A walk down Wanton Way ii

She was definitely unprepared to disclose any information which would exonerate him or redound to his honour, since she deemed his disinterest in her advances a damage done to her self-worth and confidence.

She sided with Diogenes’ view that not every degree of silence is the equivalent of concealment, and she reckoned that since she wasn’t obliged to confer, let alone be unbiased on principle, she’d not attest or speak on the strength of his character – even if it meant his reputation was to a degree dependent on it.

Consequently, she chose a hurtful and shady silence, even though the voice of her conscience was loud and clear – being quite certain he was innocent. In all, it was proof that laws, as Cicero accurately expressed, ‘have power to compel or restrain man.’ Even the law of unrequited attraction.

It is true then that the suffering of an adversary remedies that of one with an insulted spirit and as Plutarch put it ‘satisfaction is a sweet medicine to a troubled mind.’

© Heath Muchena, 2016

The Life of a White Bird

I was about 10 when I left home, a sad day that was. I know it was for the best, however if I could turn back the hands of time I would. My parents seemed to be used to letting go, I am not surprised though: I was the seventh of a total of twelve. I was not their first and nor was I their last. I guess like they all say: “life goes on”, or was that a tupac song. I must say, leaving the house is quite an experience that I would not trade for anything in the world; not even my beautiful girls.
First day out of the house was the worst ever. It was worse than sharing a toilet with 6 brothers and 5 sisters. I couldn’t tell left from right, I had no friends and I had no idea of the whereabouts of my other brothers. I was all alone. Although I was used to being alone, this was a new type of lonely. I have never been the type to make friends. The only people I knew were my siblings and my parents. This was not entirely my fault though; I didn’t fit in with the others.
Let me not get too emotional as of yet, I’m not ready for it. After about 5 days of being out of the house I soon got a hang of things. I knew where and how to get food. I met a cool stranger, my first ever friend. Trevor is his name; he was and still is the best. He was the first person who embraced my appearance and did not judge me. Well I guess he understood because we had a similar yet different condition.
Trevor and I vowed to have each other’s backs no matter what happened. We believed that nothing would separate us; I guess we didn’t think we would ever get married. Together we were untouchable; in a weird way I found confidence in Trevor. Without him I was just as before; a shy loner. Trevor is a year older than me. That meant that he had an entire years experience being out in the “wild”.
“Hey Top, what’s for supper tonight” asks Trevor all the time. He was hungry all the time. “Top” was a nickname Trevor gave me the second we met. He is truly special to me. Being a loner as a young boy, I would be in the kitchen with my mother learning to cook. This came in handy living with a person who sees having 8 slices of bread with 6 fried eggs and bacon, as a starter or as he calls it an appetiser. Sometimes I think that he only stuck with me because I could feed him well, but I know we connected at a deeper level.
After six months of being out the house, Trevor and I decided to start travelling. I was at first not very open to moving to another town because it meant that I would be even further away from home. However Trevor managed to convince me to tag along his quest to explore the world. Starting over would be a problem for me, I thought. Trevor on the other hand seemed to have had it all figured out
“I’ll go with you Trev, only if you promise me we won’t be crossing any seas” I said just 2 days before we set out to explore. The great thing about this entire trip was that wherever we went we would have the best view of it all. It’s a bird thing. This trip helped me accept me for who I am and my abilities. We travelled on boats for most of the trip, yes I know I didn’t want to cross the seas but the second I got on board the first boat, I was hooked. I could always take the boat back if I ever wanted to go back home, Trevor reassured me all the time.
The first boat we were on was heading to Italy. The best thing Trevor and I enjoyed was the food; the pasta was exquisite. Trevor wanted to not only eat but also learn different languages as we went along. His ambition inspired me as well. Trevor was kind of a bully and a ladies’ man. He always found ways to convince me to do what he wanted, I didn’t mind because I had never dreamt of doing all the things we set out to do on this trip.
“We need mingle with the local Top. First we need to acquaint ourselves with the language” said the eager beaver, Trevor. The following day we set out to find a language school. I could read and write, but Trevor could only spell his name and that was it. He didn’t like it if I would write letters back home because he knew that all he could do was write his name. I had a secret quest; I wanted to make sure by the end of this trip Trevor would be able to read and write. It’s the least I could do after all that he has done for me.
We found the perfect school just off Milan; Lodi. Every morning at 8 am we would sit up on the window seal of the tourist classes. We learnt the basics the first two days. We learnt to say thank you; Grazie, and excuse me; Mi scusi. “Wow the food here is delicious, grazie” I would say that every evening when we would go get something to eat. After a week or so, Trevor and I could construct a few sentences. We were able to “mingle” now.
Trevor always loses focus when he sees beautiful girls passing by. “Focus Trev! We need to find our own place before we start approaching any girls” I said to him. I am always his voice of reason and I know how to get him to focus. “Look over there, there is a to-let sign” said Trevor. The place we found as bigger than the one we had back home; two bedrooms and a magnificent kitchen. The place didn’t come at a cheap price, but Trevor took care of it.
I don’t know where he got the money. Every time I would offer to pay, he would slap me and say “Top the only thing you have to do is make sure there is food on the kitchen counter for us”. I didn’t mind though because I loved to cook, it’s sort of therapeutic and it calmed me down every time I felt home-sick. However I still don’t know where he got the money. We had the same job back home and we got paid the same amount. I am very savvy with money but Trevor is the kind to spend money. He never runs out. This was a mystery.
One morning, Trevor got up before the sun came up. For him that was a first. He kept on walking up and down the room. I knew something was wrong but Trevor and I didn’t like to talk about what was bothering us. We made a deal that if there was something wrong and we wanted to talk, we would talk but neither of us was to ask until the other mentioned it.
He took his bag and put a brown folder in it and head out the door. It was still dark out, I tried to look out the window to see where he was going but he was long gone by the time I got to the window. It was a Saturday and neither of us were going to work. I was quite worried, for a second I thought that he had left for good. After six hours I decided to take a stroll outside. I was hoping to run into him and the local bar just 2 streets away; he was nowhere to be found.
I bought a few vegetables and headed back home to start cooking. I didn’t cook a lot because I was almost certain that he was not coming back. At around eight pm, he walked in. he was in a cheerful mood as compared to when he left this morning. He three bags in his hand. They all looked full to the maximum. He put them away and came into the kitchen. “Top if I didn’t love the ladies so much, I would marry you” he said while starring at the pots. “You are crazy Trev! Let me dish up for us” I said.
That night as we were eating I waited for him to say what it was that made him sweat like a pig in the morning. He said nothing at all. “What did you get up today?” he asked. I guess he was trying to get rid of the awkward silence at the table. “Nothing much, I just went to the bar and bought a few veggies” I responded.
The next morning he left early again but this time I knew why. I snooped around to try and find the bags. I found them but they were empty. I found a 100 dollar note in one. Could the bags have been filled with money? How was I to find out? I let it go for a while and forgot all about it.
“How about we hit the streets tomorrow night and explore the local bars here?” I have never suggested anything since we met, well at least not anything that we would both enjoy. Trevor was quite amazed and began to laugh to a point where he almost choked on his steak. “Sure thing Top, I guess you are getting into the Italian spirit” he said with a mouth full of broccoli.
I was proud of myself that night. For once I could be considered to be cool. I woke up super early; I wanted to write a letter home before Trevor woke up. I didn’t want to ruin his cheerful mood. I sat in the bathroom and wrote the letter. I always make it out to my mother; she is the only one that I was okay.
Dear mama
Mama I hope you are well. Trevor and I
are in Italy now. I am having the best
time of our lives. I wish you were here too.
Give my love to everyone back home, even
Love your 7th son
Boo-bear isn’t my real name. My mother gave me that nickname because I always wanted hugs just like a teddy bear. “You must really be excited for tonight!” Trevor said while banging on the door. “I had an upset tummy! I am excited but not to that extant” I said as I hid my notebook in my suitcase in the bathroom cupboard.
At 8 am we were at the window seal. Trevor wanted to learn a new phrase that would help him charm the ladies. We bought English to Italian translation manual. I helped him find the phrase he wanted. “I want to be able to say: you are beautiful” he said. I scanned through the book and we found it. “Its siete belle” I said when I found it.
Trevor practiced that phrase all day. “I think I’ve got it now” he said. I was concerned though, I wondered what he would do if the girl said something back. At round lunch time, we headed home to get something to eat and get some rest before our big night out in Italy. Any night out with Trevor is an epic one.
It’s strange how the next morning neither of us can remember a thing. I have never got why I could not remember what happened when we got to the bar. Trevor would always say that I passed out after a drink or two and he brought me back home and went back out. The rest was always a blur, he would say.
I think I might have given the impression that Trevor and I are together at all times. We may be working at the same place back home and we came on this trip together, but we are not always together. Some days, especially after a night out, Trevor would insist on staying in and I would head out and explore all on my own.
The Italians are a fascinating bunch. I would sit on the window seal of a young couple’s apartment. The apartment was perfectly furnished from the door mat to the living room lamps. The colours complemented each other exquisitely. Julian was the house keeper’s name. She had a very weird relationship with the man who seemed to be related to her.
At first I paid no attention to their endeavours, but then one day the paramedics had to be called in. from that day on I was hooked like those people who spend so much time watching television series over and over again. I wanted to see what would happen next. I was at that window seal so many times that I got used to their schedule.
Mr. Benedict was Julian’s employer. For about a week or so there seemed to be no Mrs. Benedict, until one day at around noon she appeared. She had long blonde hair. She reminded me of the characters in the stories that my mother made me read. She was pure perfection. I noticed that while she was around Julian only came once a week instead of every day from 8am until 5 pm.
There was something that was odd about their living arrangement. Mr. Benedict slept in what seemed to be the master bedroom and, the person whom I had thought was Mrs. Benedict, slept in the other room. I watched their apartment as though I was being paid to. On occasion Trevor would agree to head out with. Trevor would only tag along only if he knew that there is a football match that day.
“One day they will catch you on their window seal” mentioned Trevor. I was determined to see the season finale of this apartment and I wouldn’t budge. I would rather risk being caught than miss a single moment. “Don’t be silly Trev, I have been very careful. No one will ever notice me” I said. Trevor was ready to move on to the next city or else we would have to find employment before we ran out of food and money for rent.
Obviously I found a job just next to my favourite apartment. It wasn’t mush but it paid enough to help around at the apartment. Trevor found employment at his favourite sports bar. It seemed as though we would never leave Italy, I was ready to settle. We stayed in Italy for about two months, during this time I sat every day from 10 pm until early hours of the morning.
I felt like a little detective or that fly o the wall. I knew everything, I had their schedule all figured out. Trevor would bring me supper every night and sit next to me as I did my daily spying. “Tony honey?” that was the voice of an angel. I have never seen her before. She stood at the door with her tight red dress on and very high heels. “What do you want? You know you shouldn’t be here?” whispered Mr. Benedict.
Little did Mr. Benedict know that the Mrs was wide awake and was listening in to everything. “Stacie did you come all this way to just stand there and stare at me?” whispered Mr. Benedict again. “Well Tony, if you must know, I was kicked out of my apartment because you forgot to pay rent for over three months” said Stacie. At first, being little naïve me, I thought that Stacie was Mr. Benedict’s sister or step daughter or plain relative.
“I’ll call you in the morning and I will take care of it” whispered Mr. Benedict as he closed the door quietly. “Who were you talking to?” asked Mrs. Benedict. He stood there for ten seconds flat and didn’t move, not even an inch. “You are still up. It was nothing, I just heard a noise and thought something was wrong” said Mr. Benedict. “You must have not heard me clearly. Who were you talking to?” she repeated he question.
“It was Mr. Jackson from down the hall, he just got back home and was making a raucous” Mr. Benedict answered. She didn’t seem to believe his story. Mrs. Benedict walked away and went back to bed but this time she was in the master bedroom as well. “So you have forgiven me now?” said Mr. Benedict. “Forgiven you for what, you have denied all my accusation; even the ones where I had concrete evidence” said Mrs. Benedict. I left soon after, my eyes were beginning to itch and they were burning red.
The next day was my last day ever. Firstly it was because Trevor and I were leaving the next morning. Secondly it was because the Benedict family was moving out that day. I woke up bright and early that day. When I got there, Mrs. Benedict was loading what seemed to be a body into the boot of her car. The windows I sat at showed the living room floor, there was blood all over the floor. At first it looked like ketchup but then it was too thick to be ketchup.
I could not believe what I had just witnessed. It was like a scene from those crime investigation shows. “Trevor! Come quick please” I said on the phone. He took his time as usual. “Honey, this was for the best and you know it too” said Mrs. Benedict. “What was for the best?” I kept asking myself. Mr. Benedict looked quite melancholic as compared to his rude and egoistic self. They left in such a hurry. What or who -ever laid in that boot was still a mystery to me.
“Who died Top?” Trevor asked when he finally arrived. I was still in shock and didn’t say a word. Moments later we were off. “Where are we off to now?” I asked Trevor. He said it was a surprise, just like Italy was a surprise. All I knew about this place was that this was where we were to settle. This was where we would find all that we had been looking for or what I had been longing for my entire life.
Trevor had never been so nervous on a flight before. I felt coerced into asking if there was something bothering him but I didn’t. “We are almost there” said Trevor anxiously. Whenever he didn’t finish a sentence by saying my nickname I knew something was wrong. I didn’t say a word until we landed. When we landed, Trevor was still shaking. “Does that say OR Thambo Airport?” he asked. “Yes it does” I responded.
He calmed down a bit. We carried our bags to a hotel. “We need to find a more permanent place Top, these places are not that cheap” he said but this time with a little more enthusiasm. I didn’t unpack my bag because I knew this was not our final resting place. We headed down the elevator to the dining area. “The food here is…” before I could finish my sentence, Trevor stood up and went into the bar. He would always finish his mountain of food before I would.
Eventually when I finished my meal, I went into the bar to look for him. It’s not a mystery where I would find him. He was seated a table surrounded by bunch of women. “Hey Top! Ladies this man knows his way around the kitchen” he said to the ladies at the table. They were all certain that I was homosexual. “I’m off to bed Trev” I said to him. He ignored me and carried on chatting to the women.
The next day he was up before me. “Time is money and sleep is for the dead Top” he said as he shook me. He was an early bed and I liked to sleep in until late. “Where are off to now?” I asked Trevor. I always wake up quite cranky especially if I was woken up. “Well we need to find jobs and a more permanent place to stay” he responded. I for one was astonished, why would he want to settle here. It is not as fun as Italy was.
By the time we had found a place cheap enough for us, Trevor had become the towns favourites person. I don’t know how he does it. He is just so good with people, how does he do it? I guess his good looks put him above my average by far. I am just glad that him and I are friends, I get to get the rejects to be in my life because they think they are getting closer to being friends with him. A cool guy that Trevor of mine, supercool.
Amazingly where ever we go we veer struggle to get jobs, must be the magic hand of chance playing in our favour all the time. “Up so early Top” murmured Trevor as he got up from bed. “You know what they say Trev, the early bird catches the worm and plus it’s our first day on the job and I aim to impress” I said. Trevor starred at me and laughed. “You getting yourself all made up for Mr Rou” he said.
Mr Rou is our new boss. He is quite strict in how he likes his employees to dress and behave. We have always gotten jobs at places were the boss immediately becomes your buddy. They were quite lonely folk. Mr Rou is different, he has a wife, two children and a pet dog. I did my research, I figure that this will definitely impress Mr Rou even further.
I know people always prefer to interact with Trevor more than me, but Mr Rou liked him way too much if you ask me or any one for that matter. Mr Rou even said he prefers to call me Top as well, “just like Trevor calls you” those wee his exact words. I choose to brush people’s comments or judgements about me under a carpet so it doesn’t hurt me as much.
“Trev, how’s about you come for dinner at my place tonight? My wife makes the best lasagne” said Mr Rou. “hmm I’m not quite sure, I…” said Trevor. Right there, his response, is the reason we are great friends. “Please, you can bring Top along with you.” Mr Rou said as he put his arm around my shoulder. I was like a bargaining chip, I guess. “I guess we can come “ Trevor responded.
At this point I wondered if it had occurred to any of them that I might just have plans or better yet wouldn’t want to go to Mr Rou’s house. Anyway being the good fellow that I am I played along and accompanied Trevor to Mr Rous place. Not what I imagined, I though a well established man like him would have something a little more decent. I guess the cost of living is too high these days, even for the big boss himself. Mrs Rou is the most beautiful women I have ever set eyes on. She is the perfect shade, shape and height. I think I’m in love or maybe just attracted to her.
“Hello, come in come in!” she said as she welcomed us into her home. Although the house was old and not what you would expect from a big shot like Mr Rou, Mrs Rou made it look beautiful. “What a lovely home you have Mrs Rou” said the charmer, Trevor, as he softly kissed her hand. “Oh thank you, please just call me Evelyn” she said as she blushed like every other one night stand that Trevor has been with.
“Boys don’t just stand there drilling at my lovely wife, come in and join me for a drink or two before we sup” said Mr Rou sitting in the lounge area. Evelyn said something, neither myself nor Trevor could make out what she had said. I had a strong feeling that there was trouble in paradise. “Come tell me about your trip to Italy” Mr Rou requested very enthusiastically. What was thee to tell? Nothing really, just great food, great people and a little snippet of what could have been a murder.

