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The second coming...
Christ In Magesty
Written 2006-04-12Christ In Magesty by Theresa Cecilia Garcia
An enormous disk advances at prodigious speed and almost collides with a dwarf moon moving around the Earth . There was a distinct shock and then the vehicle starts to fall. A meteor bursts into flames while noctilucent clouds fortell of his arrival.
Two bull's eyes, and four projecting ribs obscure the obviousness of his oval skull.Challenged by his civil status and misty ideas about his identity card; they would take photographs of his face from three angles, strip him, examine him for scars and other marks,weigh him, measure him,compliling information, assigning him a unique identity.
He walks into the Tea Room. The chains of glass balls that hang from long metal threads catch his eye. An alcora china bottle rests on the table decorated with the figure of a young Bacchus. He contemplates his new bondage and with fatalistic calm ,drinks.The evil tea snakes whip away inside the virgin martyr in terrific flurry.
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print text"Who said anything about murder?"
*Warning:Explicit Sexual Content*
930 words
FIFTEEN MINUTES OF NORMALCY
Written 2006-04-10"Who said anything about murder?"
*Warning:Explicit Sexual Content*
930 words
FIFTEEN MINUTES OF NORMALCY
Beneath the darkness, mists and shadows seemed to be gathering on all sides. Grotesque and fantastic shapes, omens of chaos, confusion, pestilence, pain and disorder, threats of madness. Strange company from another world.
I almost knocked the drink out of her hand, she was so petite, hot with passion, cute round ass. As the clock ticked so did our blood alcohol level. I blinked once and found myself curled around a pole receiving dollar bills from three feet below.The sounds of drums and pipes, snatches of wild songs bursting through the company of players, strangely bedazzled, dancing a furious measure to hurrying music. In front of me, a reflection of my mere insanity. Her name wasn't important. She didn't play word games and I loved the way she blushed as my tongue enjoyed teasing the prickly princess.We're all under pressure and she was my comfort food.
I blinked again and woke up to her high pitched wails as my fingers retreated inside her delicate femininity.Her voice had a smoky timbre that blended well with dimly lit bars and self made battlefields . Hands over currency, more sex on the beach, please. Fluffy pink, purple, red, clouds revolving about my peripheral vision. I blinked again, we were pinned up against the mirror dancing off-balance, our lips touching, biting, sucking ,exploring and I imagined myself back on stage, center-stage, laying on a female with fans roaring behind me. The audience arced , climaxing with us. The clock's hands were moving as slow as mine, the surfacing sweat was moist. Wishful thinking had gone wild.
The next time I woke up was somewhere around Mercer Street on the edge of an abandoned warehouse turned loft,when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded " when he had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest.
There's something really sexy about being in a public place when you're hot for cock. Erotic, Sensual. What's on your mind,the feelings inside your body are so different than the polite aires one exhibits to the masses but this was the village. West 4th street on a Sat. night and no rules applied. He's leaning up against a cool brick wall and I'm watching him watch me. My black leather mini dress and fishnet hose,garter belt exposing the fact I'm not wearing any underwear . I press up against him so he comes closer between my legs. I never hesitate as he lifts my blouse up and pulls the skirt down by my hips pouring the golden beer into my belly button while he begins licking and sucking me there. We switch places .I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. I poured the remaining beer into his belly button and began to lick and suck until he got excited. I reached into his pants and pull out a very hot and hard cock. A cock dripping with pre-cum. I had to taste him. I sucked and licked, he tasted so good. The pre-cum was flowing from the tip of his cock and got even harder. Obscure mazes and byways displayed an assiduity,surveying the passers-by with undisguised curiosity . Resurrections, reflections, deplorable appeal for alms.
There was a hush in the world when when I awoke again. I could see the back the houses of the next street rising against the wall of an old city and as I looked the sun rose.
I wandered in a diner where two male individuals in their early twenties sat at the counter. One asks for a beer and slides the waitress his identification. The other asks for water, then after receiving it, orders a cheeseburger deluxe well done . Fifteen minutes of normalcy pass, then immediately declines. I was hearing moaning; moans you'd usually only witness the mentally ill reciting resounding in my head. I could smell blood , flesh, and perfume. A loud crash, moaning still going on in the background, in my mind as I collapsed on the floor. A waitress picks up the phone in a hurry .I over-hear the phone call, "This is John's Diner we need an officer..."
