went into the bathroom and fixed herself up and then changed her clothes and waited for her husband to come back—back from wherever it was he had gone—to take her downstairs to dinner.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u1:p style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> She waited for twenty or thirty minutes and, when her husband still hadn’t returned, she made up her mind to go and have dinner alone. She hadn’t eaten all day and was feeling faint from hunger. She was sure he would understand and would be able to get something for himself later from room service. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u1:p></u1:p></span> </div>
<a name='more'></a><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">When she swept into the crowded hotel dining room, she noticed a few heads turn in her direction. She enjoyed being the woman alone, the woman with a slight air of mystery. For all anybody knew, she might be an heiress or a movie star or an important novelist. She seated herself at a pleasant table-for-two beside a window and a young waiter appeared at her elbow with a menu and an appropriately servile attitude. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After eating her spicy and too-heavy dinner, she left the dining room and, not feeling like returning to her room just yet, went into the cocktail lounge. She was irresistibly drawn by the sound of the music and chiming laughter and the clink of glassware. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Feeling slightly awkward and out of place, she sat at the bar and ordered a martini. She drank the martini quickly, finding it good for her digestion, and ordered another one. By the time she had taken a sip from her second drink, a young man seated himself beside her at the bar. She turned and looked at him with curiosity and when he smiled at her she smiled back at him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He was perhaps ten or so years younger than she was, making him twenty-eight or thirty. Speaking with a slight foreign accent, he told her his name was Tibor. He had a charming smile and brown-blond hair combed straight back from his forehead that revealed the superb shape of his head and perfect small ears. They exchanged small talk for a few minutes and then he asked her if she would care to dance. She shrugged charmingly and consented</span>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">While she was dancing with Tibor, she thought she had never felt more natural and more at ease with a stranger. As they moved around the dance floor, she felt the strength in his arms and shoulders. She tightened her hold on him and moved in a little closer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>When the dance floor came to be too crowded, they sat down at a small table in the shadows and ordered fresh drinks. After a while, he reached his hand across the table and placed it on her hand and asked if she would care to go someplace else with him. His soft eyes glistened in the romantic light. <o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p> </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She smiled sadly and, in answer to his question, held her left hand in front of his face and waggled her fingers so that he would see her wedding ring. Seeing it, his smile faded and his face clouded. He stood up and, bowing formally from the waist, apologized for his presumption and excused himself. Then he was gone.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">After Tibor left, she was just another lonely middle-aged woman sitting pathetically by herself in a barroom. She continued to sit at the small table for a while longer, feeling the kind of sweet sadness she hadn’t felt since she was sixteen, and then she stood up and went back to her room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Her husband still hadn’t returned yet, but she was glad in a way to be alone with her thoughts. She wouldn’t like having to explain that she had been dancing and drinking—however innocent—with a handsome young stranger. She went out on the balcony and breathed in the scent of the ocean and listened to the soothing sounds of the surf. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When she awoke at seven o’clock the next morning, the first thing she was aware of was that she was alone in the bed. Her husband still had not come back. She got out of bed and called down to the front desk to see if anybody had left any messages for her, but there were none.</span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></o:p><u1:p style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She had a light breakfast and then took a long walk down the beach. She walked to an isolated spot and spread her blanket on a pleasant incline and lay down. She read her novel for a while and then, growing weary of reading, stared out at the ocean, the enormity of which had always frightened her in a way. Soon she became sleepy and fell into a light doze.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When she awoke it was to the sound of voices. A man and three children had come upon her but they hadn’t seen her yet, although she could see them. Her pleasant feeling of being isolated from the rest of the world was gone. She stood up and walked to the water’s edge, thinking to speak to the man and the three children, and that’s when she saw a sailboat gliding by about fifty yards out. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">One lone man was on the sailboat. She could see him clearly until the sail shifted around in the wind and obscured him. In the couple of seconds she could see his face, she was sure it was her husband. He had the same gray hair and goatee, but he was too far away and moving too fast for her to be sure. She waved her arms, thinking to get the man’s attention, but he was occupied with navigating the boat and didn’t see her. Then he was gone. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Clouds were now obscuring the sun and a chill had come into the air, so she went back to the hotel. Before going to her room, she stopped at the front desk and asked the clerk if anybody had seen her husband, but he assured her nobody had. She told him that if he saw her husband to please be sure and tell him she was looking for him. The clerk nodded his head solemnly and scribbled on a pad, pretending to make a note, but after she left he tore the sheet off the pad and threw it away. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She had a prolonged, leisurely dinner, sitting at the same table as on the previous evening, and when she was finished she once again went into the cocktail lounge. She sat at the bar and ordered a scotch and soda, her husband’s favorite drink; she drank it down and ordered another. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She hadn’t dared to hope that she would see Tibor again but when she turned partway around and looked over her shoulder, there he was. He was sitting at a table toward the back with a blond-haired woman in a red dress. They were both sitting on the same side of the table and he had his arm draped over her shoulders and was nuzzling her neck and laughing. He was obviously quite drunk. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She left quickly, before Tibor could see her, but it was mostly her disappointment that she didn’t want him to see. On the way up to her room in the elevator, she laughed at her own foolishness.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In this way she passed an entire week at the hotel. Telling herself she didn’t care about Tibor but catching a glimpse of him every chance she got and seeing him with a different woman every night, all of them prettier and younger than herself. (Tibor never looked directly at her, so she couldn’t be sure if he knew she was there.) Taking walks on the beach, occasionally sunbathing (she never went into the water, as she was deathly afraid of drowning). Eating large, lavish, expensive meals (her loneliness seemed to increase her appetite). Alternately reading her book and dozing on the bed in her room. Shopping for things she didn’t need and spending all her ready money. Smoking cigarettes on the balcony of her room while watching people come and go on the beach a hundred yards away through binoculars she had purchased on an impulse. Most of all, though, she waited for her husband to return, wondering all the time where he had gone and why she didn’t hear from him. She took to asking every chambermaid, desk clerk, or bellboy if they had seen him, thereby earning a reputation for herself as a crazy woman. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On the morning of her seventh day in the hotel, just as she had dressed to go out, there was a knock at the door. She opened the door, seeing a small man, slightly cock-eyed, wearing a dark suit. He told her he was the assistant manager and he needed to speak to her. She had no other choice but to allow him to come into the room.</span> </span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Since you didn’t have a reservation for this room,” he began nervously, “we were wondering if you intended on staying past today.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“I’m not sure,” she said. “You’ll have to ask my husband.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Is he here?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Not at the moment.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“The thing is,” he said, clearing his throat loudly, “this room is reserved after today. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate this morning.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“I couldn’t do that until my husband comes back.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“The room is no longer available to you after today.”</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Might I move to a different room?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“I’m sorry. The hotel is all booked up for the coming week. There’s a convention in town, you see.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“So, you’re telling me I have to leave today?”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“I apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m sure you understand.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“My husband isn’t going to like this.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“If you’ll call down to the desk when you’re ready to check out, they’ll have your bill ready for you.”</span></span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>After the little man left, she checked to see how much money she had left and discovered only a few dollars remaining in her purse. It was clear she wasn’t going to be able to pay the bill, which she was sure was sizable by now. </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>She went down in the elevator to the lobby and walked past the front desk and out the hotel to the street that led away from the city. She began walking away from the hotel and didn’t look back.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>After she had walked for more than an hour, looking straight ahead and never once stopping, an enormous black car pulled up alongside her and stopped at the curb. She could feel someone in the car looking at her, but she didn’t turn her head and kept walking. As she continued to walk, the car inched forward to keep pace with her. Finally she stopped and turned toward the car. A man inside had rolled down the window. </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“You need a lift,” he said, a statement rather than a question. </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>He swung the door open and she got in beside him without hesitation and closed the door. As he sped off and for several minutes after, he was looking straight ahead and seemed to forget she was there. She studied him, though—the way the stubble grew on his cheek and the pout of his lips—and she was sure she knew who he was, even though he was pretending to be somebody else. </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Where you headed?” he asked. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Nowhere,” she answered, taking her eyes off him and looking at the unreeling scenery. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“You just left everything behind, didn’t you? Everything you owned?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“My name is Alvin.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“No, it isn’t. Or at least that isn’t what you said before.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“All right. If you say so.” He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I see you’ve dyed your hair and are not as suave and polished as before and have dropped the accent, but you’re not fooling me. I know who you are.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Is that so?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“You’ve been watching me all week while pretending not to.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“What?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I saw you with a different girl every night. You knew all the time I was there.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I was sure the name and the foreign accent weren’t real. You were like a made-up character in a story. Nothing about you was real.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Have it your own way. Everybody in this town is crazy in one way or another. You’re no exception.” </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Some people are not so easily fooled. Keep that in mind.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I will.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>She was silent for several miles and then, as if it just occurred to her that she was in a speeding car, she asked him, “Where are we going?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Someplace a long way off,” he answered. “Do you want me to let you out of the car?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“No."</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“I didn’t think so. Do you have any money?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Not even the price of a pack of cigarettes.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Would you be surprised if I told you I have a dead body in my trunk?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Not very.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>“Just remember. I warned you.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>She moved over closer to him and put her hand on his arm and her head on his shoulder and let out a long sigh. “I knew you would come for me,” she said. “I never stopped believing.” </span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">© 2010 Allen Kopp. All rights reserved.</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i><span style="color: #888888; font-size: 10pt;">__________________________________________</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: 18pt;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Allen Kopp lives in St. Louis. His fiction has been
published or is forthcoming in <i>Superstition Review</i>, <i>Scruffy
Dog Review</i>, <i>Skive Magazine</i>, <i>Ranfurly Review</i>, <i>A
Twist of Noir</i>, <i>Abandoned Towers</i>, <i>Bartleby-Snopes</i>, <i>Danse
Macabre</i>, <i>The Legendary</i>, <i>Hoi-Polloi</i>, <i>Foliate Oak
Literary Journal</i>, <i>Sunken Lines</i>, <i>The Storyteller</i>, <i>Dark
and Dreary Magazine,</i> etc.</span><u1:p></u1:p> </div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: ";"><span style="font-family: Georgia,";"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-39453738881347293382010-01-26T15:34:00.000-08:002010-01-29T15:43:28.291-08:00Pursuit<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Chris Deal</i></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link> <m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><style>
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</style><span style="font-size: 12pt;">hat first day I woke at dawn, put the pot for the coffee over the fire and rolled a cigarette in a cornhusk while I waited for it to boil away the water’s impurities. My world was still cold, despite the proximity to the flame. With the Springfield in my arms and the furs over my back, I went to the forest and looked for sign. When the sun neared the top of its arc, I came into the clearing, ground stained red and black, a man motionless in the center. Saul, I said. What have you done? The man’s chest was open to the world, his meat, heart taken. Soot fell from the heavens, mixing with the snow. The trail went to the town and I followed. Saul was going north, they said, pointing towards the wastes. I tracked him from Iqaluit, northwest to Arctic Bay. Found his scent in Grise Ford. You notice strangers there, and they told me he passed through early one morning three days earlier. Saul had the lead on me, heading northeast. I found a caribou exposed to the stars. I said a prayer and asked permission to take one of my own. I thanked the animal for its sacrifice and I promised payment in kind. A week later I was under the Cordilleras. My breath came out damn near solid. There was a hint of smoke two days to toward the water, and coming down onto the ice, I saw him there, waiting. He didn’t fight the blade, but asked forgiveness for what he had done. The only warmth in the world came from his blood. David, he said, his lips frothing red. I laid a hand to his heart, and the flames came over him, melting through the ice. I asked forgiveness as the sea took him as its own. I walked south and waited for vengeance to come, to overtake me as it had for Saul.</span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link> <m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><style>
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</style><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">© 2010 Chris Deal. All rights reserved.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></i></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">______________________________________________________</span></i></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR </span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link> <m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Chris Deal writes from Huntersville, North Carolina. He has published over 50 poems and short stories. His debut collection, <i>Cienfuegos</i>, will be published in early 2010, and a story of his will be in the forthcoming anthology <i>Eternal Night</i>, published by Living Dead Press, and he writes many pieces for <i>Troubadour 21</i>.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></i></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-74343821941221897152010-01-26T08:42:00.000-08:002010-05-06T08:43:31.478-07:00The Girl in the Balloon<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by Craig Wallwork</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">E</span></b>ster Cartridge never knew her father, but on her eighth birthday, the present she received was his final breath. “This is all that remains of your father”, said Ester’s mother handing her a pale pink balloon. Over time, the balloon’s skin had shriveled in patches causing large dents to appear, which reminded Ester of an old person’s head if it had been clobbered with a mallet. Ester could make out a faded print on the balloon that read: Happy 1st Birthday.
Ester took the balloon from her mother and carefully walked it to her bedroom. There she opened the window and sat down wondering what her father’s final breath smelt like. With great care, she fumbled and pinched at the knot until it opened and held it to her face. Slowly she prized the two ends apart, forcing her nose into the gap. But she could not smell anything. She then pushed her nose into the balloon, and then her mouth, until her head was inside. The smell there reminded her of lint and tobacco. Looking through the balloon’s skin, her room turned a lovely pink colour and the sky beyond the window was cerise. It was so nice seeing the world and smelling her father’s breath that she didn’t want to leave that balloon, so she pulled it down over her shoulders, and down her arms, all the way to her feet. Ester then pulled the ends inward and tied a big knot so no air could escape. Life was beautiful in the balloon, and she wondered if she could live in there forever, where everything is pink and smells of old tobacco. She also wondered what the world outside looked like from inside the balloon. Ester bounced up to the window ledge and with one big jump cleared the window. A gracious wind lifted the balloon over the maple tree in her garden and high above her house. She saw her mother in the yard pinning out the washing, and the neighbor's dog chasing its tail. She saw her school and her friend’s house and all the tiny little cars traveling down windy roads. And as Ester neared that big pink sun, her heart swelled with happiness and she prayed aloud that no bird passed with a sharp beak. </div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2010 Craig Wallwork. All rights reserved.
</span></i>_________________________________________ </div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Craig Wallwork lives in West Yorkshire with his wife and baby daughter. He has be published in various print and online magazines including: Gold Dust Magazine (winning Best Prose), Sideshow Fables, Troubadour 21, Cherry Bleeds, Colored Chalk Magazine, Laura Hird's official website, Beat the Dust, Nefarious Muse and The Beat. This is his first flash fiction piece, which was heavily influenced by the Israeli writer, Etgar Keret. </div>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-32461412242742896592010-01-25T16:01:00.000-08:002010-01-29T16:09:25.183-08:00Pursuit of Happiness<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">
<i>by A. N. Hegde</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p>I</span></b>n India, where
Hari grew up, everyone said one had to get a degree with “scope,” meaning one
with good job prospects, like a medical or an engineering degree. All the
inspirational books that Hari found in the second-hand book shop said “go forth
and get an education to broaden the mind.” Hari thought he might as well be
practical while expanding his horizon, so he got a B.A. in economics, which
only made for poor job prospects. His father said that government jobs meant
respect. His friend Vishwa, who spoke in choppy bursts, said, “In private
sector, good pay but lot of work. They make you toil like a donkey and kick
your ass if you slack off. In public sector, low pay but no work. Once you get
in, you’re set for life, no? All you have to do is move paper from one desk to
another and maintain status quo."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari didn’t
want to be a low-level bureaucrat; he wanted to make something of himself. He
wanted to join the Indian Administrative Service, a top government agency. Everyone
warned him that the only way to survive as an IAS officer was to be corrupt.