To be continued….

The Maple Syrup Tree

The yellow-orange leaves decorated the floor as Chuck gazed at the magnificent maple syrup tree. It was like no other tree. Standing upright searching… Chuck under the gaze of its watchful eyes. Its beauty and majesty refused to escape his very thoughts. The image of the tree would forever haunt him. It stood there watching, erect as the sphinx. If you gaze closer, you will notice wounds engraved on the tree. “James loves Loretta” is the permanent scar the maple syrup tree is unfortunately abashed with. Chuck wondered whether it felt any pain or if it had perhaps responded to the burn of the sharp and torturous instrument against its wrinkled skin. He ran his nimble infant fingers along the crestfallen scar, “James loves Loretta.” He suddenly felt a gradual trickle of golden liquid ooze onto his supple index finger. He sucked at his fingers like teats and felt a delicious honey-suckle flood his tongue. An overwhelming sensation filled Chuck with excitement as he kicked off his leather shoes, releasing an extremely unbearable pungent odour. His toes sunk into the earth like sand at the beach. Such an inescapable feeling shattered the very core of Chuck’s soul. What in his monotonous life had he done to experience such a pleasurably intense and excruciating sensation?

Chuck raced home. He would appear athletic from an unfit person’s perspective with his feet pounding the ground as if racing against time in heightened anticipation to inform mamma about his Christopher Columbus discovery. Images of the tree remained fresh in his mind like sweet, precious photographic memories of Chuck’s vulnerable and erratic childhood. A sense of urgency and purpose was endowed upon Chuck with the need to tell mamma. He glided up the stairs in a ghost-like fashion. “Mamma, Mamma! You won’t believe!” Mrs. Brown looked at him through curious dead cat eyes. The thought suddenly escaped him as if he had never stumbled across such a glorious discovery. He forgot the sensation, that trickling feeling. Suddenly Chuck realised that the hot and syrupy sensation had left his tongue dry and bare.

