Reverse Alphabet Exercise

Zack could hardly stand to look at the reflecting pool of water anymore. Yesterday's events were still rolling through his mind, and the water did nothing to distract him. Xenophobia seemed to surround him on all sides and he had no idea what to do about it. Without much help or offer of friendship, he was a one-man protest against the scowling population. Vindictiveness was a quality Zack had never possessed, and so could not understand it in others. Unless he decided to give up everything he had worked for, he would have to learn to deal with the locals. To many people, he represented an encroaching difference, which they did not know how to abide. Sewn together in a web of distrust, the people nonetheless grudgingly accepted and counted on his services. Quietly, they would thank him for his expert advice, then run off quickly before they were discovered doing so. Perhaps it was this contradictory behavior which led to yesterday's actions.

Open until the last rays of sun faded in the valley, Zack closed his office in the dark. Never before had he encountered someone after he closed his doors, but as he turned, there stood Suzie Johnson, staring at him intensely. Moving toward him, he stepped back from the recklessness in her eyes, but she closed the gap swiftly and planted a kiss on his lips. Little did she realize that someone else was walking by, so when she saw the startled man, she turned back to Zack and slapped him, hard, across the face. Knowing the likely outcome, Zack pursed his lips with anger and looked at the ground, waiting for Hell to fall upon him. Just before the potentially fatal moment of the furious man's approach, Zack's eyes flitted up to Suzie and he saw the confusion, anger, and fear flit across her face. Instead of following through with the role of victim, she flung herself at Zack, screaming, "Wait!"

His heart was pounding, uncertain what anyone would do next, as the all stood, frozen, in the wake of that scream. Gaining a moment of perspective, the man stepped back and appraised the situation.

"Forever getting herself into trouble, little Suzie. Even for an educated man, she sure can do a lot of crazy, confusing things," the man muttered, looking at Suzie before nodding slightly to Zack as he walked away.

Donning a half-grin, Zack looked out over the water and wondered where the crazy girl had gone after she, too, had run away. Counting on the xenophobia to win out, he did not expect to see her again and was frustrated that she would never explain herself. Before he walked away from the pond, he felt a hand flutter at his shoulder and felt an answering stir in his heart as he turned to find Suzie standing, flushed, beside him. Any other time, he would have been shocked and suspicious, but now he could not help but smile as she dove into his arms and held herself there, cheek against his chest, tears soaking his shirt.

Return from Oblivion

There was a planned hiatus, and then the beginning of new challenges, which comprised the last three weeks. So, I have returned and will, hopefully, return to prolific creations. Or start being prolific, depending on your definition. If you want to see more poems, more stories, more...something else, let me know. I just might oblige and, regardless, it'll encourage me to keep posting.

A Work In Progress: Part 1

Forward into the unknowing minds, he felt himself slip so easily. No wonder no one knew a thing about him, since he did not know it himself. As haunting as an empty cave, his sense of self lacked substance and definition. Only through following what he saw in others could he suitably play his part in life. Slipping forward, as he thought of it, to lose his emptiness and fill himself with thoughts and feelings and personality--that was all that made living worthwhile. It was the only time that he felt, knew, that he was a complete person. It was as if he had discovered himself every time he slipped into another mind. Every time, it felt right, like home. But it never was, and he always had to pull back to realize he was still no one. His wavering reflection did not help as he tried to fill the space he was expected to inhabit. Maybe he was the only one who saw it waver in the glass, or maybe other people didn't bother to notice.

Standing in the afternoon sun, he avoided his reflection and became a part of humanity. Only a moment longer before she turned around and noticed him standing there, twisting and untwisting a candy wrapper, sucking somewhat noisily on a Werther's caramel. He liked being her; he liked how she thought and the funny way she looked at the world. She turned and glanced his way. He quickly averted his eyes and hurried away. He knew what she had seen. He didn't want to see himself through her eyes. Turning a corner, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wished he could remain with her, as her.