I was pacing, rotating about the chairs I had thrown previously. Salt, pepper and napkin dispensers were tackled. I was reacting to a heroin and cocaine overdose. I'm asking out loud to no one in particular, "do you have any candy? any candy? I need some candy, do you have any?"
(a beat)
"What do you know about the murder?"
I take two breaths from my cigarette and reply,"Who said anything about murder?"
"Obviously your acting abilities have improved. Did you tell her you loved her, right before you killed her?"
I brought the cigarette back up to my lips and puffed, ignoring the question and avoiding his gaze looking straight ahead, passed him, back in time. Reminiscence.
"Wasn't Kyle shot with an 11 mm gun?"
"Who?" Her name wasn't important.She was so petite, hot with passion, cute round ass.
"No,9 mm" ,I respond.
"Get your act together, Sarah. The commissioner wants a full report. He lost his daughter tonight and wants to know who did it. The case is under investigation"
I sniffled."Yes." "So let me do my job, okay?"
I rested my head against the desk that housed my computer back at the precinct. In that short time I could practically hear the gears turning in my pragmatic, methodical , meticulous mind once again as I began typing the report to the commissioner .
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textI'll only end up hurting you...
Erase me from your mind
256 words
A TINY OUNCE OF CREDENCE
Written 2006-04-09I'll only end up hurting you...
Erase me from your mind
256 words
A TINY OUNCE OF CREDENCE
He poured the tomato juice into Baccarat crystal. Splashing an ounce or so of vodka into the glass,a dash of tabasco,stirring with the mixing stick,as the DEA chopper repelled it's agents into the forested canyon on the other side of the Sangre De Cristo Mountain. Pacing the Karastan carpet with drink in hand the lion within his heart never wavered. He appreciated truth in art and sculpture,in films and in music. Life had no truth worth exploring. Truth was the palaver of fools. Even the arts required a certain amount of manipulation. Survival requires masterful deception. They would never find him. What was his real name? An alter ego. An identity he assumed when necessary.
Starfish lights flickered in the empty white walled apartment. She slept badly and sometimes she awoke often in the middle of the night.Creeping silently out of bed standing by the window, looking out at the river
whose waters were as dark and as deep as the man she waited for.
That evening, for the first time, blood raced out of her womb covering the satin sheets. Stirring restlessly,
she shifted the weight of her belly. Her eyelids crept open and she gave a soft smile tinged with discomfort. Hand sliding down over her belly. As she took her last breath.
Eliminate a powerful competitor by using his daughter as your accomplice.
While a storm of tears left track marks on chiseled cheeks
and collapsed veins.
Without a tiny ounce of credence.
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textI had tied a cord securely to one of the higher stronger light fixtures...
TOURNIQUET
Written 2006-04-09TOURNIQUET
by
Theresa Cecilia Garcia
and
Robert Brian Newbill
I had tied a cord securely to one of the higher stronger light fixtures making a
running noose and slipping it around my neck kicking the chair from under my
wake until I fell forward dying of slow strangulation.
It was like creeping through a tunnel where a brook must have been but all the
water had dried up so that it was quite dark. It seemed like I was going on
forever; a dismal ticket through the birth canal before I came out crying again
blind to the world and twisted between the stillness and silence, invisible ,among
horrid-grinning men and women. I had found another world in between life and
death that no one had ever remembered experiencing before.
It was as if I had fallen on a dead cold star void of air and the blowing wind. I
looked all around , down and round about me, outside of myself.
I felt my face whiten and my heart still within me where I knew no peace could
dwell. As I clung between the world of consciousness and the world of matter a
huge shadow leapt from behind me, darkness flowed past me. I could smell a
fragrance, a light familiar scent drifting toward me. The scent clung to my hair.
There was a slight breeze and I felt like I was sleepwalking laying naked under
drifting shadows ; I outside myself watching them move. My spirit had the
lightness of a bird coasting .