The maple syrup tree clouded Chuck’s thoughts. He was unable to think of anything else but that looming tree. At supper time, Chuck played around with his food like a dog incapable of resisting a game of fetch. He poked around the wormy spaghetti mamma had so meticulously prepared for her darling baby. He thought the spaghetti wriggled on his plate as it reminded him of a heap of worms squirming in the dirt. He soon grew furious for no apparent reason and threw the pathetic plate of blood-curdling spaghetti against the flowered- covered wall. “I cannot eat this mamma! How many times do I have to remind you that I hate your spaghetti!” She looked plainly at him through cold, calculating eyes and menacingly responded, “that’s nice dear, off to bed now, I’ll stop by later to tuck you in.”

He lay awake that night with grotesque eyes, widened in terror. She had misunderstood him to an extent which he could no longer withstand. The image of that tree remained imprinted in his mind as he could not abandon the thought that the maple syrup tree stood watching over him. A mixture of fear and excitement surmounted Chuck as he lay conscious in his moth-eaten, handcrafted bassinet like a mad insomniac.

Arms outstretched, chasing mamma with a noose in one hand and a cleaver hidden in one of his pockets. He was unable to comprehend whether or not he was conscious. “HERE MAMMA, MAMMA, MAMMA! Come out wherever you are.” Mrs. Brown hid in the corner like a rat confined in an unbreathable space. Like a butcher, a cleaver appeared out of his pocket. He drove the cleaver into her heart, butchering her in the corner like the ripper himself. He repeatedly stabbed her with the release and finality of an orgasmic screech. Pure pleasure pumped Chuck’s heart at that very moment. Count Dracula’s reign of terror had finally reached a halt. Almost instantly, Chuck awoke in a hot sweat, realising that his fantasy was a mere nonsensical dream. His euphoric state had met a bitter end. His heavy head collapsed onto the soft pillow filled with concern.

Chuck awoke the next morning as a corpse; his throat felt bare and chalky. He lacked the desire to eat or drink. All that remained in his mind was the maple syrup tree with the golden glaze syrup flooding his tongue and intensifying his senses. Chuck rushed out the door like a dog in heat with the need to possess the sensation again. He blatantly ignored the desperate cries of mamma, urging him to eat something, pretending to be a proper caregiver, yet alone a mother.
“Mamma!” he desperately wanted to scream till his pipes had lost all its air and got snatched from his throat. He was convinced mamma was a bitter old woman. She had taken him for granted and used him just as she had with daddy. Chuck was convinced that he deserved better. The maple syrup tree haunted him that night, its omniscient presence being extremely hypnotic. He had to possess that enchanting tree. At least he would possess one thing immaculate in his god forsaken life.

He stood before it, savouring the pleasure of the maple syrup tree. It was different this time, punctured with wide gaping empty holes, releasing fountains of golden, gushing liquid. At the moment, all senses left his body, devoid of any feeling. He held out his hands like a beggar, scooping the golden liquid and lapping the delicious honey-suckle like a dog. The syrup was different this time, Chuck remained utterly perplexed. The golden liquid remained hypnotic yet bitter at the same time. The sweet taste of the syrup faded as the sweetness of the maple syrup tree was liquidated. No person could fully understand the maple syrup tree. One would have to taste its contents in order to experience its full cosmic power.

Chuck walked home savouring the intense toxic flavour. The maple syrup tree had been different today by favouring him with chocolate bitterness instead of overwhelming sweetness. His gut ached all the way home with an engulfing sense of satisfaction. Chuck thought James and Loretta were lucky to have come across such an archaic tree. Lying awake in his bassinet all day with a gut ache of bitterness was the only idea that entertained Chuck’s mind. Mamma would not dare to disturb him today or she might meet her end with that treacherous noose around her neck. Chuck would be her only audience, watching her face turn cyanotic with glee. She would scream only “Chuck” as precious life left her decrepit body. He imagined detaching her piece by piece like a helpless lamb and throwing the remnants in the void of the sea where she would soon be united with daddy.

It was not long before Chuck visited and drank yet again from the maple syrup tree. The taste was not that of sweetness or bitterness but was that of death itself. The taste filled his mind with reassurance and nullified his senses. He drank from the pool of golden ooze like that of a mad man. Excruciating pain crept upon Chuck’s body, turning his bones to ash. He could not stop; he could not resist the tree and the mystical power that it contained. His gut began to bulge in disgust so much so that onlookers would think him to resemble that of a pig with an apple gagged in his mouth ready for Christmas dinner. His once athletic frame had hastily undergone a grotesque transformation which was far from the celebratory transition into puberty.

Suddenly a thin voice whispered in the air, “What are you doing?” The voice was so mellow, harmonious and soft that the wind easily swallowed it up whole, resulting in the mere apparition of a sound heard. Chuck’s eyes followed the source of the quaint voice. She was tall as a surfboard with golden locks falling harmoniously and sculpting her shoulders; she had the appearance of an angel. She had wanted to know what he was doing, as curious as his feline mamma. Despite her divine state, she appeared to be nothing but a nonentity beside the grandiose maple syrup tree. An overwhelming scent filled the air. It was obvious that this golden-haired, Grace Kelly angel had the desire to claim the tree for herself. Greed fell over Chuck, blinding the remaining sanity that he possessed. Chuck pounced on the angelic girl like a creature sentenced to a minuscule cage for eternity. He tore off a branch from the tree and beat her bloody to a state of nothingness. He had done his duty and walked home with steady but heavy feet. Crimson footprints read like breadcrumbs left, hinting to the whereabouts of a cold and calculated butcher.

He lay awake staring at an empty space haunted by the maple syrup tree. The tree offered treasures beyond any measure and fulfilled wishes as unbroken promises. Chuck savoured the bitter pleasure the tree had offered. He quickly unbuckled his leather belt as his belly swelled beyond mountainous measure. Something was wrong, as he released his leather belt buckle; his gut began swelling to an unimaginable height. The belly blew up toward the height of the ceiling. Golden bubbles issued from Chuck’s mouth forcing him to choke on the golden ooze he had one too many times delighted in. Chuck fell into a deep unawakening slumber haunted by that maple syrup tree for an eternity in the afterlife, restlessly roaming with coins for eyes.

Mrs. Brown rushed through the door, grateful that her tedious job was done. It was not easy to entertain a string of jobs in order to provide for their small non-existent family of two. She absolved herself of her leather patent shoes and red kimono dress. She slowly eased into her grandmother’s leather coach with a bitter scotch in one hand. The radio flared up with The Fleetwood’s, “Come softly to me.” Mrs. Brown poured herself another bitter scotch as the symphony of music played in the background with her tapping her toes placidly against the warmth of the soft carpet floor.

Time passed by as a century would. Mrs. Brown awoke to the placid drip of golden ooze originating from the fresh dampened spot of the ceiling where Chuck’s room supposedly was. She awakened like a tired retired antique man and slowly crept up the stairs like an insect upon inspection. She had not heard Chuck since she relieved herself from her cloak of tired superficiality. Huffing and wheezing like an asthmatic, she finally reached the tip of the stairs, staring at her son’s room door. She knocked. No answer. The air was quiet and dead, harvesting flies and maggots. She finally opened his door like an intruder, evasive like an alien from the void of space. The aftermath of the scorching sun had preserved the room in a cocoon of heat leaving the contents to bake. The air was filled with a pungent smell of honey; there had been no room to breathe. A large puddle of golden ooze lay in the middle of the bassinet with an overflow of honey, dripping at the sides of the perfectly constructed wooden crib.

A glimpse of madness passed over Mrs. Brown’s face as she subconsciously drank in the liquid resulting in a picture of perfection to fall before her very eyes. Suddenly, a drop of golden ooze trickled from the ceiling and landed in her trap. She drank the trickle of ooze and delighted in its taste. If heaven had in fact existed, she would have already received confirmation to enter through the holy gates. She licked her thin lips to reveal sharp, supernatural feline teeth of Satan himself; crimson ooze dripped from her fangs. She sneered with satisfaction and instantly thought of her son which was a thought that had barely entertained her mind for over six years. She was filled with a sense of satisfaction yet sadness. She uttered a few words that her son had rarely heard her mouth before, “I love you” and this time she meant it.

LOVE (The Weird Dream)


Everytime he saw her, she would throw a grin at him when he’ll do the same from first they met. It became ocassional for Sam to pass by Ben’s house, certain she’ll find him as if, he was expecting her. Ben’s house was positioned on a corner between two busy lanes people used to get to the super market which was side opposite to his home. It was more like something they’ve planned, Ben knew when to get outside and wait for Sam to pass, blash to each other silently with a hand wave followed by a grin, it seemed a routine they both enjoyed but surprisingly they never said a word to each other. The super market seemed a perfect excuse for Sam to pass by Ben’s every single day, once, twice or trice sometimes, she just seemed not to get enough of seeing Ben’s face, either was Ben.
As time pass, Ben then realised he was in love with someone he berely knew, but it seemed he wasn’t intending to make an effort of getting to know her better; approaching her and ask for a name at least or numbers, he desperately relied on seeing her passing by his home to the market. Sometimes he would sadden himself with scenarios like, what would happen if the super market closes, that would mean Sam won’t have to pass by anymore to flash that grin. Or what if she happens to runs out of cents to just crab something at the markert, she wont be able to come to the market and he won’t be able to see her, he somehow knew that he was the reason Sam appeard so often to his side and just a thought of Sam’s absence, was enough to shatter his feelings and darken most of his day till Sam would appear.


