blue backpack.

"Don't move." The lights flick on and the door of the room snaps shut.

She freezes, fingers gripping the blue backpack on the table in front of her. Her back is to the door.

With slow, measured steps, the man walks around the table until he faces her. He smiles when he sees her face. "Angela! What brings you to my dining room at four in the morning?"

Her lips twitch twice before forming a tense smile. Digging her fingernails into her palms to stop their trembling she rests her elbow on the backpack. "I left my graphing calculator here. I needed it for a... assignment due tomorrow and..." Mind spinning wildly she laughs, trying to dispel the tension that hangs in the air between them, thicker than her mother's lobster bisque. "I was pulling an all nighter! You know, college is tough! I didn't want to wake you so I figured I'd just sneak in and grab it."

The man's brow furrows, "You have the key?"

Angela twists one of her long blonde curls around her finger. "Yeah! Hannah gave it to me the other day when we were working on homework. She said it was just in case of emergency, you know?" She grins widely.

"Hannah, gave you the key? When? Hannah's been away all week. When did you leave your... what did you say? Calculator?"

"Yes, sir. My calculator. I left it a week or so ago but I guess I didn't need it until now so I forgot," she says, sliding the backpack over her shoulder. "See you another time, Mr. Judson!"

He takes two steps forward and grabs the backpack as she turns to leave, "Not so fast, Angela." The zipper breaks as he tears it open and dumps the contents onto the table.

Three bananas he had bought the day before. A teddy bear that Hannah had outgrown. A blanket from the downstairs couch. A roll of paper towels  and four spoons from next to the sink. He didn't recognize the rest of the items. A ziplock bag filled with dozens of plastic frogs. A box or crackers. A jar of applesauce. A picture frame, lying with it's stand in the air.

He reaches down and flips the picture frame over to reveal a laughing little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails and dozens of freckles. He looks up at Angela - red hair tied up in a ponytail, freckles scattered across her nose. Tears stream down her cheeks.

She darts forwards grabs the crackers and the teddy bear and runs out the back door.

The little girl in the picture smiles up at him from the wooden picture frame in his hand.

jim.

Little girls in bright dresses run around the yard. Flower children. The boys are in one corner, plotting some game with a stick and a ball and a hoop - fighting over details.

He sits alone.

His toe makes a line in the dirt, then another, two dots. A smile looks up at him. He smiles back.

"Jim," he says to the smile, "I'll call you, Jim."

Jim just smiles.

The boy draws a house for Jim and a pony with a cart. He draws him a whole smiling family with a little bow on the youngest sister's head. There is a pile of candy canes and a piano with carefully drawn keys. Jim smiles at each new addition. The boy smiles back, wider and wider.

"Whatcha doin, loser?"

He doesn't answer. 

The older boy laughs at the pictures, "Baby! Come and show us if you're actually good at anything worthwhile!" With two kicks, Jim and all his things are wiped away in a pile of dirt and the destroyer runs back to his friends.

Alone again, the boy sits and stares at the place where Jim once smiled. Then, he gets up and hobbles away on his crutch, sniffing back the tears that threaten to betray his weakness.

Why, Jim? Why? Why couldn't you be stronger?

runaway.

“Do you like to dance?”

“No.”

“I saw you once… dancing in the rain when you thought no one saw,” he says trying to catch the delicate hand, laden with sapphires and pearls.

“It wasn’t me.” Her hand slips through his fingers and she fixes a stray wave of amber that has escaped her intricate braids.

“Who was it then?”

“I don’t know.”

He touches her arm but she jerks away and turns toward the window. Tears burn hot in her eyes but they do not fall. She does not let them.

“Please, Cecilia. Dance with me.”

His hands close around hers. She does not look up at him when he leads her to the middle of the floor and spins her around but a single drop traces its way down her cheek.

When the dance brings her close to him again she whispers, “I have a story to tell you.”

“Tell me.”