Realizing I had the power to draw back, to stand before the doors that opened
wide before me and not enter in, I awoke. For the first time I could see beyond
the world of shadows. The past was closed and I could only travel onward.
The choppy waves jerked the ferry up and down creating a fine mist which rose
over the river as sprays of water mixed with the heat of the engine. I was drawn
to the contrasts and the closeness of the low-hanging dark clouds which seemed
to hover directly over me.
From his end of the bench seat on the ferry, a man who can only be described as
a vessel of black crystal filled with blood red wine, kept shooting furtive glances in
my direction. A sense of foreboding chilled my soul and I shivered huddled inside
my coat.
"You have the sight, girl. You've seen her, yes? So sad, her husband was a good
man. She was bedridden in the last stages of tuberculosis. She only wanted to
end her pain and his grief." The man knelt beside me, kissing my hand with eyes
full of tears. Then he calmly got back on his feet and retreated from sight.
The ferry pulled to the dock and I caught my breath over the enormity of the
situation. The wind whipped up tangling my hair around my face and I stumbled
then stopped and turned my attention to the man standing before me as a small
crowd shifted, people staring, some gasping with a general sense of fear
emanating from their very being.
"She's dead!" He said. His height separated him from everyone else, giving him
an air of authority.
The gloom of the dark clouds shadowed his eyes that night and I took great
strides in finding my way back home.
Turning to the bed where my husband was sleeping peacefully I could see the
sun coming in through the window pane.
He felt like an invisible time period in my life. As though he happened years and
years ago and I was just learning now what his presence was all about. I could
sense his motions but I could not remember his touch.
I know we enjoyed water under Rubicon falls and the comfortable silence of two
lovers lost in each other's company. When the illness consumed my body,
between the threads of denial, we understood. We experimented. Trusted.
Hated. We were honest. Unfaithful. Contradicting. We loved! Through it all I felt
safe because of his strength .When reality finally hit, it knocked me clear over the
edge where we were left standing. I fell. The rain driven by the wind pushed play
and we were seperated. Now I've found him again.
New place, new time;where death and vague images of a wretched exile reflect
the splendour of a beautiful life lost in time beyond the world of shadows and of
God's plan. And time, rolled on and on. Like the waves beneath the ferry on the
river Styx that transported me here from my previous life.
Time has come full circle again. Dear God, if you're there,please help me get it
right this time.
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textPart 2 to A Rainy Day In NYC
The Airport
Written 2006-04-09The Airport by Robert Brian Newbill and Theresa Cecilia Garcia
It had been a long, tiresome flight. I had just returned from visiting some distant relatives in Scotland. After what had happened just a few weeks ago, I needed some time away from the city. I stayed at a little Bed and Breakfast in the Highlands. I thought it would cheer me up. It's so peaceful and beautiful there. But it didn't help. There was still too much "her" running through my head. All I could do was think of how much I wished she were there so I could share it with her. Then I cut the trip short soon after I realized that not even a bottle of twenty year old Scotch whiskey and an ocean could separate me from the pain and the fear that I had lost her forever.
Still, I waited to get off the plane. As usual I had been stuck in a seat in coach over the wing. The only thing that ever made me nervous when flying was the way the wing flaps extended out so far during the landing. All the bloody marys in the world couldn't make that go away any more than they could make the emptiness in my heart go away.
But the wing flaps were the least of my concerns. I was going to see her again. She was going to see me again. She was supposed to be there waiting for me.
I exited the plane. I walked into the terminal. I was so afraid she wouldn't be there. I was almost as afraid that she would be, because if she was, would she be angry? Would she run again? But she was waiting there for me.
Once again she was more beautiful than any dream of beauty I had ever known.
We approached each other. We couldn't speak. There were no words that could express the power of that moment. We locked in a passionate embrace that went on long enough for airport security to ask if there was a problem. I said, "No. Not any more."
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textI met her today...
A Rainy Day in New York City
Written 2006-04-09A Rainy Day in New York City by Robert Brian Newbill and Theresa Cecilia Garcia
I met her today. We chose a public place, a mall in the city.
