The Oddity

Hey, all 5 of you who read this!  I just started writing a new story about a character that I will hopefully continue to develop.  I have plans for many adventures with him, so check him out.  I started a new blog for his stories, it is over on the right side under "My Other Writings" and it is called "The Burden and The Oddity"  ...  Leave comments...  Thank you.

Leaves in the Wind (this is the conclusion to "The Key")

She walks briskly through the cool breeze, which cuts through her scarf and sweater and causes her to shiver.  How could she let this happen?  How could she be so vulnerable?  It was all so damn stupid, such a stupid mistake. Leaves tumble across the sidewalk as she starts up the hill towards home.  Hot tears streak down her cold rosy cheeks.  She had promised herself never again, and now that promise was broken.

 ~

A thousand questions scream to a crescendo in his head.  In their roar he finds his answer.  It will not end like this.  If it ends it ends, but not like this.  He grabs his jacket as he crashes through the front door, not stopping to lock it, or even make sure it closes behind him.  He races down the stairs and out into the chill air and the setting sun.

 ~

She reaches the top of the hill and pauses.  Home is only a couple blocks more, but she feels lost, and out of breath. The low hanging sun makes her eyes squint, squeezing out more tears.  Her thick scarf is already damp with tears.  Why would he tell her such things?  Why would he let her in?  How did he get inside?  Why couldn’t they settle for good enough?  It was such a damn mistake!  They had been so happy. 

 

She hears her name.  She turns to see him running up the hill to her.  She feels like a deer in headlights, her mind screaming to run, but her body not listening.  Suddenly he trips and falls on the cold leafy concrete.  She barely hears him grunt out a curse.  As he gets up he stumbles and goes down again.  This time his grunt is considerably louder and more defiant.  She starts walking toward him slowly as he picks himself up once more.  He climbs the hill to her with determination.  She can see his knee is bloodied, and the palms of his hands are scraped.  She sees the confusion in his eyes.  She knew this would be the case, him so confused and hurt.  This was why she had promised herself to never let anyone in.  She had made that promise to protect them and to protect herself.  If they can’t get in they can’t hurt you, not really at least. 

 ~

As he makes his way up the hill he tries not to limp or fall again.  The burning in his knee and hands is a whisper compared to the roar of questions in his mind.  He has no idea what to say or ask or what to do.  He hadn’t really thought this far ahead when he decided to chase her down.  He is so close now, only a dozen steps away, and she is walking towards him as well.  He opens his mouth to let whatever words he has fall out. 

 

“I… I…  I… I Just…”

 ~

She stops two steps short as he begins to stutter.  What horrible mistake has she made?  Breaking him will haunt her for too long. 

 

Then she sees it.  Something unexpected in his eye, in his face, in his voice.  Determination.  He has not come to beg or plea or hurt her in return.  She thought he would do what they all do when she cuts them loose.  She thought it would only be more difficult with him because he had gotten so much closer to her truth.  She realizes now that he will not give up.  As the pieces of conversation from the night before come together with the man standing before her, she realizes how much he believes in her, how much he trusts in her.  She realizes now that he will not let go unless she screams for him to do so.  He will not give up on her. 

 

Maybe this mistake was not so horrible.  Maybe this was not a mistake.  Maybe if she trusts him, if she lets him stay for one more day, maybe it is worth the risk.  Maybe she can trust him one day at a time until the days become months become years become lifetimes.  Maybe one day at a time.

 

She takes a step toward him with her arms open and tears at the corners of her eyes.

 ~

He stops stuttering when she takes another step.  He steps up, wraps an arm around her waist, and the other behind her shoulders and pulls her close.  

They kiss.

 

She whispers in his ear, “Do you promise?”.

 

He smiles as his cheek touches hers.  He squeezes her close.  The questions are quiet now and he says the only thing left in his head.

 

“I can’t do this without you”

~ 

She helps him hobble home.  They go home together.

The Key

She wakes gently into the cool light of the afternoon sun, as it dances across the floor and sneaks up onto the bed.   The air stirs with gentle music from the other room, the scent of tea, and the warm crackle of the fireplace in the main room.  She rolls over and stretches her arms across the soft pillows and comforter.  It has been a long time since she has felt this comfortable in a bed other than her own.  When she sits upright, hair beautifully tousled, she sees him rocking gently in his chair, scribbling away in his pad.  He smiles at her and takes a sip of tea.  The pot sits on the little table next to him with an empty cup waiting for her.  