“Once there was a girl who no one truly saw, they thought they did but they only saw what they wanted to see and not what she truly was. They told her what to do and what to say and how she must live out her future. And one day, she could not stand it anymore so she decided to leave, to run away. To take on a new name and new life. She never came back.”

“Cecilia –“ She holds up a finger, stopping him.

“It’s Joan now. Maybe you’ll find me again one day."

She kicks off her shoes and runs out the terrace door.

He looks for hours but all he can find is a strand of pearls, abandoned under a maple tree.

august night.

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the vaulted ceiling of the entryway with booming echos. So loud. Oops. He shuts his mouth firmly and grins apologetically, awkwardly. The girl across the doorway smiles, nervous hands twitching her skirt back and forth.

"Be back by curfew," says her father.

"Be safe," says her mother.

The boy nods and shakes hands with both of them. His palms are clammy and his heart pounds but he tries to be firm and confident. The father winces. Too confident. He lets go quickly and smiles, trying too make it apologetic and not too bright. The father smiles back. Thank God.

The girl opens the door and they walk down the sidwalk, her shoes click clicking, his a muffled thump step, thump step, thump step.

The silence is long and uneasy, both of them grinning like that can make up for the missing words.

"Do you like cotton candy?" "I've never been on a roller coaster." Their words cover each other.

More silence.

"It's all right, you can, go ahead."

"No, you. What about roller coasters?"

Hesitation stretches long as he turns at the light.

"We should go on one."

"Okay."

vial.

The vial in her palm glitters like a gem when the light hits it. Beautiful. One drop and he's gone forever, never to hurt her again, his words cutting deep into her heart. One step and she's at his door, at his unsuspecting side. One moment and revenge is in her grasp. Revenge for her baby girl.

Footsteps, soft and padding down the hallway, coming closer. Her fingers close tight over her secret.

"Mommy?" The little boy looks up at her, his big gray eyes filled with tears. "Mommy, I falled over the kitty." He holds up his pudgy hand, marked by a tiny red scratch.

She bends down and gives him the kiss he wants to make it better.

"Why you in front of Uncle Eddie's door, Mommy?"

"Nothing, love," she says, dropping the vial into her pocket and picking him up. "Nothing."

Worthless, the voice in her head tells her, worthless and cowardly just like he always said. Good for nothing, beggar girl, seductress, liar... he was right about you. Right about Leah. You're no better than him - about to be a murderer.

"No," she says, the word leaving her lips without her meaning them to. As they pass the window, she reaches into her pocket and tosses the vial into the night.

"Why?" says the gray-eyed child. "Why no?"

"Because we're going to prove him wrong."There is a determination in her voice she didn't know she possessed.

"We is!" says the boy. "We is a win, Mommy!"

wishes of a lifetime.

      Spin me round again
and close my eyes.  Will it be today that I find the tongues to speak
   to you
      perfection
and imperfection.

      Wedding rings
kindling in the raging fire.  Are we one of the rotten ones
   with
      no end
in sight or hearing.

      Just say
goodnight and go.  I can't believe the paltry
   excuses
      you give
actually convince me.

      Hypothetically
the clock ticks.  But this insensitivity you and they
   show me
      takes
too much real time.

      Dead
we are.                                                                                  heaven
 

minus one day.

      Waves lapped at Cara's feet as she dangled them off the ledge, eyes closed.  Hhhhhhhhhhhhh.  "Sounds of silence."  Her lips stayed apart, letting the sibilant words echo off the cliff walls, through the musty air, onto the waves.  Fighting for dominance, sounds.  Scapes.  Escape.  A single butterfly weaved through the air, purposeless.  Through the air, through the sound, alighting on the ledge next to Cara.  Motionless they sat, clinging to the ledge, with no sense of desperation.  One push, and she would fall.  It was no matter.  She would not.

      Kh.  Khhh.  Hhhhhhhh.  One seagull pecked at the rock, found... nothing.  Eyes closed.  "Assassin.  Rose petals.  Concrete."  The seagull's wings folded.