I arrived among the jostling of crowds and the roaring clatter of traffic often finding myself stealing quietly away vainly puzzling my brains trying to fix some clever phases and ceaseless self conversations.The floor glowed and flamed with all the colors of the various lighted advertisements and for the first time through mingled fumes of hot pretzels , incense,and tobacco we found each other standing face to face;both nervous, both curious. She was so beautiful, just like I knew she would be. We walked around, made small talk. Part of me was back in high school on my first date.
She was scared too. We had hidden behind walls for so long we didn't know any other way to be. Stopping at a lunch counter for ice cream, I finally had the courage to hold her hand and she didn't pull away.
We left the counter and walked towards the door. I was so happy. She seemed happy too. We had just spent the best day of our lives together and hadn't even realized it. It was pouring rain outside. She told me she had to go to the ladies' room and would I please wait for her. I've waited all my life for her. She was gone for about five minutes or so. The rain had all but stopped.
All the while she was gone I thought to myself, when she comes back, I will kiss her. She emerged and walked towards me then past me towards the exit. Her whole appearance seemed to have changed. She walked very fast and her face was etched with a determined look that frightened me. She brushed by me, very nearly knocking me down. All she said was, "I have to go."
I followed her. I was calling her name and running after her. I caught up to her at her car. I begged her to tell me what was wrong. What was it that I had said or done, or not said, or not done? All she said was, "I can't do this!" I finally said, "You sound like you want me to go away." She said, "I do want you to go away!"
She slammed the car door and sped off.
The rain started, but still I walked home. Ten miles of walking in the rain but I didn't care. I walked from the Battery to West 112th street . It was perfect. No one could see my tears.
Outside late that night there was a huge thunderstorm. That was cool though. I have never been afraid of them even when I was a kid, I loved the sounds of the rain and the thunder;almost like I could ride away on them.
I loved them as a child would though, when I knew I was safe and protected. Back then I got off on imagining space aliens attacking or something.
Now I only enjoy them as long as the power doesn't go out.
Did I lose something along the way?
Now when I hear them, I worry , I remember and I wish.
I worry that the electricity will fail, and all lines of communication to my Angel, will be cut. Then I remember her walking out on me and I wish that I could be with her and hold her and that we could watch and listen in each other's arms; and ride away on the sounds together.
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textI must have waited an hour at the station, sweating and nervous at the
prevailing circumstances, wrapped up in a spell of torrid weather on the
hottest time of the day.
The Engagement
Written 2006-04-09The Engagement
by Theresa Cecilia Garcia and Robert Brian Newbill © 2006
I must have waited an hour at the station, sweating and nervous at the
prevailing circumstances, wrapped up in a spell of torrid weather on the
hottest time of the day.
"Trust me, Dear One...You DO NOT want to see me dance. And if I'm going to dance in my Wall Street boxer shorts (with the lights on that is), I need to spend a couple months at a gym."
It was the sound of his voice and his playful imagination that released me
from all my commitments and caused me to enter into an engagement with him.
"But a video you were promised...Thus and so you will get one. But I have to wait to shoot it when I know my parents will be out of the house long
enough. If they go to Birmingham to see my sister and "Gabby", which I can't believe they haven't done yet, that's when I will make it."
I laughed at the memory of his disreputable nature as he delivered the
lines. The thought of him helped alleviate the sting of my damp clothes stuck against my skin through the burning sun.
"I take it "Gabby" is your brother-in-law?" I say with mild amusement.
"You got it! That's him! Loves to talk and to hear his own voice so much
I'll bet he doesn't even clam up when he's asleep. Talk about a way to shoot an entire Saturday or Sunday straight to hell. That's even more mind-numbingly boring than when they come here."
He passed my mind like a shadow, out of view from where I stood. I heard clanging behind me as the bus came in, raising the temperature a few degrees and choking everyone in its wake with dust and fumes. A hundred hot people ran out to it, pressing so close, pushing and shoving that the passengers could hardly descend let alone board. The bus emptied itself slowly. As I stepped into it, I swept a glance over the crowd and saw how each person simply disappeared like drops of water on hot concrete as the oversized tin can departed the station toward its destination.