Otherwise, politicians got you transferred to a town with a constant water
shortage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari was on his
way to the post office to mail his application for the IAS entrance exam with
the requisite fee when he saw a beggar in tattered, mud-coated clothes. The man
was beating his tummy with a stick-like hand and yowling, “Give me something,
please. I am dying of hunger here. Please take pity and give me something so
that I can fill this empty tummy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari’s heart melted and he thought providence
was giving him a chance to opt out of a dishonest life as an IAS officer. So he
gave all the money meant for the IAS entrance exam to the beggar. The beggar
thanked him as if Hari had given him a new lease on life. He then blessed Hari
and said, “If you go up this hill, you will see a big hut on the other side. If
you go there, good things will happen to you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari was
curious and he had nothing better to do, so he went up the hill and found the
place. When he was trying to decide what the etiquette was in attracting
attention at the entrance to a stranger’s hut, a beautiful young woman opened
the door as if in answer to his quandary. Hari told her what the beggar had
said. The young woman said that the hut belonged to a good old witch who
occasionally granted wishes, but the old witch was sleeping and it wasn’t a
good idea to wake her. The young woman said that she was the witch’s assistant
and perhaps she could help. She was so comely and fetching that Hari didn’t
even entertain the notion that she might not be qualified to grant wishes. The
young woman gave a seed to Hari to chew and said that upon swallowing it he
would be taken to a land of opportunity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari closed his
eyes, chewed the seed and swallowed. When he opened his eyes, he was standing
in Times Square in New York City. Being from a small town in India, Hari was
frightened by the scene with multitude of vehicles and thousands of people
milling about speaking hundreds of tongues. Even the beautiful young women on
billboards looked menacing with their mountainous boobs and bare legs as tall
as coconut trees. He wandered and wandered around Manhattan and ended up on the
Upper West Side. An old woman saw him on the street and told him she ran a
place that provided a job, food and shelter. It turned out to be a sweatshop
that made robotic monkeys that sang pirated songs and danced in response to a
slow, retarded-sounding command. Hari worked and worked and complained that he
had a college degree and he was not supposed to be there. Among his fellow
sufferers there were Russians who called the old lady <i>suka</i> behind her back and Mexicans who called her <i>puta</i>. Hari, like the educated Indian he
was, called her a bitch under his breath.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
One day, Hari
escaped from the basement and walked for two days and found himself near the
Catskill Mountains. It was late in the afternoon when he saw a witch sitting
under a tree. The wreck of her hunched figure told him that there once stood a
pretty maiden. She told him that his luck was about to change. All he had to do
was to walk up the hill and find a flock of wild fowl, spot the one with
reddish feathers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari
interrupted her and asked, “Does this involve eating that special fowl?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
“Yes,” the
witch said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
“Don’t you know
I am an Indian and like a lot Indians I am a vegetarian?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
“In that case,”
said the witch, “take this other path where you will meet a witch with
vegetarian recipes for changing fortunes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
When Hari found
the other witch she asked him to go to an apple tree with scrawny fruit and
find one apple that was juicy and eat it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
As soon as he
ate the apple, he became the owner of a factory that made pieces of crap
cheaper than the Chinese-made stuff. His factory made anything and everything
that could be made at low cost in Third World countries. He had money now,
plenty of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
He asked
himself, “Am I happy?” While asking himself this question, it occurred to him
that people in India never asked themselves such a question. Why was it that
the moment they stepped out of the old country such questions became essential? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
He thought he
would be happy if had a wife. So, he dated beautiful white women. It soon
became apparent that a white woman was like the earth before Galileo’s time.
She was the center of the universe. Hari was apprehensive about becoming a
minor planet revolving around her desires and demands. So, he pondered the traditional Indian model.
A Kannada ditty said that if you have disposable income, a convenient wife and
a nice house, you can pretty much burn Heaven down. He knew he was conforming
to the Western stereotypical notion of Indian marriage by letting his and his
bride’s horoscope decide compatibility rather than checking each other out. He
went to India and looked at hundreds of young women whom their fathers were
eager to marry off. He knew one thing for certain: regardless of the kind of
person she was, the bride was sure to be a virgin. When he chose a beautiful
bride, the priest, upon receiving a generous fee, adjusted Hari’s horoscope to
fit the bride’s, unbeknownst to the bride's family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
The new wife
was happy for almost three days after arriving in America. But by the third day
she had explored all the gadgets and gizmos in Hari’s house and soon became
nostalgic. He took her to New York in an attempt to cure her nostalgia with the
purchase of authentic 22 carat Indian gold jewelry (not the 14 carat trinkets
that passed for jewelry in department stores). The wife’s symptoms subsided for
a few months, but then Hari had to infuse a higher dose of cash for shopping
trips to bring the nostalgia under control.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
When the
children were born, a boy and a girl, Hari thought for a while that he was
happy. He thought they would have the best of both worlds. An Indian attitude
toward life and the comforts of the West made for a great combination. He was
horrified to notice American arrogance and Indian petulance in his children as
they grew up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Perhaps what
was missing was a soothing tropical atmosphere. So Hari had a huge greenhouse
built on his vast property and filled it with mango trees, hibiscus plants and
mini palm trees. To top it all, he purchased a peacock and let it roam the
greenhouse. One day, he was sitting in the greenhouse admiring the plants. The
peacock let out an eeow, eeow sound and danced. The peacock’s sound, like that
of all others of its kind, brought to mind the type of sound a cat would make
if life was being wrung out of it. Hari asked the peacock, “Why are you so
perky? Are you happy because you have these beautiful feathers?” The peacock
said, “No, no, I am happy because I am free to sing my song.” </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Hari
immediately strummed his air guitar and sang an English song out of key. Then
he sang a Kannada song in the wrong pitch. Then he sang a Hindi song without
regard to its tune. He was happy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
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</style><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2010 A. N.
Hegde. All rights reserved</span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">__________________________________________________</span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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</style><span style="font-size: small;">A.N. Hegde grew
up in the beautiful hill country of southern India. He now lives in the foothills of the gorgeous Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina. He is a scientist by profession and trained at Columbia
University in New York, but spends much of his time reading and writing.</span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-9239976899897237272010-01-24T16:09:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:24:35.726-08:00An Angel Aquarium<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by Elle Pryor</i></div>
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I</span></b>cy autumn air exposed the crowd’s
breath as they congregated outside the main entrance to the gallery. The pale,
lemon sun shone dimly in the cloudless sky offering no heat. A shorn carpet of
grass flecked with frost lay before a huge tan building like a giant’s welcome
mat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Dying, vanilla leaves on the
skeletal trees seemed to brush small crests of cream waves onto the dull, dirty
waters of the river behind them. Tug boats grunted downstream scratching lines
of surf in their wake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
A clown unicyclist peddled around
his audience. Dressed in a blue and white striped sweater he held out an upside
down purple beret for donations, his arm swaying as he cycled. His nose was
false and made of crimson rubber and his lips were enlarged with burgundy
lipstick.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
People pulled their hands out of
woolen gloves and searched inside their pockets for money. Coins were thrown
his way and he saluted solemnly like a soldier at the people who donated.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Lorenzo said that he could ride a
unicycle but Claudia raised her eyebrows in disbelief. He smirked and lit up a
cigarette, dense smoke floated into the crisp air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“It is cold,” he muttered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
When the clown and the unicycle
jumped up and down, they both clapped and Claudia took some money from her
purse and put it into the upside down beret.
The clown dismounted and bowed before her, his head almost touching the
floor. She reciprocated with a curtsy and a few people laughed. The attention
made her shy and she grabbed Lorenzo’s arm and steered him towards the gallery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“I did not know you could perform,”
he said ironically in an Italian accent.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Ahead of them towered a colossal
stone building, a castle of industrialization that once protected machine from
nature. The canvas of the sky molded its contours into hard, distinct shapes as
if it were outlined in charcoal. Instead of turrets though there was one huge,
square chimney stack. It once spewed black fumes but now the disused factory
had been turned into an art gallery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Inside, Lorenzo picked up a free
brochure and they read it together as they rode the sparkling escalator to the
first floor. They stopped in front of a reclining nude,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“An Italian painter,” Lorenzo
boasted, grinning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Claudia replied that she preferred
Spanish painters. He shrugged as if her opinion was of no importance, spun on
his heel and then replied with his back to her, “She looks like you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Surprised, she looked again at the
painting and wondered whether Lorenzo thought about her naked body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
They lived on the same floor of a
multi-tenanted house. Their homes were tiny single rooms containing two small
hobs, a sink, and a fridge. Everyone on their floor shared the same bathroom,
which is how Lorenzo and Claudia first met. He was waiting outside after
Claudia had just finished a hot bath. She was shiny and pink as if she had been
to a sauna, steam emanating into the hallway when she opened the door. On the
bath tub she’d left a bottle of bubble bath which had smelt like an herb garden
watered with freshly squeezed orange juice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Lorenzo was in London to improve his
English, while Claudia had moved there from a small town in England. She wanted
a permanent job instead of the series of temporary ones she had been filling
since she arrived. She wasn’t fussy, she didn’t care who she worked for because
she wanted only to be able to apply for a credit card and borrow some<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
money from her bank. Lorenzo was
enjoying himself but he mentioned often that he missed Italy. He had only lived
in London for two months and in another five he would return to Milan. Spending
Saturday together visiting the attractions of London had recently become a habit
for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Lorenzo was growing impatient; there
was a new video art installation on the third floor that he wanted to see.
However when Claudia stopped in front of a gnome made entirely of cigarettes,
Lorenzo walked back to the sculpture to also take a closer look.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“I was just wishing that I could
smoke,” Lorenzo said laughing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“How much do you think she spent on
cigarettes?” Claudia asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“A lot, cigarettes are very
expensive here,” replied Lorenzo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
There was no light in the room where
the installation was housed except the glow emanating from the huge wall-length
films. Angels moved slowly across the
screens surrounded by water and bathed in light. The room was full of the sound
of moving water. Claudia and Lorenzo sat down on the floor in front of one of
them. They silently absorbed the scene. Bubbles moved across
the screen and then rushed upwards. An angel contorted into different shapes, suspended
and soaked in water with a red fiery light enveloping him. It was as if they
were at an aquarium where angels instead of fish were housed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Lorenzo leaned toward Claudia and
whispered into her ear, “Can I kiss you?” his voice accentuated the <i>s</i> in kiss and his breath was warm on
Claudia’s cheek.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
She wasn’t expecting this and the
shock made her reply, “No,” as firmly as she was able to, her cheeks suddenly
becoming warm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
The room was so dark she could barely
see him. He didn’t respond verbally but instead moved away from her. She took a
quick sideways glance at him but was unable to see his expression. He suddenly
stood up and brushed imaginary dirt from his trousers, “Shall we move on?” he
asked politely and without waiting for a reply he strode quickly towards the
exit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Claudia realized she had offended
him and wished that she’d refused with more consideration. Her discomfort was increased as they left the
room. The first work they encountered was a black and white painting with the
word ‘NO’ painted in huge letters across the canvas.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Claudia stared at it and immediately blushed
with embarrassment. Lorenzo saw the painting too and he crossed his arms and
frowned. They continued wandering through the gallery, but they didn’t speak to
each other, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lorenzo walked a few steps
ahead, his nose lifted slightly in the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Before leaving, they decided to have
a coffee in the café. As they waited in
the queue Lorenzo became less aloof and Claudia laughed readily at his jokes,
to encourage him to talk. At the counter they decided to buy a muffin each,
both choosing the same flavor. They sat at
a table next to a window with a view of a baroque cathedral. Scaffolding
surrounded its white dome and spire; it was either being cleaned or repaired.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Lorenzo took a sip of his coffee and
grimaced, “In Italy they would be ashamed to serve coffee like this,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Claudia was enjoying hers but nodded
in agreement, wanting to please him so that he would forget that she rejected
him. They began to discuss the angels; Lorenzo said that he preferred video art
to paintings and that soon nobody would use paint anymore. As she listened, she
noticed a tear in the sleeve of his sweater and she decided that she would
offer to sew up the hole. Between the edges of the ripped cloth she could see a
beauty spot. As her mouth filled with the bitter taste of coffee she began to
wish that she had kissed him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>© 2010 Elle Pryor. All rights reserved. </i></span></div>
_____________________________________________<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Elle Pryor is a new writer with
forthcoming publications due in <i>South
Jersey Underground </i>and <i>Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal.</i> She lives in Pensacola, Florida and is
currently working on a novel. </div>
<br />Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-61162207281389894372010-01-23T10:56:00.000-08:002010-01-31T07:24:05.469-08:00Ceramista (The Maker of Ceramics)<i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >by Stelio Cro</span></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6n2v_Hzy33vuIzJTazNH7XovS5uYwfRLh5-uE3FlS00cUYBgMLILjWJxTfxz97d6vcLkpACTmPx6pTWC0LeNZinnDMZlNnJHnM-h5oAJwGVoeDQdq2CoXSWk_rgk_DCwJKUt60ZpBftL7/s1600-h/Ceramista_Stelio_Cro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6n2v_Hzy33vuIzJTazNH7XovS5uYwfRLh5-uE3FlS00cUYBgMLILjWJxTfxz97d6vcLkpACTmPx6pTWC0LeNZinnDMZlNnJHnM-h5oAJwGVoeDQdq2CoXSWk_rgk_DCwJKUt60ZpBftL7/s320/Ceramista_Stelio_Cro.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><i></i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><br />_____________________________________________<br /><span style="color: rgb(120, 63, 4);font-family:Georgia,";font-size:large;" >ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></i><br /><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Stelio Cro was born in Rome, Italy and has taught languages in universities in Argentina, Canada, and the United States. He is the author of numerous books and articles on Spanish and Italian literature and has published in Italian a collection of poems—<span style="font-style: italic;">Parabola</span>—published in the United States by Gradiva New York) and two novels, <i>Romeo e Giulietta</i> and <i>Mezzadri in Guerra</i>, published in Italy by Todariana Editrice (Milan). </div>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-643550424501739322010-01-22T09:24:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:29:37.373-08:00Carpe Diem<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Peter McMillan</i></span><b> </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>H</b></span>e
appreciates order. He never fails to notice the neatly-folded towels in the
large marble-tiled bathroom, the down turned tumblers on the writing desk facing
the large picture window, and the unopened bottle of vintage Scotch whiskey.