It was tueday when a day had went dawn with no sign of Sam anywere. Ben was sad that whole day, he set the whole night secretly crying for not seeing Sam it was hard for him to catch a sleep with all the wonders why she didn’t show that day. About 3am in the morning, he unexpectetly fell to sleep with tears all over his face.
Next day same thing happened, Sam didn’t pitch like she usually does, and that really hurt Ben’s heart so much that he locked himself in his room till he fell to sleep. That same day he woke up and went outside to pee, he didn’t really notice what time it was or else he wasn’t to go outside at that time. After peeing he zipped his pants, when he was about to turn to the door back inside the house, there she was, Sam in the middle of the night, in the dark passing by Ben’s. As usual, she flashed a grin and waved, stared at Ben. Ben was gazed for some seconds and blinked, to his suprise she wasn’t there anymore. Ben looked all sides but had no luck tracing where she had dissappeard. He then went back to the house and realised after checking on the time it was too late for someone to be roaming out in the street, or for someone to be peeing outside that late, he was just confused but then, went to bed. By sunrise, he sit outside determined to break the silence between him and Sam so he can ask why she didn’t come to check up on him like it was an appointment, but still she didn’t show.
Ben had slept for some hours during the day when he was woke by a dream again, a dream where Sam was flashing a grin at him, waving hand saying goodbye with an empty voice. He was confused and couldn’t really understand the dream, but he thought maybe she had left the township maybe. Thoughts kept flowing but then decided he will go out and try to track her. Suddenly the weather changed and became rainy. Looking through the window from his room, there she was again in a stormy weather, alone in the streets. Ben then rashed to her for the first time, the routine then he hollered; “hey, what are you doing in such a weather?”, asked Ben with rain drops flowin off his face. Sam smiled staring at him and didn’t reply. “Are you okay? Do you wanna come inside maybe, it’s raining out here”.
“I can see, Ben. I can see”, replied Sam.
“Then why are you out here, geez how you know my name..we never spoke”,said Ben as he attempted to hold Sam, but he couldn’t touch her.
“Stop that Ben, you can’t hold me..i wish i could hold you in my arms and never let you go but…i can’t”, said Sam with a tear dropping off her face down her chin, but rain drops modyfied her tears. Ben couldn’t understand what Sam was saying really, then he asked with a sore heart.
“What do you mean i can’t touch you, just let me come close and feel you..”.
“You can’t!”, Sam interupted. “I reckon you dreamnt of me today”
“What…how did you know that, are you a ghost or something?”
“That was a way of me saying goodbye ’cause you’ll never see me again Ben. I LOVE YOU!”.
“But…bu..i never even got a chance to know you..i”, he then woke up tears shed from his eyes.


Next morning he managed to track and enters Sam’s home looking for her.
“Oh, you must be a friend of Sam who she used to always talk of recently in the house”, said Sam’s aunt to Ben.
“Oh really, she used to..and now, don’t she mentions me anymore?”, asked Ben with an impotent voice. Sam’s aunt saw love written all over Ben’s face and she knew how, probably the two were deeply in love with each other so she defended her statement; “when i say used to, is when she was still here, right now she’s not here she’s home”.
“Oh, for a visit?”
“Yes..something like that.”
“But she didn’t tell me”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that she told me that you guys never speak you are afraid of each other, somehow”
“Oh, i’ll come back when she comes back then. Stay well miss”
“Ok, boy”, a tear dropped from Aunty’s face watching Ben leaving in despair. She thought to her self it was too early to let Ben know that his loved one had a car accident with her mom and dad, and no one made it alive, even Sam’s pet.
“But i just wanna tell her that i love her”, Ben murmmered to himself with face down as he leaves Sam’s house, he could feel something was not right but kept on a hope that Sam returns home sooner so to tell her his feelings on her.

The Other Me

For every woman who carries a secret in the deepest corner of her heart.