Two coffees in a hurry took the edge of the lofty cavern of luggage and
cramped conditions. Under pressure of hunger I wholly entered the world of my dreams and our engagement to escape from the toil.
"Anyway, here's how a typical trip to see Mary Beth and Gabby goes down. I have to get up at some un-godly hour. I don't have to get "dressed up" but I have to get "cleaned up". Shower, shave, make sure my "coiffe" is not in disarray. And with an hour and a half drive down there, and an hour and a half drive home, there's already 3 hours of my life I'll never get back. No tunes allowed in the car...no air conditioning either. At least I get to sit in the front seat. Because if I ride in the back, sometimes I get car sick.
Not all the time...but sometimes. I bring along my own tunes ...A walkman or a discman. Even that is "restricted". I can bring it and I can use it, but
more than once my mother has tapped me on the shoulder from the back seat and asked me to turn it down because she can hear it. I do it but the look that she gets could burn a hole through an inch thick plate of Titanium.
Mostly because even though dad does like some of the music I like, mom does not. And even if she did, she would insist on such a low volume that you can't even really hear it. Also on these trips she's "Queen of the Car." She decides how warm or cool it should be, what if anything can be listened to on the radio. And that's just the ride there and back."
"Wanna hear chapter 2?...What it's like when we get there?"
I smiled then, detached from the looming ,imminent conditions which
surrounded me.
"OK It goes like this, and it is always the same. We get there, we go
inside, the obligatory shaking of hands between the men folk occurs. My
mother and my sister immediately become annoying. I'll explain further so
you will be prepared. It's like they "sing" their sentences all the while
putting 3 or 4 syllables into one syllable words. It's like fingernails on a
blackboard. Then there is some casual conversation dominated always by Gabby while my sister with the attentive "musical" assistance of my mother puts the finishing touches on lunch. It's always the same freakin'
thing ...barbecue sandwiches, this bland potato salad and this really
disgusting pasta salad that she makes because Gabby likes it.
They have a friendly cat who is really my only company when I'm there. A huge TV with an impressive video collection...but its never on. After lunch, and once again this is always the same, endless, boring conversations about people and places I either don't know or don't give a rat's rear about. No one talking to me at all. Then my sister will show mom first around the house then around the yard. Even from inside you can hear them "singing" their sentences. I really can't describe what that's like...It has to be experienced.
Then they want go "shopping", leaving me and dad alone with Gabby for at least two hours. No TV nothing at all for me to do but sit there and try to stay awake. Then finally they get back...more singing...then finally after a goodbye song we get to get the hell out of there. What a fun day it was for me. Another day of my life I'll never get back."
Those were my last memories and I blacked out.
I went to basic training in Fort Leonard Wood (Ft. Lostinthewoods) before
being deployed into Operation DESERT SHIELD. I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to leave him.
"You may have been luckier than me if you couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep
either. I was worried that maybe I had upset you by pushing too hard again. (And if I did, I'm sorry Sweetheart ...Please forgive me ...again.) So I did what I used to in college, mixed myself a martini and picked up a good book. And it worked, I finally fell asleep. The problem was that I dreamed. And it was awful! It was another one of those dreams where I can't find you...And this was the worst one yet:
I was in NY. I don't know how I got there, but I was there. My old landlords from Queens let me stay with them after I arrived. I immediately tried to reach you by phone to tell you I was there ...I called and called, no answer. And no message leaving gizmo picked up either. After what seemed like a hundred attempts a recording told me that the number had been disconnected. I freaked. I raced over to the address. I don't know how I got there (but it was a dream, maybe I could fly). I knock on the door. No one answers. I knock harder and call your name...no one answers. At this point I am now in full panic mode. I am literally pounding on the door and screaming your name. Some old lady who must have heard the commotion opens her door. She says to me, "If your looking for the woman who lived there, she's gone."
"GONE!!," I practically yelled at her. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN GONE?!"
"GONE WHERE?!" She replied, "I don't know where she went. But she doesn't there anyone." And then she closed her door.