The room always smells the same--fresh but without the chemical odor.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He
always stays in this room. It's his room on weekends near the end of each
quarter. He never asks for another room, and he never asks for anything out of
the ordinary. He eats in his room, he stays in his room, and he talks to no one
other than the hotel desk clerk. He lives in his room. From high above
the city, he follows the day’s progress, he mostly just hears the TV that’s
always on, he reads his daily newspapers, and he works, usually until two or
three o'clock in the morning, because he can't sleep until the bottle is
half-finished.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He
is always alone in his room. He is always alone except when he goes to
the office. He always flies in on Fridays for the Monday morning
briefings he gives to the executive management team, advising them on
efficiency improvements and redundancy elimination. He does not let
anything distract him. He insists on a private elevator and no contact
below C-level on the organization chart.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He
doesn’t seem too much one way or the other. He doesn’t smile or laugh or
frown. He doesn’t give compliments or sarcasm. He’s indifferent to what
others have to say, but they often fail to notice. He checks in as if
it’s the first time he’s ever been in the hotel. He orders the same meals
at the same times and leaves the same tip, always as if he’s doing it for the
first time. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He
is unremarkable in many other ways. But where his job is concerned he is
truly remarkable. No one is even in his league. They say that
he is really the one person responsible for the company’s 20 consecutive years
without a negative earnings report.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This
weekend is like every other weekend for the past 80 quarters … except for one
thing. The briefing is scheduled for Monday afternoon.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Just
like every previous weekend at quarter’s end, he sits at the desk, going over
his report, reviewing his calculations, and examining his assumptions. Hours
pass, and well after the city lights have lit everything from below, the bottle
empties and the papers lay undisturbed. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He’s
never opened the door to the balcony before. But tonight he carries his
glass and bottle outside to sit and watch the city that he’s only known from
these heights. It’s past three in the morning, and he’s still sitting there,
drinking, quietly.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At five-thirty on
Monday morning, sirens converge on the hotel.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<i><span style="font-size: 10pt;">© 2010 Peter McMillan. All rights reserved.</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">________________________________</span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
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</style><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">Peter McMillan is a freelance writer and ESL instructor who
lives with his wife and two flat-coated retrievers on the northwest shore of
Lake Ontario.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-12210100711393404342010-01-21T09:32:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:37:28.535-08:00Variation on Memory and Desire<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <i>by William Cryer</i></span><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I</b></span>n the deep predawn I wake to the groan of wind and the
sound of Crepe Myrtle clawing at my window pane. I lie beneath a mound of cool
linen and wait for my mind to piece itself together again, for memories to
coalesce, but all I see is a whorl of capering silhouettes. Rising, I grope for
the light switch. In the bathroom I'm still half-asleep, and the white ceramic
curve of the toilet is a giant deviled egg without the devil. <i>Have some
yoke</i>, I offer in slurred dream speech and drizzle, yellow and frothy. From
the other end of the house I hear my mother stirring, beginning her daily
ministrations in the kitchen. Prepare coffee, feed the dog, feed the cats, take
out the trash. Neither of us drinks coffee and the cats have all disappeared,
but she clings to her routine, like a sprinkler system that continues its
diurnal chug long after its owners have fled their home, long after the home
has begun to crumble and blow away upon an ancient and dying planet, which in
turn persists its weary revolution around a black and shrunken sun.<br />
<br />
Back in my bed the ceiling fan is a pin-wheel and I blow and blow, but can
never send the blades spinning. </div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She moves silently through each room, sliding her hand over armoire and
curtain, feeling for the past. But the house refuses to yield up its stores, so
she retreats into the carport. There she is met with the dank smells of
creosote and leafmold. Rusty pegs dot the far wall where assorted tools hang, collecting
cobwebs and dust. Empty beer bottles remain undisturbed in a corner. She
hesitates a moment, memories insinuating themselves, unbidden. She surveys the
room once more—the tools, the beer bottles, the oily clutter–and the dismay on
her face voices a sudden moment of clarity: that his entire existence was
paraphrased in this one place. Finding no purchase in the carport, she steps
out onto the broad front lawn. A soft breeze thrums the trees, carrying the
faint laughter of a little boy. The sound floods her mind, sending her reeling
into time. He appears on the wooden swing, like a diaphanous afterthought. The
child is beautiful, like a fallen seraph, with eyes of ponderous sapphire. He
looks at her with a numinous smile that pierces her heart. She sits down beside
the apparition and places her hand in the empty space.<br />
<br />
Later she kneels next to an oak tree, turning up soil in the flowerbed. The dog
trots over and drops something at her feet. It is the fetid skull of a calf,
exhumed from some neighboring field. She picks it up, gingerly holding it
before her. For a long time she gazes at the bone. And by the flower bed under
the oak tree her quiet sobs take form and mingle with the soft drone of
cicadas.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dusk spills over the firmament like entrails from a stomach. In the purple
gloaming, familiar sounds bloom and unfold all around; low and resolute
crepitations swell up. The warm summer wind diffuses the sour odor of Mustang
vines. Behind the shed I hold the water hose over the peach tree saplings, and
the sound is like the thudding of coins to the ground. In the distance I see
her gliding past tree and shrub. She roams the fields, a silver negligee
floating behind her, a shimmering gauzy film. She is a wraith, a specter
haunted by specters. She does not know that it is her heart she is searching
for. She does not know that long ago she anchored her heart to her other child,
and that now her heart is anchored in a grave on a far hill where a grove of
pine trees weaves an eternal nimbus of twilight.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
* * * </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
At night I wake with spasms of fear that she is dying. She tosses in her bed,
across the hallway, and I can hear the cry pivot in the dark.<br />
<br />
<i>Please. Oh please.</i><br />
<br />
It's the sound of terror and momentarily I am seized with a paroxysm of
dread. <i>Mama</i>, my hoarse shriek calls out to her as I fumble and flop
around and around to free myself of sheets. Flailing in the dark, I stagger
across to her room and throw open the door. But she does not see me; her mind
clutches tenaciously to her dream, unrelenting, siphoning in pieces of reality
and weaving them into her nightmare, fashioning sinister, frightful things. And
I realize for the first time that our lives are ruled by shadow and suggestion
and very little else. She chokes back a moan of terror and recoils deeper into
her covers, and I know it's not me whom she sees but my father. And I can do
nothing but squeeze the doorknob and try to hold back the oncoming tears.<br />
<br />
Far away the dawn burgeons in roseate skeins.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2010 William Cryer.
All rights reserved. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">_____________________________________________</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
William Cryer was born and raised in Austin, Texas. In
college he studied English literature and the Romance languages. Currently he
is in his first year of graduate studies. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div>
<br />Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-83336341379439917132010-01-20T09:39:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:50:28.159-08:00Weirdness of Foot<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Jeffrey </i></span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Carl Jefferis </span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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"Good afternoon, Mr. Nichols."<br />
<br />
"Dan."<br />
<br />
"Good afternoon, Dan. I'm Dr.
Engleberg."<br />
<br />
"Hey, Doc."<br />
<br />
"So, what brings you to the emergency room
today?"<br />
<br />
"I think I have nose cancer. . . . Wow, not
even a smirk, huh? Sorry, guess I'm just a bit nervous. Really want the mood to be lightened, you know? You sit back here long enough it's easy to convince yourself you're gonna die."<br />
<br />
"I understand, Dan. We are terribly busy.
So?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, well, Doc, I'm honestly not sure what's
wrong."<br />
<br />
"I know, Dan. Otherwise you wouldn't be
here. Just tell me what's bothering you."<br />
<br />
"Umm, weirdness of foot, I guess."<br />
<br />
"Weirdness of foot? Really?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, Doc."<br />
<br />
"Right. Let's have a look."<br />
<br />
'Sorry, Doc. Can't be fun touching another
guy's foot."<br />
<br />
"What's so weird about it?"<br />
<br />
"Well, I've never touched another guy's foot
before, but I don't even
like touching a girl's foot, so . . ."</div>
<a name='more'></a><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Dan, you're in the emergency room. I am
a doctor. I am busy. Stay
with me here. Why do you think your foot is weird?"</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Oh, right. Well, I noticed it feeling
weird all day at work. It
wasn't asleep. It just felt like it was getting ready to fall asleep, even though I was sitting at a desk chair. It just felt heavy and tired. I could, you know, sense it all day. Like it was trying to tell me something. So, when I got home and saw how red and puffy it was, I thought there was a connection."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Ok, Dan. Just a few quick questions.
A history of diabetes in your family?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Any back problems? Spine?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Suffered any recent trauma?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "On any medications?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Any recent surgeries or hospitalization?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Any other symptoms at all, Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "You mean besides the nose cancer? . . . Again,
sorry. And no."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Ok, Dan. Using this paperclip, if I
touch you with the side of it like so and that being dull, and touch you with the point of it like so and that being sharp, close your eyes and tell me what you feel."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Sharp . . . Dull . . . Dull . . . Sharp . . .
Dull . . . Dull . . .
Ha! Sharp . . . Ha! Sharp again. That tickles."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Ok, Dan. I'm going to move your toes
forward or backward. Tell me
which way you feel it moving, if you can feel it."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Forward . . . Forward . . . Backward . . .
Forward . . . Backward. . . Wait, was that my big toe? It's double-jointed. Keep tugging at it. It's pretty cool. Touch the top of my foot with it. It
will blow your mind."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Right. Ok, Dan. Just a few more
questions."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Fire away."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Have you prepared a living will or trust
recently?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Umm, nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Are you prone to anxiety attacks?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Umm, nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "No panic attacks in the last three
months?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Umm, nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Is there anything stressful going on in your
life?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Stressful? In all seriousness, Doc, I
find having to tuck my shirt
in stressful."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Death in the family? Job loss?
Major life change?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "No, not really. What's with the
psychological interrogation, Doc? It's scaring me more than the weirdness of my foot."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Well, Dan, let me ask you this. What's
your pain level right now, in your foot? A scale of one to ten?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Well, a zero. A one, maybe. I can
feel my foot. It just doesn't hurt."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Yet you're in the emergency room, Dan.
The emergency room. Don't you see that . . ."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Wait, wait just a second, Doc. I mean, I
know pain is terrible.
But in terms of emergency, what's worse, really?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Dan, the point I'm making is . . ."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "I'm serious, Doc. For example, say I was
sitting in the waiting room with another guy who had smashed his foot with a sledgehammer. His pain level is ten. I'm sitting there with a numb foot that is turning red and puffy. What's worse? He has a broken bone.
Sure, it hurts. It hurts a lot. But it's temporary and it can be fixed.
My foot is numb. I could be losing circulation. I could be losing my foot forever. Numb is worse than pain, Doc. It's more
mysterious."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Now who's getting psychological? Look,
Dan. Take a look at this.
This is my foot. See how ugly it is? See the calluses. See
the redness? The discoloration?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Doc, you're holding your bare foot up in front
of my face. That's
weird. And, to be honest, it's more yellow than red. Like cigarette stain yellow. Gross."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Dan, your foot is normal. It is not
numb. You felt everything I did to it. Every time I touched it."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "What about the white bumps?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "What?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "The white bumps? I have more white bumps
on the sole of my foot than you do?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Dan, have you ever looked at your foot before
in your entire life?
That's absolutely normal. That's the tissue under your skin. You should worry if you don't see them."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "You're sure, Doc?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Yes, Dan. Again, I am busy. So,
again, I must ask. You certain
about all of your answers?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "You think I'm a hypochondriac, don't
you?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Do you have health insurance, Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Nope."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "So, Dan. You just spent five hundred
dollars on weirdness of foot."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Well, Doc, honestly I found your display of
foot weirder."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "The thing is, Doc, I am getting married
tomorrow."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Most people would consider that stressful,
Dan. You know, a life changing event?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Yeah, sure, ok. But my point is that she
works for the federal government. She has great insurance."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Is that why you're marrying her, Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "No, of course not. But, the other thing
is, I am nervous about it.
I'm having doubts. But that's normal, right?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Normal, Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Yeah, you know, Doc. Cold feet?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Oh my God. Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "What?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Dan, I am very busy. Be honest with me.
Are you a hypochondriac
with no health insurance who is intent on marrying a girl with great health insurance only you're getting cold feet so you show up in the emergency room of my hospital complaining of weirdness of foot?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Well, actually, you know . . . Doc, I don't
know what you're saying."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "I am saying that you are a hypochondriac with
no health insurance
who wants desperately to marry a girl with fantastic insurance only the stereotypical yet medically fictional concept of having 'cold feet' has not only made you doubt your engagement but has landed you in the emergency room complaining of weirdness of foot prior to your marriage and thus prior to your receipt of your soon-to-be wife's excellent insurance coverage."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Well, uhh . . . it's not that simple . . .
exactly?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Ahh, really? And how so, Dan?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Well, just yesterday, she was leaving for work
in the morning. I
was still in bed. I don't have a job."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Of course."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> "And as she was kissing me good-bye, she told
me that she had put
some leftovers in the fridge for me for breakfast."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Seems reasonable enough."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Yeah, you would think. But you know what
I found in the fridge, a
few hours later when I finally got out of bed? . . . A half a bowl of cereal sealed in plastic wrap."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "So, what? You drank spoiled milk?
You feeling nauseous? Diarrheic?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> 'What? No, Doc. My point is that it's
such a ridiculous thing to do. Cereal cant be leftovers. And I'm marrying a girl who thinks it can be? Shouldn't I have cold feet after that episode?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Dan, if you leave in the next thirty seconds,
I will make sure you are not charged anything for this emergency room visit. If you do not leave in the next thirty seconds, I will absolutely crush and break your foot with that defibrillator hanging on the wall, and you won't have to worry about being able to walk down the aisle tomorrow."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Fair enough, Doc. I'm putting my shoe
back on. But, I must say, I still think it's weird that you haven't put your sock and shoe back on. What's that all about? You have a problem, Doc."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Twenty seconds, Dan."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Say, Doc, mind giving me your home address?