“You only live once…but if you do it right once is enough”…or is it? It’s midnight and I am sitting in my favourite chair in front of the fire place…a second glass of Merlot slowly romancing my mood as a bouquet of soft berries flirt with my tongue…the words of Mae West echoing over and over in my mind…You only live once…and with that the unspoken truth I had dare not admit to myself until recently…you love only once.
And as acknowledgement finally makes way for acceptance I look back on years of building a white picket fence marriage all the while longing for a man I did not know but to whom I was somehow connected…unknowingly caught in a web that time had spun…slowly and ever so delicately placing us on separate journeys and as the years passed by would sling shot us into each other’s path …never quite understanding the pull of gravity until finally we had reached the right place at the right time.
As I stare deeper and deeper into the flames I go back twenty six years …to 1985 and the school dance…and as the veil of fogginess slowly subsides …I see the 15 year old brunette with the hazel eyes …dancing with a boy…unconsciously moving to a rhythm not dictated by music…but by a passion that in its infancy would consume and destroy if destiny had not set its plan in place.
And destiny that night had turned out to be a red necked teacher with quite a bit of a temper and reputation for being difficult and most certainly not to be crossed. Keeping an eye on the activities it seemed to him the teenage boy and girl still intimately swaying together after several dances had no regard for the acceptable space allowed between partners as the rules required and even less regard for the boy’s long-time recognised steady but now suddenly abandoned and fuming girlfriend standing waiting in the wings.
Letting go of the emotions and desire that the boy had stirred in me I watched as he reluctantly pulled away from me and made his way to the other side of the room where trouble was waiting to greet him. The look on his face suggesting that he feared nothing and regretted even less. And in that moment I saw his spirit…I saw a fire that would burn my soul and it scared me. Never one to fit in with social norms, I sought comfort in the knowledge that I was seen as being different and by that meaning that I was not really his type…too snobbish by his standards…which again seem to be destiny changing course.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks tuned into months with not a word spoken about that night the boy would pass me in the hallways…and while not staring at him directly I was always aware of his blue eyes burning on me. But I kept my distance and so did he and when he arrived at my house one night with a group of friends I was more than just a little surprised. And although the night was filled with promise we both seem to not have the courage to approach each other and follow up on whatever unfinished business we had from our previous encounter. And as I closed my eyes that night I told myself it was simply not meant to be and that I should close the chapter and move on.
Paracelsus wrote…“Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new, but who can understand and measure its sharp breath, its mystery and its design”. And by some design of fate I ran into the boy a few years later in a convenience store just around the corner from my house. I say design of fate because I had left my home town many years before and was now living in another town 1500 km away. And there he stood, no longer a boy but a very attractive man. I cannot recall the conversation, thinking about it now I probably stumbled over my words. But what I do remember is that he still had the same affect on me and I could not shake the feeling that somehow we still had unresolved business between us. But I was married and so was he and we were both building a life, committed to the choices we had made that had shaped our now twenty-something day to day existence. And again I walked away from him, not allowing myself to think what if.
But fate it seemed had other plans and on a Wednesday morning I received a phone call that would ignite the flame I thought I had extinguished many years ago. Twenty years had passed since I had left school and it was time for the class of ’86 to reunite. I accepted the invitation with a great amount of fear and anticipation…my thoughts immediately fixated on the boy whose blue eyes I still seem to feel burning on me. A boy who’s face had haunted me for years even though I have crushed the memory of him time and time again. But fate was holding the cards and did not quite like the hand I was dealt for a few weeks before the reunion destiny decided to put a wild card in play. And so the boy made his presence know by sending me an email.
I remember reading the content over and over again looking for hidden meaning between the lines. We were both searching for that certain something that had connected us so many years ago…and in an instant the lines seem to be blurred for we had not an inkling of an understanding what had been rekindled and the magnitude of what was to come. And although the exchange of emails between us was mostly catching up on what we have achieved with our lives, it was also filled with what was not said…filled with unanswered questions and unspoken longing. Being thirty something adults now one would think that it would be easier to behave as such…that experience would bring maturity and with that fulfilment in our relationships. But we were being held captive by a time in our life that would constantly remind us that something was missing. And as the reunion drew closer, I found myself building up an expectation to finally be able to deal with the significance the boy had in my life. I was completely convinced that the infatuation I had felt for him would finally be put to bed once we stood face to face. I was wrong.
Staring into space I found myself sitting in a rented car outside the venue of the reunion. Not quite myself, my mind had been occupied for most of the flight to such a degree that my husband had given up trying to make conversation. I had purposefully refrained from any exchange regarding the event that no doubt in his mind must have posed some questions about old flames. And now I was there and uncertain of what the evening would reveal. Getting out of the car I suddenly wondered if I had made the right decision to come because if I was honest with myself, I had everything, I had success, I had a beautiful family…I had a loving husband. And with that I felt anticipation make way for guilt as I walked down the pathway to the entrance of the venue. It did not take long before I noticed his presence. The boy was even more of a man now…his appearance more rugged, the lines on his face had deepened…he had aged well like a good red wine.
There is a quote by Peter McWilliams that says “Guilt is anger directed at ourselves’. And never was it truer for me than that night. I had successfully averted any physical contact with the boy and a few sideways glances indicated to me that he was completely immerged in conversation with the boys which if one is already predisposed to feeling guilty would suffice as proof that whatever expectations I may have had was utterly foolish. Feeling completely out of place and out of touch I left that evening, driving along the coastline. Overwhelmed by a sense of loss I cried for something I had longed for for such a long time, something I never had although I never even understood what it was. And as I rolled down the window and smelled the salty breeze I told myself that it was time for closure…that it was clear that whatever unresolved feelings there may have been would remain unsaid and that I should close the chapter on the boy…but more importantly on a time in my life that now belonged to the past. You cannot change what you do not acknowledge and admitting the truth was hard. The foolish trip down memory lane was nothing more than an attempt to try and rekindle my lost youth. And so I made a decision not to entertain any more emails from the boy. Complex things are easy to do, its simplicity that is the real challenge. The simplest thing was to walk way but not without allowing myself a moment to embrace the memory of seeing him again that night and I am reminded about a line in one of my favourite movies “The Bridges of Madison County”…” The old dreams were good dreams, they didn’t work out but I am glad I had them”…
But fate was still holding the wild card…in fact this time destiny had joined the game and they seem to be on the same side. Five years had passed since the reunion. Convinced that I had it all life was good. It wasn’t perfect…but whose life is right?
Completely now settled in to suburbia with all the other forty something friends and acquaintances I was surfing the wave of whatever flavour was going down…three years ago it was big screen TV’s and surround sound…two years ago it was Blue Ray…a year ago it was the latest Sony compact digital camera. And now it was Blackberry. It had become my favourite past time to connect with friends and family. So much so that I would often neglect accessing messages that would from time to time still come through on my other old phone…to such a degree that if the battery ran out I would not notice and leave the old phone lying in my handbag for weeks. I reasoned that all of my important contacts had my new number so there was no significance in keeping the old. But the contract had not quite expired and it would be stupid not to use the airtime and free sms’s that was still available.
It had been a long and hectic day. I was glad to finally sit in my favourite chair in front of the fire place. Closing my eyes for a few minutes I tried to leave the office behind. Timing is everything. Just as I was starting to relax, my son the opportunist presented me with a glass of my favourite red wine and immediately dove right into the pressing matter at hand. His phone had broken and it would be the end of his world as such if he could not be in contact with his girlfriend. Did I say timing is everything? The things we do for love. And in that moment of weakness I reached for my handbag to hand over my old phone in the final act of moving on and to be honest to get a bit of peace and quiet that would follow getting him off my back.
But it was not time for peace and quiet… it was not time for anything…..and yet it was time.
Staring at the phone in my hand I decided to clean out the emails and messages before handing it over to junior. Scrolling through the messages I suddenly felt a jolt through my heart. There it was…little more than a day old…the boy had left a message…
Up until that moment I had lived in a world of choice… I had regarded my life as a product of my own decisions and I was in control. But this was something else, this was destiny. And if you believe in destiny, you suspect there are greater forces defining your life’s story. Even if we are each part of some great master plan, our unique journey has more personal meaning when we choose it for ourselves. You make many choices every day. Whenever possible you choose the life you want. We are the choices we make… And in that moment I made the most selfish choice of all. I chose him.
Love will never obey an expectation; its mystery is pure and absolute. Twenty six years later I find myself waiting at a secluded table in a restaurant…nervously anticipating the moment the boy would appear. It had been five years since the reunion however it seemed like eternity. And as a million thoughts were racing through my head…I perched myself from the chair towards the entrance…and there he was walking towards me. I trembled for a second and fell back in my chair. The emotion of fear often works overtime. Even when there is no immediate threat, our body may remain tight and on guard, our mind narrowed to focus on what might go wrong. When this happens, fear is no longer functioning to secure our survival. We are caught in the trance of fear and our moment-to-moment experience becomes bound in reactivity. We spend our time and energy defending our life rather than living it fully.
Realising that we both got caught trying to catch a glimpse of each other suddenly made me smile. And with that I stood out of my chair and walked towards him…no longer afraid or holding back anything I greeted him with a kiss on the lips, not wanting to let go of his warm embrace.
My heart was pounding wildly. He was seated across the table from me and as I looked at him, I could not help but feel that I have known him all my life. It was not anything specific that he said or did, yet it was everything about him…it was just a sense of knowing. It was in the easy conversation that just seemed to keep on flowing… it was in the way he held his glass… it was in the way his eyes would search mine and we both would seem to be hanging on to the same thought…26 years to get to this moment…
The man sitting across from me was no longer the boy I had idolised…not only had he become a man…he had become the man that I had dreamt of all my life. And it is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts. He was the one. My heart only ever had one thought. One want. One need. Despite all, in spite of all…all my heart ever wanted was him.
Most people can look back over the years and identify a time and place at which their lives changed significantly. Whether by accident or design, these are the moments when, because of a readiness within us and collaboration with events occurring around us, we are forced to seriously reappraise ourselves and the conditions under which we live and to make certain choices that will affect the rest of our lives. That moment was defined when he stood up and sat next to me. Fully aware of his presence so intimately close to me I was amazed at how comfortable we seem to be with each other…our bodies now touching ever so slightly, his leg brushing against mine. It came naturally and it felt familiar..it felt right…
The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before. And when he suddenly leaned forward mid sentence and parted my lips fate and destiny had concluded our twenty six year journey. It seems that all we have ever done in our life was make our way to each other…for in that kiss we had found our destination…we had found one another. I realised that till that moment I wasn’t alive’…that I had longed for him like the moon pulls the tide. And like Meryl Streep in the Bridges of Madison County in that moment everything I knew to be true about myself up until then was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before. This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime.
“You are, and always have been, my dream”…his every word folding like a blanket around my soul. He is every reason, every hope, and every longing I have ever had. My restless soul has found its harbour.
And herein lies the irony for as much as we have found each other and are bound together in another space and time, we will forever remain separated in this life. Vows made to a loving wife and devoted husband are printed like headers and footers on every page of the remaining chapters of your life. You cannot simply change the storyline of the book, or the title. Commitment negates you finish the story you had started though it may not have the happy ending you had wanted.
I have had one life but I have lived it as two completely different women. I have existed in two separate universes. Like night and day I am dusk and dawn, forever floating between darkness and light.
In the light of day my defences are up, my life is a series of controlled actions and purpose. I am safe. But as night falls, like a hungry predator he haunts me and I surrender my soul to be devoured by the darkness where he lives. I call his name and he answers with a flutter in the deepest core of my being. His name is written on my soul and no matter how I try, I can’t erase it.
In the darkness of night there is no escape. There is no distinction between reality and fantasy, I taste him. I drown in him. And as the light of morning falls he exits my dreams like a dagger ripping through flesh and swallow the silent screams of his brutal torture.
And as the morning breaks I cling to hope and sanity like the last remaining life jacket on the Titanic, knowing that just like Rose never let go of Jack, so I will too never let go of him. I shall for eternity run to that place in in my dreams and nightmares where he waits for me.

Survived the storm

Have you ever wished that there was no such thing as jealous? This story is my would be life; the life which came to abrupt halt by jealousy and greed. The life which i wanted so bad;thrown to ash in the blink of an eye…

It was about 10years ago when i completed my matric.Everything was perfect ,i wanted to make it big in life.All i wanted was the best for my family; i was willing to work hard and make that happen,luckily my grandfather had been saving all these years for my tertiary education.I was the first in the family to complete matric and go study at a college.

I worked hard when i got there because i knew where im from and i did wana dissapoint my family,Everything was running smooth until i finish my first semester and when i was supposed to do my second simester people started talking
and because my grandfather was too old he was convinced by a neighbour to stop paying for my studies: he didnt want to do that but ended up doing it anyway and i had to drop out.

It felt like stap that wasnt bleeding and i was scared to go home in that mind people will laugh at,its a very big pain when someone wants something bad enough and people keep on taking it away.For the first time in my life i was working as a domestic worker and i knew i was gona go back and finish where i left of with that money and for love my mother had for me,i was stronger than ever and was ready to face the world.She used to buy me smaller things i needed every month end and i was like any other girl my age but still i was angry and i have decided to turn to alcohol for comfort,i bought bought alcohol for me and my friends but then this was somehow becomung a habit so i was back to square one…..continues


Freedom for me is, being who I truly am beyond the limits of body, space and time, that traps our souls in beliefs, opinions, judgement and fear. Freedom is being free of that disorientated mind… A mind that takes us away from heart and soul, instead clouds a being of magnificence which we fear to explore and expose to the universe, due to our insecurities, holding onto past experiences that hurt and wound us within, not forgiving and only expecting a new result repeating a cycle we have never dared to step up and out of.

However once we realize fear can be a friend and it is ok to forgive, as well as take a step forward beyond our limits or comfort zones, we are privledged to experience a state of freedom that defines a peace that is filled with a love that overflows into our surrounding environments. An experience of love that is unconditional and creates an atmosphere which fills the world with an ecstasy which never dies.
A love that is not necessarily physical bound to body, space and time however spiritual free, infinite and timeless.

True freedom is letting go of beliefs and behaviors of how one thinks it should be into how it actually is in the moment. Using that negative energy we create a positive result with a shift in consciousness, a transformational shift that changes ones thoughts to instead align ones self to being their true ‘real self’.

So do yourself a favour and choose to let go and just go with the flow, that is already present in the now. Trust and have faith instead of fear and embrace the present moment of now being open to experience a sense of stillness without fear, judgement or the need to justify every moment. Live with aliveness focused on a vision instead of dying to survive in a world in which one cannot truly escape without going beyond all limitations.

Freedom is truly Nothing…

NO-THING, a infinte space you allow yourself to loose control in that is open, vast and empty. We fear our deepest selves because it creates a loneliness no thing can truly and honestly occupy, it is an empty spaces with no label or definition, without a definition, it makes it hard for our minds to grasp however only our magnificence of soul can understand. It is a language spoken and heard in silence within an infinite hollowness.