She is about to say something nice when the memories of the night before come crawling back to her.  She loses her words in the questions that were asked.  She loses her thoughts in the truths brought to light.  Simplicity seems not so simple anymore.  She turns and slides her bare legs from under the covers.  Her clothes have been carefully folded and rest on the chair next to the bed.  She slips on her jeans and shirt, and buttons up her sweater.  As she goes to take her keys from the top of the dresser she sees what he has done.  The late afternoon sun cuts through the bare tree limbs outside the window and shines off of the single key lying on top of a letter.  The key has a red ribbon tied through its hole and the only words she can make out through the swollen water in her eyes is the letter's title, which is too beautiful and too personal and touches a part of her that she had forgotten long ago.

She takes a breath, dries her eyes, and smiles.  She turns to him and walks.  He starts to rise from his chair to offer her tea or breakfast.  He starts to rise from his chair to walk her to the door.  He starts to rise from his chair for a thousand little reasons that are all just excuses to show her his love.  He starts but she stops him with a finger on his lips.  She pushes him back in his seat and as he rocks forth again she meets him with a kiss, her hands on his broad shoulders, his hands on her waist.  She thinks of something to whisper, some reassurance, but nothing will pass her lips.

She gathers her bag from the floor by the door, and before he can object she is gone into the autumn evening.  He rises from his chair and walks over to the dresser and sets down his pad, still open to the page where he has drawn her beautiful sleeping face, peeking out from under the covers.  The sunlight still kisses the key atop his heartfelt words, changed only by the watermark of her tear.  A tear runs down his cheek as he stares out at the low hills covered in fallen leaves, at the wispy clouds through the branches by his window, as he asks himself a thousand questions.

A Drawing For My Fake Mom's Fridge

Such A Person

Have you ever met such a person?  A person whom at first glance appears healthy normal and cool, but on closer inspection acts more like a parasite than anything else?  A selfish sloth, who uses their shallow wit solely to bully those around them into providing them with what they desire?  The type of person Aesop fabled as a grasshopper, mooching from the ants when winter arrived?  I know such a person, and he makes murder seem too kind.  The problem is, sometimes he is funny, sometimes he is a good friend.  Sometimes I don't think about caving in his hollow skull with a blunt object.  

For those of you put on edge by my words of ill-intent, rest assured, I learned my lesson the first time, and the authorities will never find the body should I need to "make the world a better place" again.  The problem with "grasshopper" is that he knows I am an ant.  He knows I work hard and prepare for the worst.  He knows that I am diligent, honest, and helpful.  He does NOT know that my problem solving thought processes have been developing several possible ways of making him disappear, should he choose to take advantage of my good nature any more.  Again, though, I go too far.  The truth is that I don't mind helping him.  All I want is respect for the aid I provide, credit where credit is due.  I do not ask that he tells everyone what a great help I was, only that he thinks before choosing to make a wisecrack at my expense.  

My response to any such wisecrack could be, and should be, to just not help him anymore, but I cannot stand to watch people suffer like that.  So it seems quite logical to put him out of my suffering.  

To go upstairs, retrieve the staple-hammer, from my toolbox, return to where he sits not doing his homework, and beat him until he exsanguinates from a thousand little staple wounds.

To light the grill on the back deck, let it get nice and hot, then ask him to check on the dinner I am cooking for us.  When he opens the grill, I could easily kick his feet out and press his face against it, simultaneously smashing his head with the lid.

Have you ever met such a person who inspires such rage that you daydream of doing evil things that you know you will never do?  Yet, those fantasies make you smile and chuckle in the most wicked of ways.  Do sane people dream of murder and mayhem? 

On The Flip-Side

Have you ever met such a person?  Such a person who forces you to smile?  Who leaves social convention and preconceptions of cool behind, and ignores all else in the quest for actually connecting with others?  Such a person, who at first glance seems quirky, silly, and maybe even crazy?  Upon further inspection though, you discover that they ARE quirky, but actually quite serious, and should certainly never be written off as crazy because they just might actually "get it".  Heaven is a place filled with such people.  People with open eyes and open hearts.  People who give rather than take.  Praise rather than judge.  

I know such a person.  Truth be told, I know a few.  Beauty comes naturally to them, though it takes an open eye to see it.  In my experience they don't constrain themselves to modern convention, caking on makeup, wearing the latest skimpy fashions, or dying their hair to match the faceless masses.  Beauty comes naturally to them.  After you see their nature, their beauty becomes impossible to ignore, and is in fact one of the few sweetly welcomed distractions from the hustle and bustle of life and the daydreams of rage.  

Have you ever met such a person who, while not perfect, is kind enough, happy enough, smart enough, and funny enough to make everything seem new and good?

The Truth

While I do fantasize about culling the overwhelming population of lazy and stupid and lazy stupid people, I could never start down that path.  First of all, there are WAY too many of them.  Secondly, we appreciate the sunshine much more after it rains.  The dullness of their characters adds by contrast to the luster of the bright.  In fact my greatest lamentation about the person I dream of bludgeoning stems from the fact that I see so much more potential in him.  Whether I am right or wrong, I want to believe that he could, one day, with lots of practice, be one of those who brings light to the lives of others.  Either way, he is my friend, for now, which is why I vent here (where very few read) rather than taking a more physical approach.  