I'd like to mail you a
wedding invitation for my wedding tomorrow, assuming my clearly diseased foot is well enough to allow me to walk down the aisle."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Ten seconds, Dan."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Fine, Doc. A word of advice, I suggest
you take another gander at
the Hippocratic Oath. I came here scared and sick. And I'm leaving more scared and still sick."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Five seconds, Dan."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Give me a break here. Just trying to tie
this shoe."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Your shoes are velcro, Dan."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Fine. Fine, Doc. You have all the
answers. I'll just walk out of here barefoot then. But, you better hope, no, you better pray, Doc, that I don't step on a piece of broken glass in the parking lot."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "Stop limping, Dan. Your foot is
fine."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "I'm not limping, Doc. I'm just walking
lopsidedly, what with the
one shoe and all."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "I hate you, Dan." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> "I love you, Doc. I'll see you
tomorrow."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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</style><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2010 Jeffrey Carl Jefferis. All rights reserved.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">____________________________________________</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
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<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link>
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</style><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Jeffrey Carl Jefferis is thirty-years-old. His work has been published, or soon will be published, in <i>Word Catalyst Magazine, Foundling Review</i>, and <i>Bartleby Snopes</i>.</span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
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Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-22045649387733101132010-01-19T09:51:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:55:35.945-08:00Uplifting<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Stephen Jarrell Williams</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have fallen<br />
in love with you<br />
<br />
giving what I am<br />
in the dizzying dip<br />
<br />
help me up<br />
to kiss your lips<br />
<br />
fun fire<br />
in your arms<br />
<br />
lasting far<br />
beyond the rise<br />
<br />
some great light<br />
already on the edge<br />
<br />
drawing up<br />
our bucket of cool water<br />
<br />
sharing<br />
uplifting taste after taste.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;">Seeing Through It</span><br />
<br />
I've been out here too long<br />
under the trees,<br />
my molecules green with mold,<br />
<br />
pulling my roots<br />
up spindly white,<br />
<br />
I trim my toenails<br />
and brush my teeth,<br />
<br />
for tonight I shall return,<br />
knowing what I should<br />
have done,<br />
<br />
the wind carrying<br />
whispers of leaves,<br />
the storm washing clean,<br />
<br />
telling me that truth<br />
is transparency.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</style><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">© 2010 Stephen Jarrell Williams. All rights reserved. </i></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
__________________________</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Stephen Jarrell Williams loves to write, listen to his music, and dance late into the
night. He was born in Fort Belvoir, Virginia. His parents are
native Texans. He has lived most of his life in California. His
poetry has appeared in <i>Black Lantern Publishing, Hawaii
Review, POEM,</i> and others.</span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-42330898026931842512010-01-18T09:56:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:59:52.113-08:00The Doll<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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The Doll</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
(after Hans)</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
a work</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
of art, by far</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
my best yet. She</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
has no face because</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
her smile is a lie
and h</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
er eyes don't really
l</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
ook at you in the</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
way th</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
at eye</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
s are supposed
to. I have often dreame</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
d o f her, of sitting her at my ta</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
bl e and telling her I love her b ef</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
or e complaining that the roast is</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
n't cooked well enough and t hr</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
ow ing it on the floor. Or ho
ld</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
in g her because she' s h</div>
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ad a long day and th</div>
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e n eighbors a re</div>
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t alking about he r</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
again. Say</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
ing how </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
the y do</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
n't und</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
ers tan</div>
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d h ow o</div>
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ne s o l</div>
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ove ly c</div>
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oul d b</div>
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e so</div>
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mi ne</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2010 Rachel
Lieberman. All rights reserved. </span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">_______________________________________________</span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Rachel Lieberman's prose has appeared in </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A cappella Zoo</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">, and her poetry has appeared in </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Lyric Magazine</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> and </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So
Good</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">. She studied creative writing at Chester College of New England, and was
just recently released into the wild. She's particularly fond of unruly writing
in any form.</span> </div>
<br />
<br />Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-68686426824343158962010-01-17T10:58:00.000-08:002010-02-09T11:03:29.611-08:00A Metamorphosis<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by Robert John Miller </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="Default" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Gregory Samson
awoke one morning to find himself firmly rooted in reality. He scratched his
soft, fleshy belly, yawned, rolled over and stretched his legs, pushing his
feet -- first one, then the other, two in total -- away from his torso, and
wondered if perhaps one morning his legs would just plumb pop off while
carelessly doing things like this. He turned on his side and pulled the
comforter up to his chin, feeling the cold rush into the lair he had built with
his blanket, his feet now out in the morning chill, and wished that one morning
-- this particular morning, especially -- he had awoken and found himself
transformed into something -- perhaps a gigantic bear -- so that he could just
sleep through the rest of winter. He smacked his lips as his mind crept back
into a dream state, this one filled with thoughts of salmon and wild honey. His
alarm clock rang a second time, his eyes opened fully to take in a view of the
ceiling, and he lay, supine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">From
a crack in the blinds Gregory could see the snowflakes falling in the fresh
light of dawn and hear the wind blustering against his window. He recalled days
like this 10 years ago -- 10? now 20, more than 20 years since he had started
school -- when he would have been elated, a snowy morning meaning extra sleep,
a hot chocolate, possibly sledding. But now, of course, short of the
possibility of an ursine transformation, the weather only signified danger, discomfort,
and the importance of car insurance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">His
clock nagged a third time that the morning hour was upon him and Gregory
pressed the button to turn off the alarm for another 24 hours -- or, at this
stage, 23 hours and 30 minutes -- the thought of which made him question the
reasoning behind getting out of bed at all. He was safe, and he was
comfortable, and should everything go as planned his great reward was to be in
this same position at this same time, tomorrow. Well, he thought, it seems I've
already arrived; I can just continue lying here. But, then again, what's the
use of lying idle in bed, he said to himself, still slack. Tied between two
equally delicious bundles of hay, a hungry but perfectly rational donkey once
starved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Default" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And
so it was for Gregory, much like our pitiable donkey, that he was attacked by a
phantasmic, paralyzing apprehension. It started by squeezing tight his stomach,
continued by wrapping itself around his body, then slowly shrouded over his
mind until his thoughts ceased, and finally sunk into his lungs and breathed
his oxygen. He was smothered; he was suffocating. The tyranny of possibility
was upon him, the anxiety of choice. He was in chains; he was awfully free. And
suddenly his only certainty was nothingness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">He knew that, for example,
very suddenly, he might turn into a bear. Perhaps he would force himself to
turn into a bear. Possibly he was a bear already, he could not say. His mind,
released after much resistance, was now racing. He wasn't sure what to think,
so he thought everything, all at once. He was thinking, therefore, something,
he thought, though he had no idea what, and didn't think it mattered, but he
thought, therefore, <i>something</i>, and no other uncertainties mattered,
which was absurd, as maybe everything is absurd, but this one thing, this
something, he can suppose, he was sure, he concluded <i>something</i>, which
was enough, was even more than enough, and he breathed in uncontrollable
giggles, and they exploded out of him, and finding his sudden enthusiasm
unwarranted (for what had really changed?) an even heartier laugh burst forth
(for he thought unwarranted enthusiasm was always something to get excited
about), and he quickly groomed, and prepared for work, and put on his hat, and
grabbed his briefcase with his paw, and scurried into the cold outdoors,
growling a barbaric yawp.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">© 2010 Robert John Miller.
All rights reserved.</span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>____________________________________________________________</i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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</style><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Robert
John Miller has been published in <i>PoeticDiversity, Rattle</i>, and is forthcoming in <i>Writers' Bloc</i>. He currently lives in Cambodia.
One time, he sold an index card on eBay. You can see his blog <a href="http://bobsoldout.com/">here</a>.</span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
<i></i>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-61627855988214698612010-01-17T06:41:00.000-08:002010-02-17T06:53:32.225-08:00Pillar on the Isle<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by Richard Bell</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i> </i><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">S</span></b>unlight danced on the unbroken surface of the lake,
falling through the forest canopy at its banks in dappled flecks of gold. Here
sat a naked brown-skinned man of middle-age, legs crossed, calloused hands
resting lightly in his lap. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">To the birds and
beasts who cast him wary eyes on passing, he appeared no more than a lone
hunter or woodsman of the tribes, resting after a day’s prowl through the
underbrush. Calm and collected, peaceful, content.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Totem had ventured
to that spot beside the Sacred Lake just three times in his life, moments when</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">, as chief of the Ocelot tribe</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">he required absolute solitude
to better marshal his thoughts. But never before had Totem been faced with a
problem so dire as he now found himself contemplating.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The decision had
to be made by sundown: merge with the Panther clan, becoming one with their
people and culture, or face the wrath of their painted warriors. Even now they
were camped just outside his home village, awaiting the order which would see
them either withdraw quietly, or descend howling on his people.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">At a glance it
seemed a simple enough choice to make. But it was not unlike the fable of the
serpent with snapping heads at either end of its body: whichever he grasped,
cold fangs would fastened on his wrist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And the Panthers
were too powerful for Totem to risk an open battle. While he did not doubt the
courage his braves would display in combat, he knew they could not hope for
victory. Aside from boasting numbers far greater, the Panthers wielded weapons
infinitely superior to the wicker shields and spears of flint borne by the
Ocelots. He pictured his enemies dancing into battle, swinging swords and
hatchets that glimmered like sun-baked sand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Of course, if Totem
accepted the Panther’s proposal, the Ocelots would reap countless benefits </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">advanced herb-lore and medicine, better tools, woodcraft
and stone masonry, amongst other things. And all he had to do was agree, to bow
his head before their High Chief.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Merging with the
Panthers would mean acquiring their strange barbaric customs. Unlike his
Ocelots and their quiet worship of the wise and ancient Vaboa, the Panthers
paid sacrificial homage to Bhapfulu</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">the Young God</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">with the slaughter of every eighth newborn babe upon His
cracked stone altar. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Nine Ocelot
women were presently with child. Totem shuddered as he pictured any one of them
screaming, their babe torn from their arms by shamans of the Young God.
Naturally, the father-husband would try to fend them off, only to be hacked to
pieces for disrupting the holy rites. But the death of one angry man and his
child was nothing compared to the carnage that might be, if Totem declined the
merging.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">His outward calm
cracked then and he wept, burying his face in his hands. What could he do? As
chief, Totem was a dead man either way. The Panthers would seek to replace him
on his governing seat with a lesser chief of their own. It seemed the bravest
option to surrender, to submit to their will. For how could Totem risk the
lives of the entire tribe in place of so few?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Having made his
decision, Totem took a series of deep, cleansing breaths, and once more closed
his eyes. By the warmth on his rounded cheeks, he marked the sun’s position in
the sky. Some hours remained before nightfall.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Totem leaned back
on his elbows, placing his torso out of the shade and allowing the sun to bathe
his face and chest. A little more relaxed now, he listened to the jungle’s
orchestra; the warbling of the forest birds, the macaws and toucans, and the
parakeets, the chirruping of the crickets, the beetles and the flies and frogs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And then his
hunter’s ears picked up something else, something which he had never heard
before. It merged subtly with the eternal chorus, and yet it was so different
as to rise above all other sounds.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Totem sat up,
straining his ears, and his gaze was drawn towards the small isle at the centre
of the lake. What he heard was a curious, piping melody, more a song of human
make than the chatter of an animal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">That he failed
to picture the song’s maker was enough for him to cast aside tradition and slip
soundlessly into the lake. If anyone in the village discovered he had swam in
the virgin waters</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">so named because they had never been violated by man</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">, t</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">hen there might be trouble. Or not. His Ocelots had more
pressing matters to concern themselves with.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">It was a
tradition first brought about by his grandfather, though Totem had never
understood the point of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The water was
warm. It lapped his neck and chin as he half swam, half waded, his feet
scuffing occasionally on the soft mud below. Then the lake bed began to dip,
the water deepening. Totem pushed off with the tips of his toes. With great
sweeps of his arms he dragged his bulk towards the isle. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">That mysterious,
unnameable bleating could still be heard, but the foliage from where it sounded
was dense and impenetrable. The muddy bed rose gently beneath his feet. The
water grew shallow. On the isle, Totem strode from the water and approached the
bushes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The noise was
clearer now. He pushed aside the leafy screen and stepped through, into a space
fringed thick on all sides by shrubs and roofed by the branches of a small
tree. It was a place pleasantly cool and dim, but all these things Totem hardly
noticed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">He had eyes only
for the curious structure that loomed before him. It was a kind of block-like
pillar, as tall as a man, speaking perfection of craftsmanship at every angle,
erect like a stone brick stood up on its end. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">On the section
level with his chest and head it was all lights; twinkling, glimmering lights
forming nameless symbols in every colour he could name, and even more he could
not.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Everywhere else
it was unmoving, cold under his cautious fingers, hard like rock and yet not
like rock at all. Grasses had sprouted around the base. Moss showed in the
cracks and crevices. Vines had slunk over time to cover most of the thing’s
black surface, all except for the part which flashed and changed, and a long, level
panel below studded with red projections.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">These Totem
pressed and tugged at random, until the pillar whistled anew and he leapt back
with a grunt, flint dagger in hand. He continued to stare intently at the
lights, watching the changes taking place in the images they formed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The singing
settled. Totem now found himself looking at a flat scene of greys and blacks,
in which stood a tiny figure no longer than his forefinger. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">It was a man,
though his skin was fair, his hair yellow. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Totem shuddered,
wondering what manner of devilry had trapped him inside. To his surprise, when
he pulled a certain stick the figure would run, duck or jump in the direction
he dictated. And when he pressed the knobs, the little man would kick or strike
out with his fist, each time with a gusty yell.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Standing there,
bashing away at the panel beneath the pictures, Totem soon forgot his fears. He
spent a while familiarising himself with the various movements, and then,
calling on his courage, he sent the figure running towards the far end of the
scene.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The view
followed him. Before long he was faced with other men, similarly garbed, all
kicking, howling and leaping, ducking and flying through the air towards him.
But Totem now commanded a basic mastery of the controls, and he fought back
with equal vigour and tenacity. His knees flew into bellies and his feet
cracked against heads. Fists broke upon his face, his own snaking out in
retaliation a second later. If he was killed it did not matter. He was immortal,
appearing in a flash where he had been moments before. He ducked under hurled
knives and sprang above sword strokes, prancing and bounding about, triumphing
over his enemies like a god. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">It was
exhilaration without fatigue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Exultation without
pain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">A gift from
Vaboa; a heaven on earth, away from time itself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Now Totem knew
why his grandfather named the lake as virgin and sacred, why he had ventured
here so often. He wanted no others to know of the pillar. It was his one
retreat from the pressures of chieftainship.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">With that
thought dawned another, so sudden and terrible a recollection that Totem’s
hands fell trembling from the control panel. He staggered back. How long had he
been there? The Panthers wanted his decision by sundown!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Totem threw
himself from the isle and into the lake, crashing noisily through the water,
all the while trying to glimpse the sun’s position. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Mounting the
opposite bank, Totem stood dripping wet, chest heaving. He saw with a cry of
despair the crimson disk sinking behind the treetops, bathing the canopy in
blood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">His mind flashed
with images of slaughter and butchery, of the massacre about to sweep through
his home village. There was no way for him to reach the Panthers in time, to tell
them he would accept their offer and merge tribes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The light was
fading fast. Totem shut his eyes tight and fell to his knees, pulling at his
hair, blubbering like a child. He wailed to the scarlet clouds, but all around
him the forest was silent, as if the birds and the beasts understood his
anguish. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And again Totem
made out the soft song of the pillar. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> It was calling
him.</span></span><br />
<br />
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</style><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">© 2010 Richard Bell. All rights reserved.</span></span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;">____________________________________________</span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
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</style><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Richard Bell lives and writes (for now) in
Cheshire. His stories have appeared (or are forthcoming) in such
magazines/journals as <i>Neonbeam</i>, <i>Hackwriters</i>, <i>Skive</i>, <i>Fickle Muses</i>,
<i>Midwest Literary Magazine</i>, and <i>The Absent Willow Review</i>.</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #888888; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><o:p></o:p></span>
<i> </i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-65207916193582246562010-01-14T06:57:00.000-08:002010-02-17T07:13:43.726-08:00They've Been Taking Things Apart<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">by Ben
Ellentuck<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">They’ve
been taking things apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">First
the furniture; the furniture was the first to go. First the furniture was
dissembled, all dissembled, all the furniture was dissembled, first, and packed
neatly into many tiny boxes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">First the furniture.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">They started with the couch, the
old one. The old couch was the first to go. First the old couch was dissembled.
Then the old couch was packed neatly away. The old couch became pieces of the
old couch, an arm, a leg, a toe. The pieces were all neatly packed into many
tiny boxes; it took many tiny boxes to neatly pack all the pieces.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> The
chairs were next, followed by the tables. Then the cupboards, which put up
quite a resistance; the cupboards were not to be easily defeated. The cupboards
put up quite a resistance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Then
came the appliances. The appliances went one by one, piece by piece until only
pieces remained. The appliances were next to go. The dishwasher was left for
last and it was certainly a sad sight to see it leave. I don’t know why I asked
them but I know that I asked them. What are you doing? I asked them. I asked
them what they were doing. What are you doing? I found myself saying, although
I can’t say why. What are you doing? I found myself saying over and over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re taking things apart, they
said. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Oh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re
taking things apart, they said. We’re taking things apart. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Oh
I said. I found myself staring into what was left of the dishwasher and
imagining all the dishes that had gone through it, knew its shimmering metallic
inner lining, savored their time together, enjoyed the suds bubbling down their
backsides. It was certainly a sad sight to see that dishwasher leave. What are
you doing? I almost asked again. What are you doing? I almost said. Or perhaps I
even did. They didn’t answer either way, which makes me inclined to believe
that I didn’t say anything at all. I didn’t ask them what they were doing. I
knew what they were doing. They were taking things apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
dishes would be the next to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">After
the dishes went the bed sheets. The bed sheets were not taken lightly. The bed
sheets were not taken apart and packed neatly into many tiny boxes. The bed
sheets were burned. I do not know why the bed sheets were burned; I simply know
that the bed sheets were burned. The bed sheets were not taken lightly; the bed
sheets were taken and burned; I know this. I know this because I smelled smoke.