      Raynor smiled as he saw through the fog, a shape, a beautiful shape to behold.  Oh, how her stillness enchanted the sea.  He took off his shoes, stepped forward, toward her.  Sat on the ledge next to
a single butterfly.

      They sat here on the days where nothing went on, where nothing could go.  Therapeutic, she called it.  He could think of nothing else.  Today would go.  "I am no man."  "If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"  "Hell is empty and all the devils are there."  "Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness."  He handed her her daily cup of tea.  "Cara..."

      "Raynor."

      "Please don't say my name.  And finish your sea."

      "Sea?  C?  See?  Not tea?"

      "Drink it."  The glass drained.  Cara felt
something against her tongue
cool and smooth

a pearl
ring

i will

paraflox.

      "Comfortable?"  I rubbed my hands surreptitiously together, making sure they weren't sticky, then placed an arm around her.  The low light of the carriage helped disguise my blush for a natural face colour.  Nothing to see, just, normal.  Yes.  She smiled and glanced at my face.  "Now I am."  I paused. "Oh."  That was positive, yeah?  Well.  "Anyway, nice to meet you."  Leaning over, she whispered into my ear, "We've been married four days.  But I knew you for twelve before that.  Twelve years.  Take a deep breath."
   
      In, out.  Deep.  I cleared my throat.  Her dress rustled on the floor as she shifted her legs.  Everything was just so acute.  I needed to calm down.  "Em, so I searched up belligerence the other day."  She looked up.  "Sorry, what?"  Speak in a higher register.  Just speak normally, relax.  You've done it before.  But you've never done this before.  Shut up.  "I... looked up a word you told me to yesterday."  My voice cracked.  She smiled.  "But that wasn't quite what you said the first time?"  "You didn't hear what I said the first time."  "How do you know that?"  My eyebrows folded.  "Well you said, 'sorry, what?'  Or something to that effect."  Again.  She smiled.  Oh, that smile.  Her head fell softly against my arm.  I felt tall.

      Her voice broke the silence again.  "Hey."

      "Yeah."

      "I love you.  You know that?"

      "Yeah."

sisters.

They hadn’t stayed long in the kitchen when it was time to put things away. Seeing the plates and silverware, Chloe promptly sighed. She felt overwhelmed with the work she still had left to do. Out loud, she hastily asked, “Do you mind if I go upstairs?”

Bethany and Tiffany were obliging. While they too had work to do, they felt no inclination of doing it. Their work could wait, they figured. They stood up, easily stacking the dishes and closing the lids of the jam and peanut butter jars. Glancing at each other, both wondered who would wash the dishes.

“I can wash,” volunteered Tiffany. She wasn’t exactly eager, but like always, if something was expected of her, she would do it willingly.

Seeing the chance of a competition, little sister Bethany quickly picked up the sponge. “Not if I get to it first,” she silently remarked. She began wiping the plates and forks, while Tiffany cleared the dishrack. They had made a happy compromise. Tiffany started singing.

“This is the song that never ends… it goes on and on my friends…”

Bethany joined in, “Some people started singing it not knowing what it was…”

“And they’ll continue singing it forever just because!” Laughing, they both were thankful for the fun times they could have.

guest post #1.

Starting a new series? Yes, of course! Guest posts. Not self-explanatory at all.

Connection of Two Hearts 
It was two entirely different hearts composing a beautiful harmonious song. Rejoicing, these hearts clung closely. No turbulent skies or depressing company could affect the sheer delight of this complete true love. The aspect of true love, being sometimes confusing and mysteriously thought provoking, has left many a person either shattered or enlightened by this sacred gift from above. How is it then, two individuals can experience this same feeling, yet one ends in catastrophe and the other en wrapped in happiness? Feeling love is those warm shivers, soft blushes, the all together glow of ones eyes, and light-hearted smiles, but "feeling" love can never last; for feelings such as these are merely human instincts set off by the interactions of persons with a natural attraction towards each other. True love, on the other hand, comes from deep within the soul when two people are drawn together by the miraculous threads of destiny. By no means, do I mean to imply this love occurs by mere chance. I simply say it was written by the artistic, purposeful hands from above. The complex beauty of true love, I hope, will continually inspire mankind.