As always, though, he had to keep moving. Staying in one place for a long time just made him feel--uncomfortable, almost like he didn't properly fit in his own skin anymore. No matter how much he adjusted his clothes, his position, it felt like his own body was just too confining. So he moved on, went somewhere new, and either the moving or the being in a new place made everything feel like it should again.

The next morning, he found a cozy little coffee shop and settled in. Coffee shops were always in his morning routine. He drank coffee, not because he had any particular desire or need for it, but because that is what people do in the morning. No sooner had he begun doing this than people started being, in an off-hand manner, more friendly. They could understand a man in a coffee shop, drinking a cup of coffee. He fell into some wonderful minds in those coffee shops.

Within

Abandoning the thoughts within

so the feelings will not show.

Time to take a stand, defend

the things I wish to know.

Forever in the muddied darkness,

I hear it calling true

beyond the doors the world would keep

to find my soul anew.

No more of taunting, deadened eyes

and watchful, bony grins;

no more of hearing myself lie

to know no more within.

The Story of G. Serbo

The figure in the hallway shambled along, feeling his way through his own dusk with his hand along the wall.  His hand was there only for support.  His eyes could still, barely, make out the vague shapes that loomed and wobbled in front of him, but his despair that the beautiful world was fading away made him more unsteady.  More and more often, images from his mind would overcome the dim picture in front of him and he would be overtaken with momentary panic that he had seen his last of the outside world.  His memory, at least, was rich with images that would maintain his sanity and imagination.

One of his favorite images to recall was that of three construction workers standing in the dirt next to a large fire, green flames flickering between the yellow and orange.  Behind them was a large, open parasol, made of delicate cream and fringed with lace.  It was like something out of a dream, yet had appeared one tired evening before his eyes as he was heading home.  No explanation was needed, nor did he ever receive one.  It just was what it was.  Sometimes existence was beautiful like that.  

He eventually found his way to the door of the library.  Not only did he have this place memorized by heart, but he could smell when he was at the door.  Bookstores had a similar smell, but it wasn't quite the same: he preferred the library.  It was a deeper, heavier scent, enhanced by history and time, the experience of having been read over and over.

The expansive space that existed in even a small library was nearly impossible to comprehend.  Pages and miles of adventures, lives, emotions and tragedies existed in the span of only a few bookshelves.  He entered the space, made his few greetings, and took his accustomed place next to a nameplate which, he supposed, was meant to make him feel important.

After a couple of hours, he heard and saw the vague outline of a girl sitting at a table near him, reading.  He walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, partially out of kindness and partially for balance.  She jumped slightly and turned her head.  Gazing down at her, he could make out the mass of deep brown that was her hair.

"Tell me, Marie.  How are the clouds today?" he asked.  She paused for a moment before answering and, he supposed, she smiled.

"There are some large ones spanning the top of the sky.  They are thin and spread out, like melted whipped cream."

"Lovely, lovely."

"There are also a few on the horizon like shining, fluffy pillows," she added.

"Are they really like pillows?"

She thought for a moment.  "No.  More like cotton balls."

"Ah, I see.  Thank you.  Please, don't let me keep you from your friends."  

She glanced down at her open book and smiled, resting her hand briefly on his before turning back to her story.

He moved to return to his desk, but decided to walk through the shelves instead.  The past few days had been particularly shaky for him and he needed the balance of the literature to calm him.  A beautiful young woman walked in front of him, a question posed on her lips.  The most startling thing about her was that he could clearly see that she was beautiful.  His eyes seemed to have returned to him: her inquisitive smile, the individual strands of dirty blond hair.  He smiled widely.

"May I help you find something, miss?"

"As a matter of fact, a rich, beautiful Brazilian man has decided to marry me, and I know nothing about the culture at all!  Well, darling, I thought that was just dreadful, so I decided I need to brush up!"