It is the beauty of this hollow emptiness which is freedom….

Phantom Forest

Ghosts? Yes I know of ghosts. I know that there are various sorts of them, from poltergeists to vengeful spirits and of course, phantoms. Poltergeists like to get up to all sorts of mischief and are in fact very common. I know of many a person who has fallen for the deceitful tricks of poltergeists. Take Lenny Kleinbooi for example. Lenny had suffered from asthma his whole life and as such, he always carried a pump with him. When he was at home, the pump had a place on the bottom shelf above the kitchen sink. Then one day when Lenny fell into asthma induced breathing fit, he found that his pump was gone. Fortunately for him he was able to stumble his way outside and was seen by a concerned neighbour who then took him to hospital. Later, Lenny’s pump was found in the fruit bowl on the dining room table underneath a bunch of bananas. A group of us deduced that such a shrewd hiding place could only be the work of a poltergeist as Lenny had a very good memory and organised manner about him. That was not the only occasion that Lenny had found himself the victim of a Poltergeist’s prank. He had left home one morning to go into town only to come back later and find to his horror that his house was burning down. It was found later that the gas stove had been turned on sometime that morning and a candle had been lit and had fallen over onto the stove, igniting the gas and starting a fire in the kitchen which then spread throughout the house. The chief investigator for the insurance company deemed it to be a deliberate case of starting a fire and was ruled to be arson and so the insurance would not pay out until the culprit could be apprehended. Many people thought that it was Lenny himself who had started the blaze so as to claim the insurance money and take an overseas holiday to Malta, but I knew that it could only have been a poltergeist and a poltergeist being what it was could not be apprehended and tried for his crimes. Thus, Lenny had to move into low budget accommodation downtown. That was before they discovered that he had Alzheimer’s, otherwise Lenny’s attorney could have claimed that, due to his condition, Lenny had been unable to find the light switch that morning and had to light a candle to see what he was doing when making his breakfast. He then could have further claimed that, again due to Lenny’s condition, he simply forgot to both turn off the stove and put out the candle next to it. Had such knowledge been available, Lenny could have bluffed his way through and need not have made mention of any poltergeist in the process. Partly due to his condition and partly due to the poltergeist constantly stalking him, Lenny passed away a few months later. A few days after that however, the chief inspector in the arson case died of a heart attack while munching on a boerewors roll. This brings up the next type of ghost: The vengeful spirit. The coroner put the inspector’s death down to poor diet and failing health but I knew that it was really an act of retribution exacted by the vengeful soul of Lenny Kleinbooi. Such was plain.

So you see where poltergeists enjoy committing mischievous deeds, vengeful spirits carry out acts of revenge and retribution. Now we look at the last kind of ghost: Phantoms. What makes phantoms so mysteriously different from the rest is that one simply cannot tell when they are there and when they are not. It is easy to tell when one’s car keys have been misplaced that a poltergeist is about or that when one is met with series of misfortunes that the vengeful spirit of one’s old mathematics teacher is paying one back for every time one fell asleep in his class, but with phantoms it is more difficult. As I have said, it is difficult to tell when one in fact is in the presence of a phantom as they take great care to conceal themselves when they are in the vicinity. I have had experiences in which I have been sitting in the living room and felt a sudden chill come over my shoulders. I would spring up and spin around hoping to observe some sort of paranormal phenomena but as I have said Phantoms are difficult to see, especially when invisible as they often are. The most that I would observe is that I had left the kitchen window open. The distinction between a phantom and an evening draught is also a difficult one to draw, but one who has ever encountered a phantom may be able to tell you the difference. I am one such person, having first encountered such a spectre in my naïve and simple youth before I believed in such things. A long time ago it was, but the memory is no less clear now than it was back when it happened all those years ago.