Initialed: - FJS

trauma – 1.3

When she woke up, she saw the sun glistening through the window. She felt sore, but well-rested. Where was she, though, she wondered.

A nurse in flower-print scrubs pushed aside the curtain that surrounded her bed. “Good morning, sunshine! How are you feeling, Natalie?”

Natalie gave a crooked smile. “I guess I’m okay. I survived,” she added hopefully.

“Is there anything I can get for you? There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Perplexed, she paused to think. “Is it Tyler?”

“Yes, believe that’s the gentleman’s name. I’ll send him in when you’re ready.”

Not five minutes later, Tyler was seated by her bed in one of the uncomfortable-looking visitor chairs. He witnessed a bandaged face with a bright smile beneath it, but also an exhausted body that lay immobile on the bed.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

“There’s something I want to tell you, Tyler. I originally asked you to come because I didn’t know if I was going to get through. You know, live. But now that I know I’ve still got some time, I really want my life to have meaning. Time lost is never found. Use today as if it was you’re last.”

heaviness.

my pain is gaping wide, swallowing up your kindness, groaning and insistent.
its hunger is all I can hear.
you, you peaceful gentle friend,
composed and conscious,
how can you understand?

but indeed it is I who do not understand;
I cannot grasp the paradox
of losing what you desire without losing your patience.
In that you can bear your own and mine as well,
your suffering gains stature.


[inspired by Sense and Sensibility]

Perky.

Perky grasshopper likes leaves and sunlight and flowers. One day, perky grasshopper bounces her way to the meadow beyond the fence.

On a rock beyond the fence sits a grumpy-looking toad, unmoving. Grumpy-looking toad squints at perky grasshopper and then lets out a croak. He then goes back to staring straight in front him.

Perky grasshopper decides that she'll go explore the meadow beyond the fence. She converses with crickets, banters with bluebirds, and mooches around with mushrooms. Then she goes back to talk with toad. He's still looking grumpy. Perky grasshopper pops herself on the rock next to grumpy-looking toad's perch. He blinks.

Perky grasshopper pauses. She doesn't know what to say. Grumpy-looking toad speedily snaps out his tongue to snatch a bug. Perky grasshopper wishes she had a tongue to catch bugs with too, if only to have something to say to grumpy-looking toad.

The sun is going down on the far side of the meadow. Perky grasshopper hops away over the fence, with her back to the sunset.

--

Why do toads look so grumpy,
and why is there nothing to say,
and why must grasshoppers wonder,
are they are too perky or not enough?

unstable.

oh 
i am drawn to you
dancing around you
yes your algae friends, i will join them
sitting on your windowsill
i'll give you things
that you can't give yourself

but but but
so fragile
both of us

It's wrong to justify yourself through your goodness, to call yourself safe and sure because you're selfless. Nope, I am not safe or sure, no matter what I do.

I need some help, maker of ocean and sky. I want a force field to protect me, and of course I am impatient to learn what is wisdom, how to care for the unstable without being swirled in and felled. I don't know who to trust to tell me. I still think my doubt knows more than anyone's knowledge.

I once heard someone say that to hold back from loving, in fear, is actually more risky than to risk.
Still: love isn't as simple as discarding the stability others' love has cloaked me with.


oh, i am drawn to you {and is it righteous or warped?}
dancing around you yes your algae friends, i will join them {hopefully}
sitting on your windowsill i'll give you things {sheathed there by faith unless He moves me}
that you can't give yourself {what only He can}

angst.

She pulled at my sleeve.  "Let's do something."

"Like what?  I'm busy."

"You're sleeping.  Get up and get a life, boy."

"Don't call me boy..."

"Besides.  How is a couch like that possibly comfortable?  It's for one person.  Sitting."

"Hehe.  I'm descended from feline ancestors."

"And, and... I heard sleeping in public places is disrespectful."

"To myself, maybe."