He chuckled quietly at her enthusiasm.  "Books on Brazilian culture, then?  Come with me, we have plenty over in this section."  He walked purposefully, although not certain of his footing.  He did not want the young woman, whom he saw so clearly, to know that he was otherwise mostly blind.  He depended on his vivid memory and the slow counting of shelves with an outstretched hand at his side.  When they reached the appropriate place, he gestured to the shelves where she could find all the information.

"Well, look at that!" she exclaimed as she reached up to the bookshelves, pulled out a few books and disappeared around the corner. 

There had been something about the girl that he had found startlingly familiar.  He was puzzling it over as he rounded a bend and choked on a scream.  There, standing in front of him, was a gigantic insect.  He was about to turn and get away as fast as possible when he noticed an apple sticking out of its side and the its pleading face as it drew slowly closer.  He could see this insect just as clearly as the girl.  He then realized why she had looked so familiar.  This one he knew all too well and murmured, "Ah, Kafka.  Finally we meet."  He did not, however, know which book it could possibly want, so he walked away.

Heading to the front of the library, he realized his vision was becoming increasingly clear.  As he approached the open area in the front, he heard many murmurs and voices speaking, which were clarified as he walked into view and saw various characters all over the library.

'There he is!" one particularly tall man in rusted armor shouted, and they all turned towards him.  They walked over, some asking for books, others engaged in conversation with him and each other.  He wondered how they all could have come to be.  He looked up at the various characters wandering around and grinned softly.  What did it matter?  He could see.  And he was among friends.

Harold Says Hello

I know you see me.  I know what you think about me.  I really don't care.  I sit here, like a rock in a river--no one pays any attention, they just rush around me.  And every day, a woman walks by--long, flowing brown hair, or those startling blues, or even just a whiff of the right perfume--and I think it's her.  I know it can't be, but, God, do I wish it were.  I try to drown myself in whiskey--my poison of choice--and I think that it'll dull my memory of her.  Maybe, just maybe, I'll forget about her for a while.  I've been thinking that for five long years.  You'd figure I'd have learned by now.  But I haven't.  I guess that some people just learn habits, and then--well, can't unlearn them. 

Ah, you don't need to hear all the sorry details of the story.  I mean, I started trying to forget, and I couldn't, and then I stopped caring.  You know, good job down the tubes, my family gave up after a while, and my friends...well, they never did get it, anyway.  So, I kept pouring the whiskey.  I kept looking for her.  Heck, I still do sometimes.  And eventually...here I am, the star of 19th Ave.

But God, was she beautiful.  And I don't mean the knock-you-down-with-a-stick model-type chick.  I mean an honest-to-goodness beautiful, quirky person.  She had her faults, but when she walked into a room, BAM!  You couldn't see anything wrong with her.  Heck, you couldn't see anything BUT her.  That was the love of a lifetime.  Unbelievable, that one.  I couldn't see it, though, you know?  I mean, what in the world was this beautiful woman doing with ME?  Yeah, well, I guess that after a while...she couldn't see it, either.  Just...up and vanished one day.  No note.  No stuff.  No nothing.  

You know, this stuff just knocks you right out.  You can't remember a thing in the morning: no dreams, no nothing.  And sometimes, it's just too cold out here to sleep.  No dreams that way, either.  I don't mind.  I don't dream, I don't see her.  I don't see her, she can't leave me again.  Listen, I know it's time to move on, but sometimes the heart just won't let go.  What can you do?

Oh, and...if you happen to see a tall, stunning woman named Vanessa with long, flowing brown hair, startling blue eyes, with the scent of lavender dust around her, just tell her...Harold says hello.

Waiting by the Sea

Her hair is made of saffron silk

and sand is in her song.

Her laughter rings with morning's birds

and I'll be there ere-long.

I live among the memories--

she dances with the waves.

I sit; I wait so patiently

and know I must be brave.

My darling, how I miss you still

but know I'll see you soon.

I feel this old heart slowing down

and then--oh, and then

           we'll fly together to the moon.