I never saw the bed sheets being burned but I smelled smoke after the bed
sheets were taken away. They must have seen me sniffing about, trying to
discover where the smoke was coming from, because they said Bed sheets. Bed
sheets, they said. They said Bed sheets, I believe. I could have sworn they
said Bed sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Then
came the appliances. The appliances were dismantled one by one, piece by piece
until only pieces remained. The appliances were next to go. The dishwasher was
left for last and it was certainly a sad sight to see it leave. I don’t know
why I asked them but I know that I asked them. What are you doing? I asked
them. I asked them what they were doing. What are you doing? I found myself
saying, although I can’t say why. What are you doing? I found myself saying
over and over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
chairs were next, followed by the tables. Then the cupboards, which put up
quite a resistance; the cupboards were not to be easily defeated. The cupboards
put up quite a resistance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re
taking things apart, they said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">They
started with the couch, the old one. The old couch was the first to go. First
the old couch was dissembled. Then the old couch was packed neatly away. The
old couch became pieces of the old couch, an arm, a leg, a toe. The pieces were
all neatly packed into many tiny boxes; it took many tiny boxes to neatly pack
all the pieces. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re
taking things apart, they said. We’re taking things apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Oh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Oh, I
said. Oh, went the bed sheets. The bed sheets were not taken lightly. The bed
sheets were not taken apart and packed neatly into many tiny boxes. First the
furniture was dissembled, all dissembled, all the furniture was dissembled,
first, and packed neatly into many tiny boxes. First the furniture. The chairs
were next, followed by the tables.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
cupboards put up quite a resistance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I do
not know why the bed sheets were burned; I simply know that the bed sheets were
burned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
bed sheets were not taken lightly; the bed sheets were taken and burned; I know
this. I know this because I smelled smoke. I never saw the bed sheets being
burned but I smelled smoke after the bed sheets were taken away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
dishes would be the next to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re
taking things apart, they said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">An
arm, a leg, a toe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
dishes would be the next to go, I found myself saying over and over again.
They’ve been taking things apart. I smelled smoke. I smelled smoke after the
bed sheets were taken away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">First
the furniture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">They
must have seen me sniffing about, trying to discover where the smoke was coming
from, because they said Bed sheets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Then the
appliances.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Bed
sheets, they said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Then
came the appliances.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">They
said Bed sheets, I believe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
dishes would be the next to go, I found myself saying over and over again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
dishes would be the next to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I
could have sworn they said Bed sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Bed
sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And
after the bed sheets there was not much else to take apart. After the bed
sheets there was not much left, save the floor and the ceiling and the
walls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I
could have sworn they said Bed sheets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re
taking things apart, being what they really said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Whatever
was left was swiftly carried out into the fire or else packed neatly into a
tiny box and then carried out into the fire. Trophies, files, stationary,
books, balls of yarn. Arms, legs, toes. Bed sheets. It was certainly a sad sight
to see it all leave. The books, especially. Books I had been meaning to read,
books I had never really read. Books I wouldn’t have been able to read, even if
I’d wanted to. Books I’d been thinking about and books I hadn’t. Decorative
books. Books with no real pages in them. Books read before being written, books
still <i>being</i> written. Pieces of pieces of pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">There
was one book in particular that I had not yet finished reading. This was
especially frustrating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We’re
taking things apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Then
they dismantled the floor and the ceiling and the walls. The floor was the
easiest; the boards were simply pulled up. First the furniture. Underneath the
boards there was white. Then came the appliances. No earth, no brick, no
cellar; that too had been taken apart. Just white, cold and hard and infinite
and exact. The cupboards put up quite a resistance. After the boards had been
dissembled and more of the tiny boxes were filled and carried off into the
smoke the roof began coming off. The chairs were next, followed by the tables.
Bit by bit, board by board, shingle by shingle by shingle, it was dismantled
and packed away. What are you doing? All that remained above was white. No sky,
no clouds; no color, no rain. What are you doing? The white was closing in on me,
above, below. What are you doing? I found myself saying over and over again. I
hugged one of the walls, desperate. What are you doing? I found myself saying,
although I can’t say why. It fell to the ground. They took it apart and away
and in its place was white. No earth, no brick, no cellar. The other walls soon
fell away as well. I was surrounded, utterly surrounded and suffocated by the
brightness of the blanketed blankness. Cold, hard, infinite, exact. Indefinite,
indefinable, undefined. The smoke was closing in. Help, I might have shouted,
although by now I don’t remember. The indefinite smoke was closing in. Help, I
might have cried. They didn’t answer. The indefinable white was almost seeping
into my skin, almost. I could almost feel it, cold, hard, infinite, infinite,
infinite, exact. I was all that was left. Me; the smoke; the blinding, blinding
undefined white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">They’ve
been taking things apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I’m
next, I think.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<u6:smallfrac u6:val="off">
<u6:dispdef>
<u6:lmargin u6:val="0">
<u6:rmargin u6:val="0">
<u6:defjc u6:val="centerGroup">
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<u6:intlim u6:val="subSup">
<u6:narylim u6:val="undOvr">
</u6:narylim>
</u6:intlim>
</u6:wrapindent><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">© 2010 Ben
Ellentuck. All rights reserved.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></u6:defjc></u6:rmargin></u6:lmargin></u6:dispdef></u6:smallfrac></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">________________________________________<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">
<u9:smallfrac u9:val="off">
<u9:dispdef>
<u9:lmargin u9:val="0">
<u9:rmargin u9:val="0">
<u9:defjc u9:val="centerGroup">
<u9:wrapindent u9:val="1440">
<u9:intlim u9:val="subSup">
<u9:narylim u9:val="undOvr">
</u9:narylim>
</u9:intlim>
</u9:wrapindent>Ben Ellentuck lives (and has always lived) in New York City,
and his work has previously been published by <i>Dog Oil Press</i>. <o:p></o:p></u9:defjc></u9:rmargin></u9:lmargin></u9:dispdef></u9:smallfrac></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-42641329497274364902010-01-13T07:14:00.000-08:002010-02-17T07:22:54.008-08:00Being and Nothingness<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Fariel Shafee</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Uncertainty accommodates unreality to borrow<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
bites from the<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
existent and weave a field of<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
emotions;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
there, ideas and <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
counterparts<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
pop up, and then annihilate<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
like pairs of virtual<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
particles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
That frothy feeling is<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
ambiguous, until a certain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
smoky dream<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
is caught in the mesh of<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
molecules and becomes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
II.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
A star froze in the heaven, and<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
fell<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
shooting down to the<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
walkway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
There, layers of the<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
molecules, disciplined,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
folded within a fractal, razor<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
sharp together,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
quaffed away the<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
freedom of a<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
tiny patch of skin,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and dropped down<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
on the ground, shapeless,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
to be carried away<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
in bits by<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt;">air and earth.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><i> </i><br />
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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</style><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="color: black;">© 2010 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.</span></i></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="color: black;">________________________________</span></i></span><br />
<div style="color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
<br />
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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</style><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fariel Shaffee has worked
mainly in science, but enjoys writing and art. Her poetry and prose have
appeared in <i>DecomP, Ygdrasil, Oak Bend Review, BluePrint Review, Skive</i>, and many others. She has also exhibited art internationally</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">. If you would like to see more of Fariel's work, click <a href="http://fariels.tripod.com/">here</a>. </span></span><i><span style="color: black;"></span></i></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-46648733300984266012010-01-12T07:23:00.000-08:002010-02-17T07:29:35.680-08:00The Prussian Flower<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Fariel Shafee</i></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I wanted you to be proud of me.<br />
I wanted to make you feel happy and worthy because of me.<br />
I wanted to give you a meaning, and also find recourse in you.<br />
I loved you.<br /><br />
Remember those sunny days long, long ago?<br />
You used to follow me across those green and yellow corn fields, and the tall birch
trees swayed and nodded in agreement. Gusts of air would create interfering
plant-waves to submerge and smother us passionately. You looked radiant when
you put your hands around me and painted kisses on my flesh. Life seemed
fraught with meanings that connected us and the world – the lushness and the
simplicity – together eternally. <br /><br />
We belonged; we were saturated; we fulfilled each other. The world was forever.<br /><br />
Then one day those waves dancing about the corn leaves seeped into the soil,
the house, the lives, and distorted the placid pool of time to shake us all.
Suddenly, there were places to be carried to and zeniths to be attained as the
earth cracked, satiation exhausted and our lives shuffled. You rode on top of
the crest and pined to reach the shore where starfish dazzled on yellow sand
and foreign thrills abounded. You wanted that Prussian flower hanging from the
vine in that exotic island. <br /><br />
Later, at a night, we stood next to the sea, where the frothy waves reflected
our dreams gorgeously. We drifted together for eons, and stayed alive for the
future. In an autumn evening, as the reddened motes of dusk glittered in the
air, we saw the spires of opportunity rising above the clouds. As you pulled my
hand impatiently, we walked into the contorted alleys adjoining the shore.
There, our hopes ricocheted from the rubble to make it sparkle like gold dust.<br /><br />
In the city of hope, you and I worked hard, ate little and gazed at the spires.
At night you brushed my skin and the warmth of your breath reminded me of life.
In our dreams we saw that Prussian flower hanging from the canopy of stars,
emanating the luster of a full moon. It was hidden behind walls, they said. The
walls will start to dissolve when drops of rain would fall from heaven one
magical night -- you whispered into my ear.<br /><br />
Then you pulled me across those slabs bridging the two banks of the creek one
cold evening. The flower was at the top of the mountain, circled by a Blue Jay.
You had to climb up to that pinnacle, where it hung from those vines. You
pushed me along in haste and went ahead. I followed timidly. The flower
glimmered uniquely in the midst of a thorny shrub.<br /><br />
Look at the magnificent flower. It is deep and rich like the heart of the sea.
It calls one to its bottom uncontrollably. Touch the flower, those lush leaves
all around, and the bright red spot in the middle of deep blue. I have stolen
it from the depth of thorns for you. <br /><br />
Take it, and caress it. <br /><br />
We stand at the very top, and gaze at it. It glows on our hands and calls us to
the unknown.<br />
We feel fulfilled.<br /><br />
Below us, the rocks shake. They tremble like a leaf in the wind. <br />
Snow begins to fall and shimmer on the leaves. <br />
Our hands are numb and the sun is about to set.<br /><br />
I wrap my arms around you and bring you down. You hold on to me tightly to keep
warm. You try to hang on to the flower as your fingers stifle and the icy wind
blows. <br />
A tremor spreads, and we almost fall crashing to the ground.<br /><br />
We now sit in our humble abode in this faraway land. A fire is lit next to us.
We imagine that Prussian flower degrading on the snow. I pull you towards me
and kiss your lips softly. Another day will start in another world. One day, to
our children, we will narrate the story of our adventure in a home we shall
build for them with our own sweat and blood.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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</style><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt;">© 2010 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.</span></i><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span></i></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">________________________________________</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</style><span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fariel Shafee has worked
mainly in science, but enjoys writing and art. Her poetry and prose have
appeared in </span><i style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">DecomP, Ygdrasil, Oak Bend Review, BluePrint Review, Skive</i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">, and many others. She has also exhibited art internationally. You can see more of Fariel's work </span><a href="http://fariels.tripod.com/" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">here</a><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">.</span></span></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><i><br /></i>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-19617641504614664752010-01-11T07:29:00.000-08:002010-02-17T07:33:00.019-08:00That Day<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Fariel Shafee</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">That day was an ordinary day,</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
like any other day</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
under an August sky:</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
The coffee was as usual, and so was the cafeteria </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
burger.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
We sat under the umbrella and we talked.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
The couple in pitch black conversed next to </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
us, and several groups of students </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
sprawled scattered on the </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
grass.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
That day was just </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
mundane,</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and we talked</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and we ate.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
But those reckless words </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
were </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
unsafe:</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Each wrapped with </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
denial, </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
like the dumplings on our plates were shrouded </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
with </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
deceiving white, and then</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
steamed.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
And that day</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
changed us</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
irreversibly.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
And now</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I sit with you;</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
the sun is as it was,</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
--glowing red, and hot,</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
relentless above our heads.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Couples around us hum,</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
a solitary man </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
eats potatoes </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and corn.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
This day is just like that </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
day.</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
But</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
decades have passed in a jolt;</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
you and I look </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
defeated</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and those piles of</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
rubble are high</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
between </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
us </span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and our long lost</span><br style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
youth.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> © 2010 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">__________________________________</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fariel Shafee has worked
mainly in science, but enjoys writing and art. Her poetry and prose have
appeared in </span><i style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">DecomP, Ygdrasil, Oak Bend Review, BluePrint Review, Skive</i><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">, and many others. She has also exhibited art internationally. You can see more of Fariel's work </span><a href="http://fariels.tripod.com/" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">here</a><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">.</span></span></span><span style="color: #00407f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></span>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-74219544736244848582010-01-10T07:39:00.000-08:002010-02-17T07:49:35.646-08:00A Weekend Home<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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</style><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <i>by Rebecca Huggins</i></span></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Peter
watched the smoke furl, blending seamlessly with the rich, white clouds that
filled the blue sky, the train disappearing into the tunnel, almost as quickly
as it had come. It was always the same;
he’d see the train, far off in the distance, a simple haze in the heat of the
summer afternoon. He’d hear its warning
whistle as it slowly approached, the ground trembling in anticipation, his
heart beginning to quicken at the sight of the lumbering giant hovering
ominously in the distance. Time would go
on forever as he’d wait, watching the metal giant slowly grow—bigger and
louder, more threatening still—until at last it would speed past him, leaving
him behind, as a tiny dot in the distance, slowly disappearing. This strange love of trains had begun when he
was quite young, and being that he was only twelve, he quite honestly had loved
trains ever since he could remember.
They were comforting with their rhythmic bumps as they ran over the old,
metal tracks, yet altogether frightening with their speed and inertia. Perhaps what was most comforting to Peter
about these large, metal creatures, was their inability to alter their own courses;
they were—unlike cars, which tend to be subject to their master’s every will
and whim—set on tracks; tracks which they had to follow and from which they could
never deviate. And with the uncertainty
of Peter’s life, a life that consisted of tracks and predestined turns was
quite appealing to the twelve-year-old.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Peter
was, for all intents and purposes, an orphan, though he does not really fit any
preconceived ideas you may already have about orphans; nor did he reside in an
old, badly kept orphanage with creaking floorboards and rusty pipes. Peter lived as he deemed fit and had acquired
over the years, a family for every day of the week—or at least <i>most </i> days<i> </i>of
the week, because he would spend the weekends in his Weekend Home, a small,
forgotten corner beneath the train tracks, next to a tiny little stream. He tended to spend a great deal more of his time
here, alone, thinking about things that most twelve year olds rarely have time
to think about as they usually spend any spare time talking with friends,
playing sports, getting into trouble, watching T.V., or playing a video game. Yet Peter was a solitary boy, who preferred
spending his time at the railroad, watching the trains.</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
His
Monday Family were the Günter’s. They
were a practical family, who lived in a suburban neighborhood and drove
American cars and bought everything in their home from the large supercenter
around the block. Mr. Günter was an
electrician and Mrs. Günter stayed home with her two children—Emily, five, and
Richard, eight. Mrs. Günter spent her
days gardening and shopping at the supercenter, hauling around the children in
her American mini-van, and on Sundays the family would go to church and cookout
in the evenings. The Günters worked like
clockwork, just like the metal trains that Peter loved so much, never changing,
never altering from their course, repeating and repeating, day in and day out.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
The
children, Emily and Richard, seemed to have mixed feelings about the boy that
Mr. and Mrs. Günter had taken in to their home.
Richard, in particular, did not like Peter, as they were complete and
total opposites. The freedom which Peter
had, Richard sought, and the stability that Richard had, Peter longed for. The two very rarely saw eye to eye, and would
spend Monday meals eating in silence, with Richard asking the same old
questions he asked every Monday night at dinner: “Why is he here?” “Why do you guys let him stay with us?”