The truth is also that I do not know if I fit into either of these categories.  I, of course, hope I am one of the latter, but I know I have selfish tendencies at times.  Honestly I don't think I want to know.  Knowing that I am a good person would make me cocky and give me a sense of entitlement, which would basically put me in the selfish category.  If I never know where I stand, but always think that there is hope I might be a good person, I will continue to strive toward that ever distant finish line.

Are you such a person?  

Breaking Down to Zen (or at least having tea)

Walking, talking, and giggles, it makes me laugh a little.  The torture paused for now, I set myself free.

The coyote is out of mind.

The tacos are delicious, the conversation light.  The door cracks open a little more, calling me into the night.

The lamb screams.

The one I had before is back...  Very confusing.  The one I have now pays little attention and does little to impress me.

The pig revels in the filth.

The flirt is short and sweet, with promises of future, but no morsels for the meantime.

Confusion silences the nuisance, and I smirk a little.

All's the same at my favorite place, the happy vibes of the longhaired tribe.  My soul feels warm and electric.  My mind finds quiet concentration.

Maybe here I'll find my humor, maybe now I can make them laugh.

The candle flame is fire, and the meal was cooked long ago.

Collisions, Incisions, and Mud

I think I over-think and then I act on impulse. 

Words blurt out, and then I wince on the inside... but somehow it is still ok. 

I laugh and love life when someone plays the game with me, but now I see how funny it is when their game gets tangled in this chaotic maelstrom.  I smile as I recognize the competition.  I smile as I realize that this was completely unintentional, that worlds have just collided and my hand has not yet been played.  My poker face is straight, my eyes are full of cat.  I cut my way into curiosity and leave my card there, for when it begins to itch I'll be selling the cure.  With that I set my cup back down, the mud in the bottom foretelling future flirtation with a worthy adversary.

TWIST

The Way I See Things, people are evil.

It is a simple truth, which I believe holds the key to redemption.  We as individuals, and as a worldwide community, do little other than destroy all we purvey.  This seems an extreme statement, but the evidence is in front of you everyday.  If you are unfamiliar with the crowding of forests and wildlife habitats due to humanity's ever-expanding territorial sprawl you are a fool.  Think of all the killing we do, whether through crime, war, neglect, poaching, slaughter, or simply smashing bugs that we don't like.  The next time you sit down at a meal, look at the food before you.  Smell it.  It is beautiful and smells delicious doesn't it?  What will it look and smell like when you are done with it?  Not so pretty.  Eating, something we must do to live, arguably the basis of our existence, is nothing more than appropriation via destruction, as Sartre once put it.

My point here is that we are evil, and there is no escaping it.  Maybe being evil is the reason for living though.  Maybe if we weren't evil, if we were born whole and perfect with nothing but nutty-goodness inside of us, this life would lose meaning.  Maybe, if we were born as sheep, defenseless and delicious, we wouldn't have the chance, the tools, the weapons to protect ourselves from the other evil things in the world.  I think life might be a game, might be more than a game.  Life might be a puzzle where we must figure out how to use our evilness to accomplish something better, to smite other evil, to hold aloft the few and precious pieces of purity in this world.

Maybe this is just,

The Way I See Things.

Chagrin

She pulls and bites and grabs and scratches.  She smothers with kisses, as she forces my face to touch hers.  She screams "LOVE ME!" without saying a word.  She thinks she loves me, or wants to love me.  She hasn't seen the darkness though.  She doesn't know.

The darkness came long ago.  It crept in slowly, unnoticeably.  The darkness is what forms when the stuff on the inside, the life that filled me, is taken out by so many hands.  The darkness is all that's left when you become hollow.  The darkness asks only one thing of you.  Fill it.  It is a void.  I have seen it swallow people whole, and now I refuse to feed it anymore.

I know what it wants.  I know how it hurts.  I know that she will not survive.  So I push her away.  I push her away because I care.  I care but I do not love.  I cannot love.  I have been ruined to a point where my love requires too much.  I ask for too much.  I am starved and greedy, resigning myself to only let in the few who may be strong enough to bond, to cope, to meet my selfish demands.

I wish I could love anyone.  I wish I was a better person in that respect.  I have not loved so many who deserved it, and I have hurt so many who have not.  I thought I was doing the right things, making the right choices, but as I look back I am only confused.  Maybe tomorrow I'll find hope, maybe tomorrow hope will smile at me.

She pulls and bites and grabs and scratches.  She smothers with kisses, as she forces my face to touch hers.  She screams "LOVE ME!" without saying a word.

I push her away.