"I'll be back as soon as I can, silly" I said with a giggle and that goofy
laugh he always found beautiful.
Through the cracked soil of ambushes, booby traps, encountering and
returning fire; morning arrived. All but dead of thirst, I found myself on a
mosquito netted cot in a vestibule assimilated into the shadows. It was his
vision which haunted me, keeping me alive; so I took the only means possible of banishing it. I kept my word.
The first Gulf War was very successful, in my recollection. Basically, we blew the crap out the Iraqis who surrendered by the thousands-tens of thousands. Last time I can ever recall no resistance at all, just a lot of dead or dying Iraqis who never returned home to their loved ones.
At noon that day there floated over the roof-tops the silver ringing of a bell and in my thoughts I clung to his words silent as a wound.
"For My Angel..."
The End
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textHave you ever tried to walk through wind so strong that you could hardly move? I hadn't, until that morning.
The Cloak in the Storm
Written 2006-04-09The Cloak in the Storm
by Robert Brian Newbill and Theresa Cecilia Garcia © 2006
Have you ever tried to walk through wind so strong that you could hardly move? I hadn't, until that morning.
I had seen extreme weather before. I grew up at the far ends of both the hurricane belt and "tornado alley." Better judgment and disposition would have cautioned me to stay home, but I had a job to do. I was a stockbroker and the market doesn't sleep; I had to get into the city. Hoboken to Manhattan , not far, but I had never experienced anything like this. I stepped out of my door and the wind not only tore my umbrella apart but also ripped the headphones of the Walkman from my head.
The Hoboken Terminal was at least three feet deep in water, the NYC subway lines were flooded. NJ Transit buses were giving free rides. That was the only way to get into the city. And once you were on the island, surface routes were your only choice.
When I finally made it to the Financial District, the slightly built narrow streets held elderly people stuck to buildings by the vacuums of wind.
I walked through the paved irregular cobblestones and when I arrived at the office, my boss told me that the market was closed and to go home. I didn't know whether to hug her or curse her and I was too tired already to even make a decision, so I left.
It took me three hours to get back to Jersey .
When I got back my boss called me. She said she had called everyone on our team, all her "kids", to make sure we were okay.
It reminded me of the old folktale, "The Cloak in the Storm":
Once there was a wealthy lady named Madame de Maillefer. She was a woman of idleness and vanity and would often spend large sums of money on her clothes, carriages, gardens, and banquets. Poor people were starving all around her but she cared not for them, seeking only her own selfish pleasure. One day a beggar came to her asking for help and shelter from a furious storm. He was ill and weak. She told him to go about his business! One of Madame de Maillefer's servants took the beggar into the stable for rest and warmth, and there he died. When told of the events, the Mistress was furious with the servant and tossed a black cloak at him, ordering that the beggar be buried and dismissing the servant from his duties. The beggar was buried but that evening Madame de Maillefer, about to seat herself for supper, noticed the cloak which she had thrown at the servant on the floor next to the elegant table. Demanding an explanation all the servants of the household professed to know nothing about the cloak, except that they were all sure the beggar had been buried in it. Legend has it that since she had failed to show him compassion in life, he declined her cloak in death.
After a warm bath and a few cappuccinos I called my boss back and thanked her for her compassion.
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textSometimes we have to travel to the depths of our own unconscious inner
world, face the fear that lies within, transform it, and release it.
Reflections
Written 2006-04-09Reflections
by Theresa Cecilia Garcia © 2006
Sometimes we have to travel to the depths of our own unconscious inner
world, face the fear that lies within, transform it, and release it.
"Watch the moon with me," he said. And so she did, biding her time, fearing his terrifying touch as he pulled her closer.
A single match ignites, illuminating the darkness.
"I'll never hurt you again." His words, his voice. An icy sweat trickled down her spine. She trembled slightly all over.
The flame flickers before it comes to rest on the cigarette tip.
"Stop stirring!" Words. Her body does not respond to him. He's threatened.
The cigarette hangs in the corner of the bruised mouth that takes two quick puffs before the shaking, dimly lit hand puts the flame to rest. The long, dark raven hair is pushed back away from the battered face, wet from sweat, giving it a spiky, unkempt appearance.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Thing. Words.