“Where does he come from?” All the questions they’d answered hundreds of times
before, and whose answers would never change. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“Peter
will be with us for a while, son. He is
lonely, and needs a place to stay.” </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Yet the
simple fact that Richard continued to ask these questions suggested that he
hoped one day the answers <i>would</i>
change, or that he was, in fact, the product of an unchanging home, and no
matter how much he longed for change, he would always lead a life of
consistency.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Little
Emily would spend most of the meal staring at Peter in silence, her eyes wide,
her mouth full of one vegetable or another.
She had not spoken to Peter since he’d adopted the Günters as his Monday
Family. And as dull as it all may sound,
Peter enjoyed the routine dinners, he liked helping Mrs. Günter clean up the
dishes, and he especially liked going to sleep in his own bed—though it was
technically Richard’s <i>old </i>bed, and
quite a bit too short for Peter’s long, lean legs. He liked how Mrs. Günter would tuck him in
every Monday night and gently kiss him on the cheek—a soft, almost intangible
kiss that seemed hardly real to Peter, but was enough to make him smile, as she
wished him pleasant dreams. He liked how
Mr. Günter patted him on the back and promised to play ball with him one
day. And while it was an empty
promise—one that Mr. Günter never truly planned on honoring—the promise was all
that Peter really wanted, and he would go to sleep, pretending he was a Günter
and that this was his home, the home he’d been born into, the home in which
he’d always belonged— not the cold, lonely corner beneath the train tracks.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Peter’s
Tuesday Family was the Beardsleys. They
lived on the opposite side of town in a small, historical home that had seen
much better days. It had not suffered
many of the updates that most historical homes had seen, as the Beardsleys
wandered about by candlelight at night, and drew their water from an old well for cooking and
for their baths—which were rare occasions, as the Beardsley family only bathed
on Sundays. Peter was quite glad that the Beardsleys were his Tuesday Family,
as opposed to his Sunday Family, as he’d heard they all took turns holding a
large bucket over each other’s heads and scrubbing madly at themselves, rubbing
off the built-up grime and dirt that covered their skin. Mr. Beardsley was a professor at the local
university and taught physics. Mrs.
Beardsley was an animal activist, and spent her mornings cutting coupons out of
the local newspaper. They had three
children; Marigold, seven, Benjamin, six, and Lucy, three. The children paid very little attention to
Peter altogether, and really, the only person who seemed to notice Peter at all
was Mrs. Beardsley, who would offer Peter organic cookies and freshly squeezed
prune juice every Tuesday morning. Mr.
Beardsley would work well into the evening, and never came to kiss Peter
goodnight at the end of his busy day.
Rather, he’d spend long hours in his study, listening to an old record
and grading students’ papers.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Peter
recalled the very first time he’d met Mrs. Beardsley. It was actually in her garden, where she was
busy meditating. It was fall then and
the leaves had already turned golden, and whisked around the sidewalk in small,
insignificant whirlwinds, rising off the ground as if by magic to fall again in
new, undetermined places, making their way across the town as the wind deemed
fit to carry them. He’d been watching her for a while, he supposed, as he’d
never seen anyone meditate before, and quite suddenly, when Mrs. Beardsley
opened her eyes, she noticed Peter through the frizzy tendrils of bangs that
hung down into her eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
She’d
taught him a great deal about meditation since then, and had talked to him
about the universe and cosmic things that Peter didn’t really understand. But she’d always said that she felt she had
been meant for something grand, and she thought that Peter was perhaps a part
of that cosmic feeling that she had; that fate was in fact responsible for
bringing him to her that day—a fate that was something like the wind that
carried the leaves from one place to the next in what appeared to be an
unplanned manner, but, according to Mrs. Beardsley, was in actuality, part of
fate’s grand plan.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
His
Wednesday Family was an old couple on Welks Street named the Sorentinos. They lived in a very old apartment above
their Laundromat business, with an even older cat, named Muffins. Muffins did not particularly like Peter. He would hiss and growl at him every time
he’d show up at the Sorentinos’ door, which he did like clockwork every morning
at nine a.m. The condo smelled like
mothballs and garlic, but it was a homey smell that Peter had grown accustomed
to, and he would spend a great deal of his time at the Sorentinos’, rustling
around in their attic. Mrs. Sorentino
had found him there one day, and had shown him all of her husband’s old war
pictures, love letters, and military paraphernalia. Peter even saw his old rifle, but was not
allowed to touch it or so Mrs. Sorentino had said. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
“Guns
are dangerous,” she warned him, “We wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Then she
would look at Peter and her old eyes would suddenly grow very sad, like there
was something weighing on her mind.
Peter had thought that perhaps she was thinking of her son—or the son
that he assumed she had, because of all the pictures around the attic of a little
boy with chubby cheeks and dirty blond hair.
Sometimes he wanted to ask her about him, when she looked at him that
way, but never managed to form the proper words to say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Often times
he would become so preoccupied with exploring the Sorentinos’ attic, that he
would fall asleep on an old, leather trunk, with cracks along the edges, dreaming
of wars and medals and intangible love that he had never felt—for a girl whom
he had yet to meet.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
On
Thursdays, Peter would visit the Alabaster family on Euclid. They lived in a huge, old mansion, that had
been updated with every luxury man could possibly imagine, including granite
counter tops, a marble floor in the foyer, and beautiful crystal chandeliers
that illuminated the hallways with an eerie, glowing light, as if the sun
itself were trapped within long, translucent icicles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Mr.
Alabaster worked at a bank, and his two daughters were on the soccer team at
Bellevue High. His wife, Mrs. Alabaster,
was a caterer, and spent most of her days in the kitchen, preparing pastries
for local businesses and weddings. Yet
no matter how often Peter would appear at the Alabaster’s home, it seemed as if
they had yet to <i>truly</i> accept
him. They would look at him at times in
an off kilter way, as if they were looking <i>through
</i>him, and not truly acknowledging his presence; their expressions would grow
blank, and more often than not, they would simply pretend he wasn’t there. Yet no matter how often Peter would tell
himself that he should stop visiting the Alabasters on Thursdays, he would
always find himself there, staring up at the large, imposing doors on Thursday
morning, ringing the loud, menacing bell that announced his arrival as if he
were someone great; a king, a knight, or even the mayor of the small,
insignificant town—anyone but poor Peter, who really wasn’t anyone so special
at all.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
His
Friday family was the Woodleys, which happened to be a very large family
indeed. There was Mrs. Woodley and Mr.
Woodley; Mable, the oldest daughter and her husband, Frank; Benji, who was
fifteen, Felix who was twelve, Rosie who was ten, and Uncle Will and Aunt Susie.
Grandma and Grandpa Woodley would visit every weekend, along with their three
old collies. They lived in a dilapidated
farm house in the middle of nowhere, and spent their days taking care of the
animals and tending the corn fields which lined the old farm house in a giant,
imposing maze. Peter had been staying
there since he’d first arrived several Fridays before, and had gotten lost in
their chicken coup. He had been discovered
by little Rosie, who had told her father, Mr. Woodley, that there was a
“strange little boy messing with the chickens.”
Ever since, Rosie had been Peter’s best friend, and they often spent
long summer nights laying in the corn fields, gazing up at the bright summer
stars, imagining that one day they would grow up and get married, buy a small
lot of land, and build their own farm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Now it
was Sunday, and Peter was walking the tracks, kicking the pebbles and thinking
about his many families, which really were like one big family to him. Maybe it was because of the darkness of the
night, or perhaps it was because his thoughts were elsewhere; whatever the
reason, that particular Sunday a train happened to be passing along the tracks
that Peter so often walked. Why a train
should be on those tracks that particular Sunday was unfathomable to him. Peter had lived beneath the tracks for as
long as he could remember; and he couldn’t remember there ever being a train on
Sunday. Yet why things happen as they do
is a question that very rarely offers any solutions or practical reasons. To Peter, fate was much more like that little
gust of wind that carried the leaves across the city in an undetermined path,
that had no particular plan and sought to punish no particular leaf. So when the train hit Peter, he didn’t really
notice it at first because he didn’t feel much of anything at all; just the
strange sensation of being pulled apart momentarily and then put back together
again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
That’s
when he remembered what had happened.
How he’d been walking those very train tracks on a Somewhat Similar Sunday,
not noticing the train as it approached, not noticing the warning whistle, not
feeling the ground rumble as it encroached upon him. It had felt different then, when the metal
giant met his yielding flesh, yet the pain was only momentary. And when he woke up again, he was in his home,
beneath the tracks, the bright summer sun warming his pale skin and he thought
that he felt much better than he’d ever felt before; quite well rested and
ready for a new day. He now realized how
very much like those leaves he really was, being carried by the wind from place
to place, having forgotten where he’d come from and which place he had once
called home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But all
that didn’t matter now, as he kicked another pebble, looking up at the dark,
starlit sky, and watching the train disappear through the tunnel. Soon he would forget again about </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">what </i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">he was and go about his week as
usual, the train leaving him behind, as if he’d never been there at all, a
small, indiscernible wave of smoke, curling and bending, furling into the
distance, disappearing now into the night. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">© 2010
Rebecca Huggins. All rights reserved</span></i></span>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p>_____________________________________________</o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p>ABOUT THE AUTHOR</o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Rebecca Huggins is the publisher and editor-in-chief of Black Lantern Publishing. When she is not busy editing, reading, or admiring other people's artwork, she is usually writing her own tales of woe. You can see more of Rebecca's works in our </span><a href="http://www.blacklanternpublishing.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">previous issues</a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> of Black Lantern Publishing, and you can learn more about the writer </span><a href="http://rarhuggins.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">.</span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span>
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Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-22205013738069867772010-01-09T07:57:00.000-08:002010-02-17T08:01:05.263-08:00The Loneliest Boy in the Middle of the Ocean<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Rebecca Huggins</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span> </div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When Gabriel Martinez was just nine years old, he
watched his father’s fishing boat sink off the coast of Nameless Island, one of
the nineteen Galapàgos Islands of
Ecuador. Ever since he would hold his breath when a ship would sail by
the neighboring island of Floreana, hoping somehow that by doing so his father
might be able to use the breaths he was not taking, and come back to life on
one of those empty vessels. Now fifteen, and not nearly so naïve, Gabriel
worked at the local fishery, cleaning, gutting, and otherwise preparing the
fish for sale to the locals who bought up the delicious, fresh catches
greedily.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>One day, a stranger came to Floreana. No one in
the small town had seen him arrive, nor did anyone in the town seem to know
what had brought the visitor to the small, secluded island. Whatever had
brought him to Floreana was as great a mystery as the man himself, who the
locals had simply begun to call Innominado, because<span style="color: red;"> </span>no
one knew his name, and for that matter, no one seemed to make any effort to
find out what the man’s name was. He would come and go from Azucena’s
Bar, always ordering the same thing, then sitting by himself, reading <i>Ecuador
Mundo</i> in the same dark, forgotten corner.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>And as harmless as this may seem to some, the
residents of Floreana began to whisper things when the stranger had his back
turned or late at night in their dingy abodes. <i>Who is that man? </i>They’d
wonder, <i>And what does he want here?</i> <i>Did you see him, ordering
his drink and reading that paper?</i> <i>Always the same, and never any
explanations. What does he mean by coming to Floreana anyway?</i>
These questions and many others the locals would ask, trying to discover who
this intruder was, though never did any of the people of Floreana bother to ask
the strange man who he was, or why he’d come to the island town. Yet
everyday, just the same, he would come into Azucena’s Bar and read his paper
and drink his drink, never once acknowledging the sideways glances and the
whispered words. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> One day, when Gabriel was walking along the cool,
white beach of Floreana Island, he noticed the stranger standing out in the
middle of the ocean. It took him a moment to realize that his eyes
weren’t playing tricks on him and that the man was in fact in the middle of the
<st1:place w:st="on">Pacific Ocean</st1:place>, arms stretched out at either
side, though the cool, placid waters were only waist deep on his tall, lean
frame.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>Worried that the man might drown, just as his father
had done six years before, Gabriel called to the man, but his voice was carried
up and away by the rolling winds and the undulating waters. Again he
called, again and again, until his voice cracked from the strain, and still the
stranger did not return to the shore, nor so much as acknowledge his cries.
In desperation, Gabriel began to walk into the crisp, blue waters, but the
moment the waves crashed against his legs, he retreated for the safety of the
shore. Ever since The Drowning, Gabriel had not returned to the Ocean as a
great, suffocating fear had overcome him and kept him from the deceiving waters.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>Averting his eyes from the waves, he looked back
towards the horizon; still the stranger waited, unmoving, unknowing. And
then something horrible happened; the water began to rise about the stranger’s
body, slowly at first, then gradually faster. It was now up to the man’s
chest, and still he made no effort to return to shore. Gabriel was seized
by an immense panic; what if the man was tied down to the water’s bottom, a
great iron anchor, rotten with age, keeping him cast out in the middle of the
ocean? What if he couldn’t swim back to shore because he was bound to the
anchor, hidden beneath the dark blue waters? Worse still, what if a great
Horn Shark had encircled him and was simply waiting for the apt moment to
strike?<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gabriel no longer could wait; he had to try and get
help. But just as his calls to the stranger had gone unanswered, so did
those to the townspeople. It seemed as if every other person in the
entire village were hidden in their houses, windows bared and doors locked up
tightly, unaware of the great tragedy that was about to take place.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>Then a most terrible thought occurred to Gabriel; what
if the people already knew the stranger was drowning? What if it was one
of<span style="color: red;"> </span><i>them </i>who had tied him to the anchor,
buried in the bottom of the ocean? He had heard their whispered musings,
seen their sidelong stares; he knew the unspoken words they thought whenever
they happened to see the stranger; the man in the water was drowning and no one
was going to save him. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>Without another thought, Gabriel turned back to the
unrelenting waters that were now swallowing the man whole. He sucked in a
breath—as he’d always done when he had been a boy—only this time, he offered
his breath to the stranger. He thought that if only that one breath could help
that poor man, out in the middle of the ocean, than he should have it; let it
be his, for he would need it to swim back to shore. Then in an instant,
all was black.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <span lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gabriel dreamt of a great fish, with many colorful, translucent scales, each
reflecting a different color as the great creature moved through the shimmering
ocean. He dreamt that he was a great worm, caught on a line, and that
giant fish was approaching him, closer and closer, yet Gabriel felt no fear. The
fish was beautiful, and though twice his size, seemingly harmless.
Gabriel reached out his hand as if to touch the great creature, when he awoke
to a blurred face, smiling down at him, the warm sun heating his frozen
limbs. For a moment, he thought he was young again, and his father had
come back from his long fishing trip so many years ago. But then the
illusion was gone and Gabriel remembered what had happened to him and the face
slowly became someone else’s—the stranger, Innominado! He was still
alive!<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gabriel tried to speak, to ask the man if he was
alright, but his parched voice cracked and he coughed up a good deal of salty
sea water instead. All that time had passed—all those moments, which
seemed like an eternity to Gabriel in his weakened condition; and what had he
forgotten to do? He’d forgotten to breath, forgotten until now. The
man smiled and placed a reassuring hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You saved me, Good Friend,” he said, and when he
spoke, Gabriel heard his ears ring as the man’s voice was like the delicate
lull of a lazy summer’s wind against faint, hollow bells. “You sacrificed
yourself to help me and for that you shall be greatly rewarded. <span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When all the other people in this town shunned me, you
showed true mercy by pulling me from those equally unforgiving waters.