Propping up on one elbow, I squinted my eyes and adjusted to the sunlight coming through the conservatory windows.  Glanced at the grandfather clock.  My knees cracked.

"I think I'm getting too old for this.  Alright then.  What'd you want to do?"

"Something."

"Oh yeah, I forgot.  You're a bloody girl."

"Language.  I need to wash your mouth with soap."

"So why did you come to the conserv, alone, to wake me up again?  Just for fun, huh.  Gonna give me a dressing down and all that while you're at it too.  If I didn't know you better I'd think you were the sweetest person ever.  But you're a lime."

"What, is that supposed an insult?"

We pushed the doors outward together, the rays of light tripping over her hair.

"Let's go feed the dinosaurs."

"Limes?"

breaking.

"Shhh! You'll break it."

"Break what?" she asks, laughing again.

"The silence."

Her golden laugh trips over his words. He tries to look stern, but fails, breaking into a huge grin.

"Why'd they let you go?" he asks, catching her in his arms -- never wanting to let her go.

"Let me go? From what?"

"The zoo, you strange creature."

Again, she laughs. There's a mysterious quality in her laughter that makes it both boisterous and soft. It's for this mystery that he allows its shimmery tones to go on breaking the precious silence of the sunset. They take a seat on a park bench -- his arms still around her.

"Oh, you're silly," she tells him, snuggling closer to him on the bench. "No one would pay anything to see me. At least, not the outrageously expensive prices that most zoos charge."

He smiles. What else is there to do when she takes his jest so seriously?

"Ooh, let's go to the zoo. This weekend. Friday morning through Sunday night. Just you and me. The Bronx is close-by and it's always lovely this time of year."

"It's spring, darling. All it does is rain in New York this time of year. How could it be lovely? And it's expensive, dear. You just described the ticket price as 'outrageous.'"

She smiles at him, with that sly little grin.

"Oh, you just want to jump in the puddles of New York... am I right?" he looks at her, wondering how her eyes can sparkle so brilliantly. It must be the setting sun -- sparking a gleam in her eyes, setting her hair on fire, giving fuel to her dreams and love.

"You know me too well," she says, sighing into his arms.

Ahh, but he doesn't. She's such a mystery to him. Always was and always will be. They watch the rest of the sunset in peace, their weekend plans already set. There's nothing to ruin the moment... nothing to break the silence. Until a thought comes to his mind.

"Wait a second, darling. Your second chemo treatment is on Thursday. You won't be able to walk, let alone j--"

"Shhh!" she interrupts him, putting her fingers to his lips. "You'll break it."

"Break what?"

"My dream."

Her laugh, once more, interrupts the silence.

everyone.

"Did you hear about the new patch in LoL?  I heard they made some new skins."  

"Ehhh, what's uh... lol?  Like an Mp3 player?"

"Naw, man, League of Legends.  You're behind."

"Hey, do you have the afternoon free today?  Let's go out."

"Mmmm... I should.  Where?"

"The usual.  You know how it goes."

"Hehehe.  I got you."

"Hey, how did your calc test go?"

"Bombed the quadratics.... But everything else, I think, pretty good."

"You have quadratics in a calc test...?"

"Oh.  Hmhmm.  I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Look at him, he's totally going to go to the staff office and try something crazy."

"I know, right?  What a lark."

      Walk around a less busy area of the hallways so that when I smile at someone, maybe they'll smile back at me, just because they don't know me.  Or because they're not busy talking to their own friends.  The ones they'd talk to first if they had to choose between them or me.

      Wish I could have a circle of friends to talk to.  Seeing the people congregating around that one guy, the one who can make everyone laugh, the one who's better than anyone else.  Thinking of something to say to fit in.  Walking away.

      Sitting at an ice cream parlour with my dad, wishing I were sitting at an ice cream parlour with my girlfriend.  Oh.  I don't have one.  Just wanting to be someone who's not me.  Just wanting to be better.  Just wanting to be nicer.  Just wanting to be less weird.  