It was late one spring afternoon that myself and some friends of my youth set off on a camping trip to the place known as Phantom Forest. “Why is it called Phantom Forest?” asked Arnold Aldridge, the new boy in town. “Because” answered Jimmy Jones while taking a moment to take a bite out of a green apple “there are phantoms living in there.” Joseph Mdaka and I sniggered as he walked behind them but Arnold nodded with wide eyes as if this were some profound revelation. “What’s the matter Arnie?” Joseph goaded, “Are you scared?” Arnold immediately puffed out his chest in indignation and vigorously shook his head. “No, no, no. Scared? Definitely not!” We all chuckled again. As the new boy in town, it was our job to initiate Arnie by taking him into the heart of Phantom Forest, waiting until darkness fell and then getting him to tell us the spookiest story that he could. Following that, one of us would put out the fire and then we would all silently step away from the campsite in the dark, leaving Arnie alone to fear for his life. The purpose of this scare tactic is to test the mettle of the new boy and see if his character is worthy enough to join our crew. Even if the poor guy was scared stiff we would still welcome him in. We had all gone through this rite of passage and tonight it was Arnie’s turn. We had crossed the White Bridge and taken the right turn off of the main road. We now followed the dirt road with the estuary on our right, shimmering gold as the setting sun shone upon it. It was warm and the late day had a docile almost lazy feel to it. The four of us continued along the road for about another quarter of an hour before Joseph pointed to the hidden path leading off of the road. We stepped off the sand and gravel and onto the cooler, softer dirt of the path leading into the undergrowth. The shade provided a cooling sensation and the sweat on my back began turning icy, which was pleasant at first but as always it inevitably became too cold for one’s liking. “How far into the woods are we going?” Arnie somewhat nervously asked. “You’ll see.” was Jimmy’s simple reply.
The undergrowth was thick but it was not so thick that we could not see that the sun had almost set. It was dark in the forest, dark enough to warrant taking out and turning on our torches to illuminate the path before us. We had been walking for quite some time before Arnie spoke again. “How much farther?”
“Five minutes or so.”
About that amount of time later Jimmy halted causing the rest of us to stop as well. He slowly shone the light from his torch around him in a complete circle to observe the surroundings then turned to us and proclaimed: “We’re here” and abruptly dropped his pack and knelt down to begin setting up. The rest of us followed suit and together we set about establishing our base for the night. We had two tents between the four of us and one sleeping bag each. Joseph and Arnie took charge of starting the fire and Jimmy and I busied ourselves with erecting the tents. It did not take a considerable amount of time nor effort and soon we were all camped around the fire, joking about habits of our teachers and coaches while passing around a bottle of brandy that Jimmy had nicked from his old man’s cupboard. “Hey Jimmy bru,” I piped up, wincing after having taken a swig myself, “won’t your pa have your balls for breakfast for pinching his dop?” He just sniggered as the bottle came his way before saying “Nah, trust me bru, man is drunk enough when he comes home to worry about what’s not in his cupboard. Besides, my ma gets really pissed at him whenever he comes home with booze; he’s actually forbidden to have it. If he ever realises that the shit’s missing, he’ll just think that she threw it out.” We all chuckled at this and continued with the comments and wisecracks, this time about each other’s parents and the misadventures many of them had had in the past. Joseph recounted an absolute gem about a time when his mom drove into the shallows of the estuary while she was inebriated. She was able to get help and get her car lifted out of the waters and still get home before sunrise. She never told Joseph’s pa and he would only find out several years later when by freak chance he happened to be sitting next to a man who had been there on the night of the occurrence while he was recounting the story to a friend. We had a good laugh at that one. Arnie had been rather quiet which was to be expected given that he was new in town and did not know anyone too well. It was alright though as his time to speak was soon to come. After a period in which our laughter and conversation had died down, Jimmy called on Arnie. “Arnie, now the time has come for you to prove your worth to us.” There was a nervous yet determined look in Arnie’s eyes, he was nervous, yes, but refused to be intimidated. “You have to tell us,” Jimmy continued, “one scary story, the scariest that you can come up with and then the three of us,” he indicated to himself, Joseph and myself, “will judge whether or not you are worthy to join our crew.” The three of us chuckled but Arnie stayed silent. “So,” Jimmy went on, “without any further crap, let’s hear what you have to tell.” He was silent for a few moments and was staring at the fire in front of him, probably running whatever story he had over in his head in order to ensure for an immaculate delivery. Then he lifted his head, looked at each one of us in turn and began. “Okay, let me tell you the story of Tabitha Swindley and her family.” There were still a few quietened sniggers to be heard from the rest of us. Arnie was not to be perturbed and commenced with his tale. “Tabitha, her husband and their two children lived in a cosy cottage overlooking the bay, right next to the beach. They lived happily together and often went out onto the beach to go swimming and collect shells and sorts in the sand and in the rock pools. This was routine for them pretty much every day after the children had come home from school. The two children and their mother, Tabitha, would go to the beach while their father would usually read the paper, joining them only about once every week. This was almost an integral ritual of sorts for the family and always ended happily with the three, or sometimes four of them going home to make supper. Then it happened on one Friday afternoon, something terrible. It seemed a day like any other where everything was as ordinary as it could be, with the children playing on the rocks by the pools by Castle Rock and Tabitha watching them from the beach. Her sights were usually fixed upon her little ones and their antics but on this day it was different. It is said that the ocean has a way of sometimes playing tricks with one’s mind and on this day it had apparently done so with Tabitha. Rather than keeping her eyes on the children, her gaze had been captured by the sea, causing her to stare out towards the horizon. It was while she was in this mesmerised state that a rogue wave had snuck up without anyone noticing and swept the daughter, Alicia was her name, off of the rock on which she was stepping. Tabitha saw this out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to break the spell of the ocean and prompted her to scream for her daughter and run towards the spot where she had been taken. She tore over the rocks and stones and was there in a flash but it was still too late. The back-wash as I hear is strong up at Brenton and there was no sign of Alicia at all. In the ensuing hours search parties were dispatched and boats and helicopters went out to find any sign of the poor little girl but to no avail. She was lost.” There was no hint of laughter amongst any of us now and we listened intently to the story which Arnie was telling us. “The father, John as he was called, took the loss hard and felt it difficult to forgive Tabitha for her negligence and so too did Tabitha struggle to forgive herself but it was for different reasons that neither of them felt that forgiveness was forthcoming. In John’s case it was anger and in Tabitha’s it was guilt, something which burned one’s insides greater than anger of any sort ever could. They both struggled immensely with the loss, Tabitha probably more so. Such was her guilt that one night John awoke from an uneasy sleep to find that he was alone in bed. He called for his wife but to no answer. He walked into the living room and saw that the front door had been left open. He then called for her again outside but still no reply came. He then grabbed a torch from his cupboard, checked on his remaining child; the son named Harry, and then went outside to search for his wife. Despite the number of times that he called there came no response and he could see her nowhere either. After having made his way onto the beach he was able to make out what vaguely resembled a fresh set of footprints. It was a difficult task to spot such in the sand, especially in places where many had walked during the day but John had lived by the sea all his life and could tell fresh prints from older ones. He followed the trail from the soft sand until it reached the harder, moistened sand which had been touched by the waves and saw that the trail led directly into the breakers. She had simply,” he paused for a moment “walked into the sea.” He stayed quiet for a while after this, joining us in silence. What had intrigued me the most was not his story, impressive though it was, but rather his knowledge of the beachfront and the ways of the ocean considering the short amount of time he had been here.
Joseph then stirred. “What happened to her?” he asked.
“She was taken by the sea.” Arnie said simply. “Some think that she had been driven to madness and walked into the ocean to search for her missing child and retrieve her from its treacherous depths but it would simply claim her as well, or so they thought…” I interjected at this point.
“What do you mean by ‘or so they thought?’”
“What I mean is that that is not where the story ends.” The rest of us shifted in excited yet slightly uncomfortable anticipation. I thought to myself that surely Joseph had to make a move to put out the fire now so that we could slip away and give Arnie the scare but he seemed transfixed by the story and was as eager to hear the end of it as Arnie was to tell it. He went on, “A few days after his wife had gone missing a distraught John, who had begun to drink himself to death following the loss of two of his closest family members, awoke on the living room couch after having passed out from too much brandy to see that once again the front door was open and leading from and to the open door across the room were what appeared to be two sets of wet footprints. He jumped up to follow the first trail which led into Harry’s room and was shocked to see that Harry’s bed was empty and there was no sign of him at all. John then ran out of the front door and in a drunken haze, he stumbled down to the beach. There was no telling what he saw next. Some will say that we was simply drunk and was hallucinating but others believe that what he saw scared him to death, for…” and at that moment an eerie and chilly gust of wind was suddenly conjured from nothing and possessed such force that it extinguished the fire in a pinch. “Perfect timing” I thought to myself and slowly crept away on my hands and knees out of the clearing and into the bushes. “Jeez, where’d that come from ey?” I heard Arnie say, but to no answer from the rest of us. Although it was dark, it was a task which myself, Jimmy and Joseph had performed on numerous occasions and as such we knew exactly where to tread and where to find each other. “Guys?” Arnie called out with a slightly worried tone in his voice. After about a minute and thirty metres crawl out of the campsite, the three of us found each other. “What you think hey?” Jimmy whispered.
“Ja, it was good.” I said. “But in any case, regardless of the story, he was in from the moment he agreed to come along. Now let’s get to seeing what he’s really made of.” Arnie’s inquiries as to our whereabouts were becoming more frantic now. “Seriously okes, this is not funny.” We all quietly chuckled. “Good job with the fire by the way Joe, perfect work.” I said. Joseph stayed silent for a moment and then said in a somewhat confused voice, “I thought that was you.” Now I was a little confused myself and turned to Jimmy. “Jimmy?”
“Random gust of wind?” he said worriedly. Then we heard the scream. It was enough to curdle the blood and root all of us to the spot as if we had become trees of the forest ourselves. It took a moment before any of us were able to uproot ourselves and run through the bushes to the campsite to see if he was alright. Upon immediate inspection it was found that he was nowhere to be seen. We had all become panic stricken. What was it that extinguished the fire? What had caused Arnie to scream so terribly? And most importantly, where was he now? “Did anyone see anything that could have put the fire out?” I asked in an exasperated breath, “That could be what scared him.”
“I saw nothing. Nothing at all” said Joseph. And with that, Jimmy thought of the only plausible explanation that there was to be had. “Phantoms.” he said aloud, dreading his own words. I was sceptical. “Naai man, phantoms don’t exist. They’re make-believe, like the Easter bunny.”
“They’re not make-believe, you just can’t see them!” He said.
“If you can’t see it, it’s not there!”
“So are you saying that there is no such thing as air? Or the Holy Spirit for that matter.”
“That’s different!”
“The Holy Spirit, we know exists because it says so in the bible, air we know exists because of science.”
“Wait, is the Holy Spirit a phantom?” asked Joseph.
“No Joe,” I said, “The Holy Spirit is a spirit.” Joseph seemed satisfied with his answer but Jimmy was not convinced. “What’s the difference?” he said. I thought for a while and then replied, “Phantoms haunt people while the Holy Spirit offers only salvation.”
“Maybe the Holy Spirit came to offer you salvation Jimmy, by coming to get you to repent for stealing your pa’s brandy.” said Joseph.
“Yes, but he mistook poor Arnie for you, Jimmy, and he must have been so overcome by the glory that he could only scream in disbelief.” My words had reminded us of the real problem we faced, that Arnie was still missing. “Yes, speaking of Arnie, we should go look for him.” Joseph said simply. We all nodded and set off with our torches to try to find our missing comrade.
In spite of what must have been about an hour of walking through the undergrowth in the dark calling out his name, we were unsuccessful and eventually decided that it was a futile search in the dark and that it would be better to resume the search in the morning and that we need not worry about him too much as he would be in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Jimmy still disagreed that it was the Holy Spirit as such an entity would not have made such a mistake as confusing Arnie for himself. Joseph and I agreed that should such be the case, it must be a phantom in whose presence Arnie now finds himself and we should thus resume the search immediately so as to rescue him from further harm. At this suggestion, Jimmy suddenly agreed that it must have been the Holy Spirit, that he was safe and that we should go to bed. He then promptly fell asleep and was followed into dreamland by Joseph and myself shortly after.

We recommenced with our search immediately upon waking and could not have been walking for any more than a minute when we came across our previously absent friend lying down in a foetal position at the base of a large tree. He was awake when we found him, unless of course he had taught himself to sleep with his eyes wide open as if he had seen a ghost, which we all agreed that he probably had or at least felt its presence since certain types of ghosts cannot be seen. We got him up and walking after a few prods and picks at him and we walked back to camp to pack up. We had hoped that by telling him that he was now officially part of our crew he would cheer up a little but he still said nothing and would maintain his silence throughout the entire journey home. We were worried about poor Arnie for a few days afterwards, especially when we did not see him at school on Monday but as it turned out, he had left town with his father who was apparently a diplomat and spent most of his time moving from town to town. But we knew that the reason for him leaving probably had something to do with our misadventure in Phantom Forest. Looking back at the manner in which he behaved after that night, the remaining three of us deduced that it in all likelihood had not been the Holy Spirit that visited us but something far more sinister and what it had said or done to Arnie was something of which we would never know anything other than it was probably less than pleasant. It is funny how such things happen to the most unlikely of candidates and why but regardless of who was plagued by ghosts of whatever sort, myself, Jimmy and Joseph saw it fit to never tread upon the earth of Phantom Forest again.

Capture and Release

A flash of red caught Thomas Gene’s eye. For a brief moment he thought he was delusional. The closer his car got,the more bewildered he became. Red wellington boots. Green stockings. A toothy smile. A thumbs down,the universal sign for ‘hitchhiker’.

Looking back,he would have liked to believe that he stopped because of the rain,but he knew that a large part of him stopped out of intrigueness and a vague wonder of whether or not she was color blind.

She slid into the car with a sigh of relief,wiping away the dark hair from her pale face. She looked up at Thomas and he soon realized that her lips were moving.

Shaking himself out of his reverie,he cleared his throat.”Pardon?” “I said thanks a million for stopping,I’ve been standing there for over an hour. I know the colors are off putting but they don’t exactly say cat skinner “she giggled softly.

He smiled weakly and decided to concentrate on driving. “I’m Levi” she said quietly. She didn’t mention her last name and Thomas did not ask.

“So where are you off to?” Thomas glanced at her sideways and saw her shift uncomfortable in her seat. “Oh you know,here and there,just wondering about”. His eyebrows creased,you don’t wonder about in the middle of a highway during a storm.

“I’ll be fine at the next gas station” Levi blurted out abruptly and the rest of the drive continue in silence.

Soon enough they came to a gas station and Levi stepped out,mumbling an untangible thank you and disappeared around the corner. Thomas sat for a minute,started his car and went around the very same corner.

He looked left and right,trying to spot her and suddenly there she was. Red wellington boots. Green stockings. A toothy smile.

Levi stood talking to a scrawny man whose only contribution to the conversation was a few curt nods. A warm handshake was exchanged and they went their separate ways.