Even as they watched, frozen with fear from afar, you came to my aide.
For this, Gabriel Martinez, a great gift shall await you.” And with that, the
stranger was gone.<span lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It was a few hours later that Gabriel woke up again,
only now he was in his own bed, his ailing mother by his side. She looked
unwell, concerned about her son as she was, her brow furrowed, her face
worn. With a start, Gabriel sat up in bed and demanded to know where the
stranger, Innominado was.<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“But he is gone, my child!” his mother said, after
much unsuccessful coaxing to get her son to lay back down. “He left many
days ago as unexpectedly as when he’d arrived.”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span>It was then that Gabriel learned what had really
happened to him. That he’d been walking on the shore of the Nameless
Island when a great wave came and swept him into the very middle of the
ocean. And it was there, on the white sandy shore, that he’d been
discovered, much later, unconscious on the beach.<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gabriel regarded his mother with great incredulity,
yet even as she recounted the tale, Gabriel remembered the great, choking
weight of the waves as they crashed over him, filling his lungs with salty
ocean water.<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Andalus;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And
so it was that Gabriel’s encounter with the stranger on the ocean had never
been told, not to any of the locals on Floreana Island. Yet even to this
day, Gabriel knows that it was not the stranger who was drowning that day, but
it was he, himself,</span><span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">lost as he was for so many
years until an Angel came to his town, though no one else could see, and had
lifted a broken boy from his grave and held him in his wings, gently whispering
of better things and a life not yet begun.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Andalus;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">© 2010
Rebecca Huggins. All rights reserved.</i></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Andalus;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">__________________________________</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #783f04;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Andalus;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Andalus;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Rebecca Huggins is the publisher and editor-in-chief of Black Lantern Publishing, as well as its imprints,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1266421793485"> </a><i><a href="http://www.crowsnestmagazine.blogspot.com/">Crow's Nest Magazine</a> </i>and <a href="http://www.broomstickbooks.blogspot.com/"><i>Broomstick Books</i></a>. She resides in a decisively dusty town, where strangers are outcasts in an otherwise close knit community. You can see more of her works in <a href="http://www.blacklanternpublishing.blogspot.com/">previous issues</a> of Black Lantern, and you can learn more about the writer <a href="http://www.rarhuggins.blogspot.com/">here</a>. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Andalus;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span><o:p></o:p></span>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-75494728288413677432010-01-08T08:01:00.000-08:002010-02-17T08:08:27.671-08:00Crying at the Window, I See You There<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">by Chris </span></i><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></link>
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</style><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">G. Vaillancourt </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black;"><br /></span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></i></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Crying at the window, I see you there. <br />
Lifting hand in gesture of removal, <br />
taking sight from eyes. <br />
Seeing nothing but the tumbled <br />
heart wrapped in dark glasses. <br />
They shield your focus, cover <br />
you in mirrored attention. <br />
I feel your thoughts beating <br />
like webs on a ceiling. <br />
They ask me to never go away. <br />
So I shall always love you, <br />
even when there are tears. <br />
I shall always protect you, <br />
wrap you in varying shadows <br />
of perception. Teaching you <br />
that some daddys' never leave <br />
you behind. Distance is illusion. <br />
A story that ravels untold without <br />
beginning or ending. A taste of <br />
other visions, other rubber stamps <br />
that leave no clear imprint on the <br />
mind. Jangled nerves that jumble <br />
the ripped paper like stenciled <br />
hate upon the hands. You will <br />
need me to be strong for you. <br />
Lifting arms like steel shoulders <br />
upon the shifting world that <br />
surrounds but won't reach in. <br />
Our minds shelter the same longing. <br />
Stability in the pursuit of chaos. <br />
Crying at the window, I see you there. <br />
Scared faces pressed like <br />
idols into the mumbled sentences <br />
of misconceptions. We will <br />
survive this, my children. <br />
We will grow like weeds <br />
between the cracks of a sidewalk. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">© 2010
Chris G. Vaillancourt. All rights
reserved. </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">_______________________________________</span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CBecca%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Chris G.
Vaillancourt is a Canadian poet who has enjoyed publication in numerous
small poetry magazines and newsletters, such as <i>Pagan Lady Poetry Journal, The Inkling;
The Lance; Opussum Review; Red Dragon; Poesia International; Plum Ruby Review;
Windsor Star; Quills, Poetry Sharings, Poesy, Poetry Stop, Detour Memphis</i>, and a
host of other print and ezine publications. Several chapbooks of his poetry have also been published, such as "Slow Burn" (4 Winds
Press) and "teardrop of Coloured Soul" (PublishAmerica). He has a BA
in Psychology from the University of Windsor and a Diploma in Sacerdotal
Ministry from the Saint Andrew Theological Institute. Chris resides in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.</span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-22154628908719531052010-01-07T08:09:00.000-08:002010-02-17T08:20:06.103-08:00Face<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>By Chris Castle </i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Robbie looked out of the window to the
city. Everything was broken and smoke was drifting constantly around the
rubble. He saw them running between the rocks, blood all over them, their
mouths open. What used to be people and were now in ruins. A few gathered
around a body and began feasting and Robbie felt his stomach lurch. He turned
away, putting his hand to his mouth. He counted to five and brought it down,
trying not to catch a glimpse of the bandage over his forearm as he did. But he
felt the burn of the bite underneath the white cotton all the same, and
immediately the question roared into his brain: <i>How long have I got before I
turn into one of them?</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Robbie Roberts, a make-up artist living in
a world of monsters. Big joke: Ha-ha. He walked through his loft, all his best
work surrounding him, his own rogue’s gallery. The awards sat on the shelf,
the pride of place, back when things like that mattered. He wondered now how much
time he had wasted on his own small problems before the world changed; his worries
about being an artist, how much he still loved his ex, his financial problems
and blah-blah-blah. He was holding a pile of bills when the news broke. At
first there was that feeling of seeing a catastrophe on the television screen,
the unreality of it, the feeling it was a movie and not really happening. But
then the television didn’t stop reporting the news. Slowly he drifted to his
window and saw it begin on the streets. By the time his phone started ringing,
he knew the world had shifted into a full blown nightmare.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The desk was clear, save for the model, the
tool kit. When he started out in the business, it was all Robbie had; a plaster
cast kit, clay and paintbrushes. It was dawn and he calculated he had nine
hours of light. He stretched and rolled his fingers and coolly wondered which
of his functions he would lose first to the virus. The information on the net
before the power shorted was so random and scatter shot he couldn’t afford to
believe any of it. Even when the world was ending, people still felt the need
to lie. He sat down on his work bench and picked up the brush. The light moved
over where he sat; he hadn’t lost the sun, not yet.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB"> It was the one time he was glad his parents
were no longer with him. He tried to call Sarah but couldn’t get through. His
friends called him, shouting, crying, looking for a means to escape until after
two days, there was nothing. Already bolted into his studio and with a fully
stocked fridge, Robbie watched the world die from his window. On the third day
his phone lit and Sarah’s number came onto the screen. He listened to her; her
voice changed and unrecognizable. As her voice faded, a strange sound,
almost like white noise, seemed to come from another place in her throat. They
spoke until that white noise overtook them both and he flung the phone away as
she screamed. That was the sound of the Change.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Robbie leaned forward and wiped his eyes.
When he had stopped crying he leaned back and worked on the ears, prodding the
clay into shape. For a full hour he worked on the model and thought of nothing
else but the contours and the lines; he was as close to happy as he was going
to ever be. The sunlight shifted and he adjusted his stool, dropping the brush.
When he crouched down, he slipped off, hitting the deck and nearly dragging the
whole table down with him; he laughed at getting pins and needles in his legs
out of all the problems he could suffer. Robbie made to pull himself up and
couldn’t quite move. He tried again, slapping his legs, his laughter subsiding
into frustration, then anger. Still, he couldn’t move. Finally, he pushed
himself to the wall, reaching down to his left leg, pulling his jeans up. The
breath rushed out of him. He looked at the veins and the distortion and closed
his eyes. That was where the Change had started.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">There was no logic to how the scavengers
attacked. Sometimes they hunted in packs; sometimes there was just one stray,
roaming and aimless. Robbie watched them long enough to understand they had no
sense of internal logic. Each day he watched them, each day he told himself it
was suicide to go out there. There was enough food until things calmed down, or
the governments came up with answers. He could sit tight until his water ran
out and going outside became a necessity. Hell, he lived on the roof; if he was
careful he could store water and ration his food for a very long time. In the
day, logic held tight, but at night, when he tried to sleep, he heard her voice
on the phone, the last words she said. The woman he loved, the last person on
earth he had spoken to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Robbie pulled himself into the bathroom,
injected himself with painkillers. He took a shot of vodka and waited for one
minute for the brew to work. He crawled back to the desk, still clutching the
pills and the bottle. Suddenly, for the first time, he was aware of his body, the
war between the drugs and his infected body, his veins pulsing, his skin
turning. It felt as if his skin was forcing itself from the safety of his
bones. Somewhere there was a surge and his shoulders shook, his neck locked.
Then it seemed to be over and he reached for the brush.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">He made it to the elevator shaft, the
street, the carpool. He found his car easily enough and made it out into the
road; if it wasn’t for all he knew, it would have felt like a Sunday morning,
waking up before the rest of the world. Robbie peeled onto the road and saw two
monsters on the corner of the road; they were feeding off each other’s arms,
each crouched and slowly bobbing up and down. There was a gang in the middle of
the street and he swerved to avoid them, missing them easily. By the time he
made it to her house he had counted twenty seven in all. He stepped out of the
car and walked up to her door, holding an axe in his hand and feeling terrified
but, ridiculously, a little self-conscious too, holding the weapon. He had the
key ready, but dropped it when he saw the open door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">He worked with the buzz of the pills and
the booze, finishing off the left side by <st1:time hour="12" minute="0" w:st="on">noon</st1:time>.
There was no time to stop now, no need for food. Instead, he simply placed the
painkillers and the bottle by the side of the desk. He did not check his legs,
he did not think of anything but his work. The sun was still bright in the sky,
letting him see every detail. That was all that mattered now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">He found her in the bedroom, where she had
called him from. He had smashed the door in and saw the gun by the side of her
before he had seen her body. They had not reached her. She had used the word
‘defile’ when they spoke, that was her fear. But it was not like that; they had
not reached her. Instead, he took off his jacket, laid it over her. He walked
over to the mirror and took a photo from the wall and slipped it into his back
pocket; it was of the two of them on holiday, two years before. The curtains
were the best place to start, he reasoned. There was nothing but the sound of
the match sparking into life and then the crackle of the fire spreading as it
consumed the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The jolt was so fierce it brought tears to
Robbie’s eyes. He winced and then gripped the brush tighter, not wanting to
spill it and have to go through the process of having to clamor down to the
floor again. It was his stomach now, locking and weaving against his ribs. He
looked down and saw he had lost control of himself. Quickly and carefully,
Robbie swallowed more pills, took another swig, hoping he would be able to hold
it down. He counted to three, even as he felt the virus move up as high as his
heart, gripping it, making it beat at a speed he had never known; was this a
seizure? The body locked, but his mind held just above the surface of the
madness. Finally, he took a breath and reached forward to the model.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The room burned quickly and soon spread to
the rest of the house. Robbie watched as the flames ripped the house that he
had so dearly loved, part of him relieved it would not be infested by the
scavengers and ruined. He watched the flames carry higher and higher into the
sky; it was almost beautiful. The smoke was all around him, blinding him. There
was a noise, something like a purr, then a sharp pain in his arm. Then the two
of them fell onto the concrete, tussling, Robbie trying to lever the axe
against the body to find some distance, knowing somewhere, in the back of his
head, that he was already dying. They rolled over and then he was on his feet.
How strange it was, all played out in silence, with no screaming. And then he
brought down the axe and felt it hit the body, wrapped and cloaked in the
smoke. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was almost complete. Robbie was aware of
losing track of time now; his mind was slowing, he knew this, even as it was
happening. There was a steam running over his eyes, his mouth, clogging his
senses; this is how it feels, he thought, as it moved over him. The sun was
still there, just about, he still understood this. The bandage had fallen
apart, though he didn’t remember loosening it; all that mattered were his hands.
Even through the fog, he watched as his hands worked, pushing lips into a
smile, patting a cheek into the correct angle. There was a snap and he suddenly
felt everything below his neck slip away, so there was just a damp, mossy,
feeling where his body should be. The sound in his ears began to tilt, become
uneven, so that it felt as if he was submerged in water. That was it, Robbie
understood then; he was drowning in the virus. He lunged forward, making a
small indentation in the chin, the mark she hated and he loved so much. Then
his hands slipped away from the desk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Robbie Roberts looked up in the last few moments
and saw the face of the woman he loved so dearly. The photo resting next to her
fell to the floor, the pencils and the tools spilled away. Even the sun began
to fade, so there was only the half-light in the room. But it was enough. He held
the image of her in his mind, even as his eyes tightened and then opened wider
than he could ever imagine. There was a last, sudden roar and then darkness, as
he stole one last look to her and then felt himself fall away.</span><i> </i><br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">© 2010 Chris Castle. All rights reserved.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">________________________________________________</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Chris Castle lives and works outside of London, England and has had 300
odd pieces published in various places; his main influences include Ray
Carver and the films of Paul Thomas Anderson.<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><i><span lang="EN-GB"></span></i></span></div>
Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-89228357472161592572010-01-06T08:20:00.000-08:002010-02-17T08:24:46.375-08:00Bloom<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by Chris Castle</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Sara Jane had just finished
writing the letter when the doorbell rang. She walked to the door, saw the
frame of the man, it was a man after all, no doubt about that, and asked him
his business. He introduced himself as staff sergeant Powers and stood away
from the door. Without thinking, she opened the door up and looked right out
onto the man on her front porch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Ma’am,” he said, looking her
straight in the eye and not wandering anywhere else. A gentleman, thought Sara
Jane, couldn’t think of it anyway else. A real gentleman, from the way his
voice sounded, to the space he allowed her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“If this is about Daryl, then I’m
afraid you’ve wasted your time, sergeant. One of you boys came up here a month
ago with the letter.” She nodded to him, remembering the boy who handed her the
letter, shuffling his feet like a kid. Waiting to see out of the corner of his
eye what a woman would do when she found out her husband was dead. Whether she
would faint dead away or take him by the hand. He was waiting for her hand; she
could see that in the boy’s eyes, hungry and willing all the while, like a bird
who stole for the sake of stealing. Instead, she simply nodded and wished him
well, waiting until the door was closed and the engine edged out down the lane
before she gently slid down the doorframe and onto the floor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I understand that, ma’am and you
have my condolences. See, my visit here is two-fold, you understand. The
government likes to have a member follow up on the bereaved to see how they are
coping.” He finished the sentence then seemed to swallow the other down. With
his hat in his hand, his black hair ran a little unruly, Sarah thought. Too
long for a soldier.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Your hair’s running wild,” she
said, sensing something wasn’t right. Being married to Daryl had taught her to
learn where a lie was coming in from, or at the least, sense the traces of
something that rang hollow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Yes it is ma’am and I apologize
for my appearance,” the man said. If Sarah didn’t know any better, she’d swear
he was blushing. She put him at forty, but a man who held his age well and not
like a burden, like Daryl’s pa, who was forever more than a man than his son.