Amidst the smoke I looked at the beveled glass doors and saw her reflection.
He holds her down and it begins. I don't love you, she thinks, but doesn't voice. He picks up on it and demands a response.
I examined the large gash across the forehead and stared right into her eyes.
You don't have me, she thinks, and escapes, staring at the moon. "Tell me what you want." His hands stroking her breasts. His body pressed hard against her thighs. I want to climb the highest mountain. I want to feel the cool breeze against my cheeks. I want to feel the snow caress my face, land and melt on my nose as I look up to the sky. I want to jump into mighty waters and reach incredible depths. It doesn't matter what I want.
Head leaning slightly forward, the eyes looking back at me, reflecting a profoundly knowing yet evasive glance. Unemotional, stoic.
It's over.
He looks back at her with perverse smile. Through the beveled glass door, images of passing car lights keep time with the flickering cigarette flame.
She was the hippie girl kissing an Indian wrapped in a blanket. Who sang and whistled out of tune. Who cried to opera and let loose to rock and roll, feeling safe, dancing and twirling around and around under the thunder and lightning of a spectacular downfall. Feeling warmth in the cold rain. Laughing and giggling. Catching raindrops with her tongue. She was the hippie girl with faded jeans and a tear near the hem, who wore the tight fitting long-sleeve blouse trimmed in beaded fringe.
He was the one who ran barefoot with her through the fields at night, catching lightning bugs, making wishes before returning them to flight. He was the one who kissed her and cuddled with her tight in the hammock, rocking gently back and forth, exploring the night. He is the one she still thinks of when she smiles in delight. He is still the one she looks for when she craves a compliment or wants a hug. He is still the one she needs when she falls short of her ideals. Yet he's the one she wishes she had never met, and despite all this, it's because of him that she walks with her head hung low and submits to
everything.
Broken mirror to broken reflection.
She falls to her knees rocking back and forth, singing a lullaby.
Never again shall need parallel desire in the immense complexity of love
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email Print textI'm in a dark place.
418 words
GODDESS DANCING MANIC PANIC OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
Written 2006-04-09I'm in a dark place.
418 words
GODDESS DANCING MANIC PANIC OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
In the middle of NYC abstract letters were dancing on red brick walls, white starched, among rainbow colored laundary on thin beams of line held firmly in place with wooden clips, waving with the warm breeze.
My body jogs repeatedly about the perimeter of the neighborhood for hours at a time and I run as far and as fast as I can. Sometimes it seems like I'm going to fall off the edge of my world into a pool of deep thought, drowning, until someone walks by and finds the remains of my body, blood spurting viciously from all orifices. Stream lining through my fingers , down my legs and I scream a silent scream and I smile and hide behind it. Hurt yourself on the outside, kill yourself on the inside.
He told me he loved me. That he would never do anything to hurt me. But down came the rain and the darkness swallowed the sun's rays and I reincarnated.
Have you ever looked into someone's eyes and seen death? It's a strange death because life has not killed the soul nor has love. It's the death of a silent wound. Unrevealing yet immense and as you stare into those eyes the feeling of pain estranged from the world but in our midst
miraculous, inviolable like a flower unfolding,exquisite martyrdom holds your gaze.
In a split second of fury and inattention, a horrendous inhuman roar exploded through my head and I was taken back.
"I have to ask, are you wet? Because I'm getting hard just looking at you."
Forced smile, "What?" Uncomfortable, "No, not at all."
"Hmmmmmmm not wet yet? Can I help?" His facade of civility snapped as he lashed out and jerked me by the hair so hard all I could see was stars.I screamed and fought, bit into his hand and drew blood as he dragged my head toward him , his hot breath on my face."Don't be so puritanical and do not call for there's nobody here. Do not shout, do not ask or beg for there is nobody, there is nobody."
Vomiting on the edge of the sidewalk.Release me free .
Where the fuck was I?
Midnight
Two ambulances silently flashing their lights. One on the left the other on the right. My legs were vibrating and I'm stagnate standing at the red light and both ambulances pass through it with ease and I don't know who I am.
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