      Talking to my friend about girls.  Why do we always talk about girls?  He's talking about how he wants to get a girlfriend.  Why would he want to get one?  Shouldn't he like... bump into one on a busy street corner in Chicago or on the "down" elevator when she's going down and he's trying to run up?  You don't get girls.  You realize. 

      Talking about life late at night with myself.  Wondering if I'm an idiot who counsels himself about how to live life and not procrastinate.  Thinking about God.  Does He care?  If He cares, does He care about the people who spit in His face with poisonous words?  What are poisonous words?  Do I speak those poisonous, blasphemous words?  Sure, yeah, sometimes.  

      

      Yeah, he cares.  Just got to find out how.  And sometimes, it's nicer not to have everyone.  Just someone.  Or just Someone.

plural.

I always thought it would be nice, you know, to have more than one.  Not this one today, I'd like the other.  I am in the mood for this not that today.  Today this one please me and not that one.  Passing over this one for that one because that one seems better today.  Flitting from one to the other like a butterfly or busy-bee.

It's always that way, you know.  When you've only got one (or none) you wish and wish to have another.  How nice it would be to have a choice, you say, and not to feel like you're settling or too fill-in-the-blank to merit more.  If only I could have chosen and not been chosen.

But now.  Now every way I turn I am met by choices and I find I do not like it.  The grass is always greener on the other side, until you step over the fence.  Each "choice" demands and asks and requires an answer.  I am a whirly-top, a spinny-gig being tossed back and forth.  I turn here and there and lie restless in my bed.

Say yes, they said.  It's that simple.  Nothing will go wrong and all will be roses and sunshine.  Alas.  They were wrong.  It's that simple.

opposite sides.

The middle-aged, existentially-crisis-ridden Woman sat at the far end of the Table.  In her hands, she held two lethal knitting needles, on which was impaled a black yarn.  Her hands moved nervously, trying to match the irregular rhythm of her clicking needles.

The young, procrastination-prone Man sat at the far end of the Table.  Under his hands lay an old, fractured keyboard.  He tapped absentmindedly at the keys: f, f, f, f.  j, j, j, j.  The steady beat syncopated with the needles' rhythms.  In his lap sat the Cat.

Time Passed.

"Twenty-one.... Twenty-two.... Twenty-three.... Twenty-four.... Placemarker.  Mmmmm."  The Woman's voice cracked.  "Can you get that Cat away from here?  My eyes are getting itchy just being near him.  And I... Wait.  Don't disturb me.  Thirty-three.... Thirty-four...."  Her voice faded.  The Man stayed silent, immobile.  His fingers feebly betrayed his statued-ness.  His eyelids drooped lower.

Time Passed.

The Cat's purring grew dimmer.  No hands were scratching at his chin.  No warm breath on his stomach.  This was no better than the floor.  He jumped.  The Man shuddered with a start.  The eyes snapped wide.  The Cat's hair found its target.

Time Passed.

The Woman sneezed.

truth.

"You know what to do, right?  Act like a couple."
"Mmm.  Leave it to me.  I won't be put to shame by fools with love on the brain.

Hey, honey. Whatcha wanna do when we get to the beach?"
"Let's take a walk together along the shoreline."
"I like that.  We can talk about our future while gazing at the setting sun."
[Here, he gives his best sparkling prince impression.]

"They're totally faking it."

"So fake."

"Fake..."

[Here, he gives his best unperturbed impression.]

"Hey.  Wouldn't it be romantic to look for shells too?  If I find any rose-coloured ones, I'll give them to you."

"That sounds too wonderful.  We can each keep one half of a pair as a souvenir of the trip."

"Mm.  Let's make lots of memories of our love!"

[Here, he gives his best sparkling prince impression.]

"It's like some second-rate film."

[Here, he gives his best unperturbed impression.]

Currently hiring one male and one female actor between the ages of 15 and 16 for the revised [in progress] stage adaption of Oreshura.  Pay will be discussed in further meetings.  Plus extras.

- (c) Not Me