But still, there was a youthfulness in this man before her, or at the least
something that hadn’t been hollowed out completely in defeat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Well, the other reason is this
ma’am. The war you know has been raging is… spilling out now, all over the
country. The cities are breaking up, people rioting. I’m ahead of it and
warning people about what might come this way, soon enough.” He ran his hand
through the hair, so black, she half expected ink to be on his fingers when he
was done. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Sergeant, are you telling me
you’ve gone AWOL?” Sarah’s husband, her pa, her brother, were all forces. She
knew enough to ask real questions. Behind the looks that everyone saw, a tomboy
brain readied the questions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“There’s no law in the streets
anymore, ma’am. Can’t run from something that doesn’t exist. I’m just trying to
do my share, how I think is best. You’re the last property in this area, as far
as I can tell.” He nodded again, then took another step back, as if he was
readying to leave. Sarah made a decision in the blink of an eye. She’d called
so many wrong; she figured one had to run right eventually.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You’d best come in, sergeant.
Yep, I think you’d better come in right now.” She smiled. Now they were at the
end of the world, she felt free like never before. Everything inside her, her
heart, her mind, was a kite running on the beach. “And call me Sarah, or Sarah
Jane if you prefer. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“My name’s Porter,” the man said,
stepping back towards the porch, pushing his hair behind his ears and following
her lead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Sarah led him into the open room,
offered him a seat. She looked round as she walked over to the coffee pot, idly
thinking that the place looked as good as it could be. She’d not expected
company, not now, not ever again. But now this gentleman was sitting on the
chair close-by, she was glad of him. Even at twenty six, Sarah Jane had felt
lonely for a long time, either on her own or otherwise. It was true when they
said you could be alone with everybody, she swore to that; either during those
dog-heel drug parties Daryl used to throw, or lying in the same bed as him. All
she ever felt was loneliness, ever since her ma died, and that was the truth. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“That’s very kind of you, ma-Sarah-Jane,”
the man, Porter said, as he took the saucer from her. He smiled. “I haven’t had
a coffee served on a saucer since I don’t know when. Much obliged.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It’s my pleasure,” Sarah said,
feeling fool enough to almost start blushing herself. Wait until the end of the
world to start acting like a teenager, she thought, shaking her head. “You’ve
seen trouble then, Porter. I mean, I only follow the news and what they tell me
and I don’t know if I can trust them anymore than the boys in the bars, truth
be told.” She shrugged as she sat; smoothed down the dress she was wearing as
she did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">She watched as his eyes hardened
a little, making him older than before, clearly remembering the things he’d
seen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You’re right not to trust them. Any
of them. I saw the news and nearly started laughing, same with the papers.
They’ve all got their interests, but there’s no clear sides in this.” He sipped
his coffee, readying himself, Sarah knew. “Even the men I worked with split
into sides, like kids. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, see? No rules. Out
there, now…it’s havoc plain and simple.” He looked up, shook his head. He set
the saucer down, raised his hand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare
you, Sarah-Jane, but it’s the truth. All of it, it’s all mobs and hurting now.”
He looked up at her, thinking something, almost as an afterthought. “You can
trust me. I know you don’t have any reason to, but you can…can trust me. I got
no reason to lie.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I know that Porter. And I’m
thankful you coming out here to find people, myself included.” She wanted to
re-assure him. As soon as he came in, he sat a distance away. He didn’t follow
her as she walked away from him, the way the rest of them all did. He wasn’t
like that, not hungry. He was something else, she knew almost right away; he
was haunted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Well, you’re in-front of it now,
so let’s do the best we can, right now, okay?” She nodded to him and smiled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Okay,” he nodded back. He tried
to smile and some of the lines across his brow fell away. She was glad for
that, at least. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Is that you’re first name, or
you’re last?” She asked from out of nowhere. “Porter?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“First. My ma was a Cole Porter
fan, all the show tunes. She used to play them to me every day, just so I
understood. I think my pa would have been jealous of him, if he’d had a bad
bone in his body.” He broke into a true smile now and the years fell from him.
“They say you rebel, grow to hate what you’re parents love, but I didn’t. I
play those songs al the time. Hell, I even got them in my jeep now. It’s about
the only thing that can get me to sleep, after everything.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I believe that, I do,” she said,
finishing her coffee. “My pa was a soldier like you, but guess what my ma was?”
She looked over, saw him shrug. “An airline stewardess. Back in the sixties,
when it still meant something. I’ve got so many photos of her wearing the
outfit; powder blue, with a sharp blue hat resting on top. Even in the photos
you can see she’s…in bloom, you know? Like an actress out of an old black and
white movie. I still got her outfit in my bedroom, wrapped in plastic. Daryl,
my late husband, used to tease me something fierce about it, saying how creepy
it was, when he wasn’t trying to get me to wear it.” She rolled her eyes, shook
her head. “He never understood, you know? You don’t think it’s creepy, do you?”
She looked over to him. For some reason, right then, it seemed important to
find out what this stranger thought about this, about the prized possession
that meant so much to her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I think if I could have kept
anything of my parents, I would have kept everything. I would have built a
house to keep it all together. That’s what I think.” He nodded and she knew
that was enough. “The one thing I got are flowers and plants; that’s what my ma
and pa used to work on, all the time. Even now they’re house is gone, every
time I see a flower, a rose, I think a part of it’s theirs, you know? That’s
what I think, at least.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“That makes sense to me,” she
said, walking over to collect his cup. She made up two more. As she was making
them up she heard the squawk of his radio come to life on his hip. He turned it
down, held it close to his ear while the news came through. She waited until it
was done before she walked back in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I should turn the radio on? The
TV reception’s given out last time I checked it, this morning.” She set the cup
down and she looked at him, a little pale now, as if he was on his way to
becoming a ghost.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Thank you,” was all he said at
first. This man would remember his manners when he lay dying she thought, smiling
to him. She hovered where she was, not leaving him yet. “The radio?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Maybe we’ll leave the radio for
now,” he said, looking into her eyes. His were wet, not through tears, not
quite, but something like a truth; the real truth that a body knew and couldn’t
escape, or fix. The two looked hard at each other for a second and then
somewhere, inside themselves, they made an agreement, silently and only through
their eyes. The only lie they would tell, Sarah decided, as she made her way
back to her chair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“No radio,” she said, confirming
the lie, watched as it eased him down from where he was in his mind. “I only
cried once for my husband after he died, Porter. He was a mean man who hurt me,
but I’m not sure I shouldn’t have cried more, all the same.” There was no time
now, she realised, no time for games, for half-truths.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I could understand that. Sometimes
when men died that I knew, I didn’t feel bad for them, knowing how they were,
on the inside. Truth was, I felt a kind of relief, knowing they weren’t going
to be close by to hurt anyone else. It’s what makes us human, I guess.” He had
agreed to it, this pact. The feeling of being free again, the kite soaring
high, ran through her again, overwhelming the fear, keeping it pushed down, at
bay.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Do you have any place to go,
Porter?” She said, smiling at how oddly formal she sounded, how polite they
were both being, here, at the end of the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“No…I guess I don’t, Ma’am…Sarah-Jane.”
He said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I was thinking we should eat.
You look as if you could eat and I think it’s late enough in the day to be
thinking about it. What do you say?” She was already pushing herself out of the
chair before he had time to agree. In that way, it was settled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">There was food in the oven, but Sarah
took the biggest chocolate cake built out of the fridge and set it on the
table. Her aunt had brought it over, as she did every month, worrying over
Sarah being on her own, trying to make plan after plan for her. The other
months she would cut a sliver every other evening and eat it down while
reading. It reminded her of being a kid, cake and cocoa and writing her diary
while her parents washed the dishes close-by. The happiest time of her life. She
told Porter all this, no longer inhibited by any structure or rules; free to
say whatever pulsed through her mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You know what worried me though,
out of all of it?” She said as she cleaved off another huge slice and dumped it
on his plate. He started laughing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Lord! That is the size of a
house brick, Sarah-Jane!” He shook his head, but pushed the fork right on in. She
smiled while he looked down to his plate, glad he was loosening up to, free to
use her name without thinking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It wasn’t getting big, not once.
I ran for the school, always enjoyed it too. No, it was because I had these
braces, train tracks, and I was worried about dirtying up my teeth after having
all that metal stuck on them for so long.” She speared a slab for herself, saw
him nodding right along.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Same here. I got them all fixed
up, nice and straight and then went out and got drunk and chipped the front one
all to hell. Made my ma cry, almost. Only got them fixed with the army a few
years back.” He looked up. “Divorce present.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Tell me. Tell me something else,
something you would never tell a stranger.” She looked at him, saw him crease
his eyes, thinking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I own comic books. Since I was a
teenager up until I was twenty or so. Still grab them off the shelves when I
get the chance, in a corner store, or a bookshop. Got them all bagged up, like
your ma’s air stewardess dress. Sometimes I break them out and read them, sit
for hours, just reading. Takes me back, I guess. Like your cake and cocoa.” He
looked away from her then, pretending to look at the cake. His skin flushed and
she couldn’t help but put her finger on the back of his hand. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“That’s a sweet secret to tell
someone. And it beats lying all ends up, right?” She drew her finger away, but
still felt the heat on the tip. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I always dreamed of buying a
chandelier,” she said, trying to push away the embarrassment he felt. “I’d see
them in movies or in catalogues sometimes and I just couldn’t get the idea out
of my head, you know? They just seemed so…impossible. Like my ma’s uniform, or
something. From another time…a better time.” She looked down and saw the plates
were empty, the forks smudged and fulfilled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Maybe that’s why you liked it,
because it was impossible. That makes sense to me, seeing something and not
being able to reach it.” He collected up the plates. “I don’t know if I’m going
to have room for anything more after all that.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“We can choose,” Sarah said,
hooking her fingers through the cup handles. “We can do anything we like.” She
set the cups down and reached into the cupboard. She pulled out the wine, set
it down where the cake had sat before. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I haven’t had a drink in almost
twelve years,” he said staring at the bottle. Sarah drew it back without
thinking, but then saw him raise his hand. “No…No it’s a good idea…I think…I
think today is the day for it.” She brought the bottle back and pushed two
glasses forward. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a packet of
cigarettes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I haven’t smoked for nearly two
years,” she said, looking at the carton. He left his hand frozen in the air,
holding the packet, until she nodded to him. “Seems like the day for it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">They circled each other for a
long moment, looking to one another and then away, making peace with their
decisions. She popped the cork and poured two full glasses, while he shook out
the two cigarettes and pulled the lighter from his pocket. They met in the
middle, setting down the glasses on the table, the ashtray. They sat, her first
and then him, and they leant forward, as if in the middle of discussing a plan,
a caper. He took the glass and handed it to her, before taking his own. As he
did the radio he had turned low hummed into life and the two of them held their
glasses, waiting for the buzz to finish. When it did, he raised his glass to
hers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“To…today. One day,” he said,
brushing her glass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“One day,” she repeated watching
him bring the glass to his mouth. They sipped, long and slow, sitting quietly
for a second or two afterwards. They drank a little more and then took the
cigarettes from the ashtray. He offered her the first and lit it for her, then
followed. The two of them sat, finishing the cigarettes, drinking from their
glasses, their eyes glazing from one and then the other. There was more to be
said, but for that moment, what they had was enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">They ate, finished the bottle,
smoked a second cigarette. The radio on his waist hummed over and over, barely
ending one message before the next burst crept through. In the end he unhooked
it and slipped it to the far corner of the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You’re uniform looks tired,” she
said without thinking. She didn’t mean to be rude, but the shoulders were
scuffing and the elbows looked worn. He immediately touched those self same
places, aware of what she meant.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You look about Daryl’s size. Why
don’t you try on one of his? I kept them all pressed, neat, in the cupboard.
I’d hate to see them go to waste.” She looked at him and watched him pat
himself down, the same way she did with her dress whenever she sat, aware of
the creases and the curves. “At the top of the stairs, on the left hand side.”
He walked away without another word, up the stairs, holding his glass by the
lip. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">After a while she walked up the
stairs and stopped a few from the top. She heard him pull at the belt, roll the
buttons into place. She asked if he was okay and without answering, he stepped
out into the hallway. His hair was pushed back behind his ears, the top button
was loose, but everything else was perfect. How she imagined a soldier should
be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Where’s your ma’s uniform?” He
said. His eyes were glazed, but she wasn’t sure if that was from the drink or
something else, like fresh tears. His voice was still clear, there was no
slurring. She walked into the same room, opened another cupboard. He walked up
beside her and stood beside her as she gently tugged the plastic away from the
clothes. She put her hand onto the collar. Then she drew it away and took his
hand and laid it on the same spot. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It’s beautiful,” he said, as she
settled her hand over the back of his, feeling the coolness of his knuckles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It’s in bloom,” she said,
feeling the material pass through into her skin, like water. He walked away,
looking back to her once. Then he walked down the stairwell, waiting for her,
as she drew the uniform out of the cupboard and down onto the bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">She walked stiffly down the
stairs, feeling the pinch and the tucks of the material against her skin. As
she reached halfway, she saw him waiting for her, the top button now done up
and everything in place. She reached the bottom of the stairs and pulled once
on the skirt. The radio in the corner was now in pieces by the door. She walked
over and opened the second bottle of red. She poured the two glasses to the
brim. Outside, in the distance, she thought she saw a puff of light. He walked
over and drew the curtains, even as she was readying herself to ask him to do
just that. The house was dark but for the two of them, their outfits gleaming
in the dusky light. He had moved a candle to the table and lit it as she set
the bottle to one side. She walked away from him and over to the radio in the
corner. She flicked it into life; surprised the power was still running and
quickly rolled over the muddle of screams, the earnest voices. She rolled the
dial on and on until it picked up a station that had played since she was a
child. There was no DJ, just the music streaming through twenty four hours a
day. ‘Nothing new’, was their slogan, ‘just the oldies’. A man sang slowly as
she turned and walked back to the centre of the room. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">He carefully handed her the glass and the two
drank. Then she set her glass down and held out her hand for him. He set his
glass down next to hers and took her hand. They walked to the centre of the
room and drew into each other. The candle flickered and swayed for a second. On
the other side of the curtains, more light plumed into life. A distant noise,
something like thunder, seemed to gather in the distance. But the song was loud
enough, the man’s voice strong enough, to muffle those sounds for the time.
Instead, he held her tight and she let herself be drawn in, clutching at him
with all her strength, as the song played on, stronger than thunder, and let
the two of them dance </span><i></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>© 2010 Chris Castle. All rights reserved.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>______________________________________</i></span></div>
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span>
</h3>
<div id="mydate">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Chris Castle lives and works outside of London, England and has had 300
odd pieces published in various places; his main influences include Ray
Carver and the films of Paul Thomas Anderson.</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><i><i> </i></i></span>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4013252499463795928.post-72995790265846651632010-01-05T08:30:00.000-08:002010-02-17T08:31:02.013-08:00Prior to Conception<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Donal Mahoney</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As if stunned by July in a hammock</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="ii gt" id=":1n" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<div style="word-wrap: break-word;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I wait for my apricot wife</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">One curler more and the flutter</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">of leaves in the orchard</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">the sound of trees </span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">letting go</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">a downpour </span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">of plums still bouncing</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">around in the wicker </span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">propped open below</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #888888;"></span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #888888;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>© 2010 Donal Mahoney. All rights reserved.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">_________________________________</span></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, MO. He has worked as an editor for <i>The Chicago Sun-Times</i>, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by <i>The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Public Republic</i><i> </i>(Bulgaria), <i>Revival</i><i> </i>(<wbr></wbr>Ireland), <i>The Istanbul Literary Review</i><i> </i>(Turkey)<i>, Black Lantern Publishing, Pirene's Fountain </i>(Australia) and other publications.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #888888;"></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>Black Lantern Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03518987506476604460noreply@blogger.com