She looked over her shoulder and spotted Thomas sitting behind the wheel of the car and fled,but not before he could see the look of horror in her eyes.

He ran after her,twisting and turning in the slippery streets and finally into a dark alley. He could see her shadow lingering in the corner. A dead end. Thomas approached her slowly and heard a whimper of fear escape her sweet lips.

“When did you start dealing?” Echoed his voice in the isolated alley. He flinched,surprised at the harshness in his voice.

Levi shook her head. “Don’t lie to me!” He grabbed her jacket and felt it rip. Several packets of white powder scattered across the grimy floor.

Taking a deep breath,Thomas looked into her huge eyes. “You know what this means don’t you?” He asked her. For a second he thought she was going to flee again but then realized she was surrendering. There was no more fight in her.

Thomas gently turned her around,bringing her hands behind her back. He heard himself reading Levi her rights.

The rest seemed like an out of body experience. Walking back to his car. The fingerprinting. The statement taking. She looked so small surrounded by large grey walls. She transformed into a little ball,rocking back and forth,knowing that there would be no rescue,knowing there would be no savior.

Detective Thomas Gene couldn’t sleep. He knew the system would swallow her up and shuddered to think what would happen to her in prison. Cursing loudly,he leaped up and hurriedly put on his clothes. He knew that his window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

At 3am,Thomas knew the station would be deserted,with only the guards monitoring the inmates. He glanced at his watch. He waited and soon heard familiar voices.

“Its quiet tonight Jay. There’s no trouble here.” Thomas identified the voice of the guard leaving.

“Well that’s good to know,I’m off to get a bite to eat downtown” said Mike the guard that would be taking over.

Soon the voices became distant and Thomas knew it was now or never.

He reached the cells and unlocked one. He helped her to her feet and wiped away the black smudge under her eyes,which were filled with awe and gratitude.

He smiled and gave a nod of acceptance. She walked into the night and he watched,emotions within him running amok.

He took in the sight that was slowly disappearing before him. A toothy smile. Green stockings. Red Wellington Boots.

PostModern Borderline

Chapter One-Day-(Introduction)

There comes a time in one’s life rather a point in existence where the howls and barks echo through the cricket orchestra which plays the ambience and sets the mez-on-scene that lays ignored by dreams.
Little is the harsh cold smoky comfort from ones warm milk which as smooth jazz trumpets in the lucid haze that is rarely remembered. When Sun punches in with steamy coffee porcelain and Styrofoam mugs and the silent trumpets of morn forgone by a lighter fuelled alarming view.

Only one who has seen a year dwindled in failure can, will, may, truly understand or rather appreciate its worth and the time lost as a decade to child is a day to geriatric as minutes snoozed to a scholar become hours as necessary narcotics to a terminal patient; once upon a failure to a success is as bitter a certain medicine that an addict is first formed.

In Joseph rainbow coloured form the vehicle reversed out of its miniature doors ,these battered and bruised by Father Time, as rumble with drops of now turquoise brown paint. It’s been awhile since his skin saw the golden orb this meeting two cut his cornea through his matured green tints of rectangular glass.

He wasn’t one for friends as friends he had none if food or drink good company makes then a shoulder for tears was found in bloodied icy drink, a rarity at best, as he pulled at the grime part he now called a job he filled his mind with clouds ,being one of the few who know what it meant be besides himself he watch himself enter The Marketsquare from his passenger seat after flicking the amber butterfly-like and watched them grey the offspring take to them sky and he closed his eyes.

Chapter Two-Origin-The Echoing Solace

At birth we exist in the warm comforting never lonely solitude of absolute lack of worry, sorrow and loneliness, that is the mother’s womb. A tomb of joy and pleasure. A heaven upon the Earth, rather the only true bliss next to that lucid dream like feel of youthful days in an infatuated daze. Now what has become of these days? In age the angst-ridden daze that now, not only envelopes, but fills the depths of our heart, souls and our being. This exquisite paradise replacing abyss that now we dwell and find the treasure of excitement and pleasure. One’s memory, rather mine, serves me to the mere mischievous and innocent age of five. This kindred soul, adventurous and playful.

He continued his venture and in his dreamy state, until the age of ten, where self-image, self-esteem and all that is self began to come into view. The crowd psychologies of which Sigmund Freud wrote came into play in the fray of life. Circles with eccentric circles concentric within it all, leaving all the squares with a circle of their own in which they in great hopes may fit. The great extents a number of the squares and many-a-shape with great intendment cut their corners, smoothen their edges and attempt to enter or fit into even the outer edges of the concentric circles.

A decade has passed now curled in the silent corner sits. Until day the echoing voices cease with her, a ne’er goddess, if not she is a gift. Her gait, her eyes, her smile that beams like hope it reaches out and warms the cockles of the most icy-frozen hearts.

The dark daylights return to their original star filled brightness. No longer can he pen up the relentless emotions and thoughts.

Chapter Three-Ezelda

A name to place to this goddess, Ezelda. “It’s fitting,” he thinks. She warmly smiles as she blushes and she slowly removes the few mahogany locks of hair that have accidently fallen on her face. Then she slowly opens her matte crimson lips and she speaks. “Oh she speaks but not in words alone, I smile at the melodic harmony of her syllables, this smile is genuine and complete.

Weeks pass, months pass and now my thoughts, every last particle in the expansive beaches of his mind, are spent on Ezelda. Nearly absorbing his entire being yet she doesn’t suffer from the feeling when they are apart. He can hear her heartbeat echo with her voices melody, still her scent lingers on his skin. The smell of bliss.

The hands of time swing on, and thus as easily or rather elegantly created the masterpiece above all others as a fresh blooming field with the passing seasons wilts in the winter’s heat, thus the carefully woven tapestry fully unravels, and all that was is now fully lost and forgotten. Slowly the glorious chariot upon the Olympian peak backslides, past rock bottom to the whispering depths that soon became a necessary comfort. In the solid solace he finds his long forgotten comfort and not even a friend nor may brother suffice, on shadows he now leans.

Chapter Four-Voices

The voices within began to converse with his intoxicated conscience and they come to the agreement that these emotions he experiences are the cause for all his suffering, now the conscience with the soul eloped. The former has passed as a metamorphosis in beautiful solitude as a caterpillar in its amber cocoon. A new being emerges as a god of the old world, as a phoenix but in blue dark aura reminiscent of the fallen angels that great legends speak, above the stars at the gates of heaven once again now defying all the laws of nature.

The destiny now set in stone and sculpted in darkness, the voices of his abyss are now, within him and with his essence, intertwined. Ambivalent to all laws that these lesser beings abide and live. Now he is unbound, unchained, limitless, still he seeks what once brought him great bliss across vast plush green wastelands finally he finds, chloroforms the fateful kerchief and in muffled screams her final sounds of freedom wither in his palm.

From the abyss rattling of chains and mechanics of a suffering art are heard. The sound of snapping latex elastic gloves and the enticing macabre cabaret begins to perform and to this most vivid scene, and the echoing multitude on every end of the pitch scale. The glorious masochist filled and sadistic chorus, to which, she awakes.

Chapter Five-Meander

Four o’clock again, and this Thursday was no different to any other these walk ways taken where he’s mindlessly counted each jagged rift without a single eye off the path and the withering white, now grey, laces while rolling his fingers playing with the bulbous savoury textured edges and strumming the coiled chain that sounded unlike the ordinary this made a low staccato hum reminiscent of a tortured souls remains distorted by his dissociative course that in turn made a melody of contorted wind chime ambience. The orchestral moan awoke him as he crossed the road in a jay-walking saunter ,two trucks, small in size, in phase as if a perfect wave and one step to either side or an arm’s length stretch in 5, horns simultaneously sound, 2, 1… Ha-ha…
A three finger flick off adjacent the right temple…how flirtatious the angel Grim how one shares the bliss of thine lips how selfish gains unselfish remain

Four Forty-Five

Chapter Six-Memoirs

As thoughts emerged and constantly blaze his brain from state of dreams now icy mind the more moments born upon descending hearts psyche ,the misanthropy that steady lingers and builds with blank flashing visuals and momentary accompaniment amplified yet the silence that surrounded a sound mind was deafening.

Brain still buzzing from frontal lobe to stem in thought tangible conscience dripping from ceiling down wall on right of door as one enters ,the withering chord shore soon to snap carries a fading dreams remains with un-suiting shades upon mahogany round next to handheld torch and carton of cancer finger with a side of ecstasy and asphalt type lingerie. As fuel and flame mocks that which god’s ancient gamed war. She viddy well the sights of extraord’, “glorious gore! Gored and gored and poured once more.” Garnishes of red indeed may make pearls clench to lips, with ice or black upon thy skin and thread like seams and crystal clear on cheek yet beside smile of lush and tru’st in pupils 9wide.

Yet to unfold the encapsulated soon lays torn, no catharsis in sands that freely fall down vertical gyres two but spherical core shut these cage doors and within them none but you.

Chapter Seven-Night

Eyes wide as mind as I shall not. Yes I now with mind of silence the tocs tic audibly throughout with absinthe on buds shall they be found clear or any existent thought process in mind? Little.

Ignorance, Thee that plagues us all he and he wonders on as porcelain basket of corn with flowing white a complete meal doth make.

There and there and there empty loads of singles and glass and tunes of ages before thine own.

There and there and there cleanliness hath peak and cathartic carcinogen remain unseeked, those which define in societal pools drown and those keep in holster most true reflect thee.

Liquid sparks to liquid flame, a bud nipped and pupils float in expansive pools, time is sped and accessory bled now hath come but flame is quickened and soon…
Shall fade.