Jamieson Wolf's Blog, page 62

The City of Mirrors by Justin Cronin – A Book Review

The Twelve are no more and Amy is gone.

Peter feels as if a part of him is missing. Though he never said it out loud, Peter loves Amy. With her gone, he feels at wits end. Without her, he is lost. He can’t shake the feeling that the virals aren’t gone, that they might all be living in a dream.  He has his plate full, protecting the people of the Texas Republic.

Alicia has gone off on her own. She is desperate to kill Fanning, called Zero. With him gone, the virus that has ruined their world will cease to exist. However, Alicia didn’t expect Fanning to be so…human. He is not like the other virals, wearing what looks like a human skin. However, she knows that underneath is the soul of a monster. Yet she can’t help but be taken in by him and his promise of a better life together.

Michael is aimless. He spends his time removed from everyone. He rides a boat along the water, going further and further out each time. He knows that the supposed barrier, the mines and explosives said to be placed there to protect humanity when the virus first began, is a myth. What he doesn’t expect is to find a boat that has been sailing for one hundred years with a secret waiting to be found inside of it.

And Lucius? Lucius Greer, ever the believer of the group that fought amongst Hollis, Sara, Peter, Alicia and Amy? He has his own secret and it’s waiting for him in the belly of another boat off the cost, sitting in the water. She is waiting for the right time to gather he strength and come to their aid.

Because she knows: the virals aren’t gone and never were. They are merely waiting and, when the time is right, they will strike…

There is no possible way that I could summarize the entire plot of this book. In fact, before I started writing this review, I sat and flicked through the book. I was stymied by the sheer amount of story, the amount of life, that is packed into six hundred pages.

While The Passage was a wild ride and The Twelve, was wicked adventure, The City of Mirrors is a wondrous journey. We’ve come to know these characters (a cast of over fifty). We’ve watched them grow, watched them prosper and fight against what would surely kill them. To say that my heart and mind were invested in these characters would be an understatement.

The City of Mirrors is a quieter book that its predecessors. There is an undercurrent of unease and dread that fills the pages until the world just explodes and there is only one brief foray into the past. For ninety-nine present of the novel, it in told in the now. Make no mistake, the book is stronger for all of this. There is no more story from the past to tell and we are living along with the people that fill the entirety of this novel.

That is the novel’s main strength. By the time people start dying (and they do), we ache for them. For all of the virals, horror and supernatural elements that fill The City of Mirrors, this novel is surprisingly human. You don’t merely read this novel, you live it right along with all of the people within the story.

While reading The City of Mirrors, I gripped the book in terror and fright, I laughed, I cheered and I cried. I was touched by every single emotion. In the end, The City of Mirrors and Justin Cronin reminded me how vey human I am. That is how wonderful this book is.

I had the pleasure of reading The Passage and The Twelve before I read The City of Mirrors, but you don’t have to. Cronin reminds you of the important details before he launches into the story. So for new fans and old alike, come along to The City of Mirrors won’t you?

It’s quite the journey.

Living the Dream – A Poem

When we talked about

living together, I never

really thought it would

happen. It had always

been my dream to

build a home with a man

who loved me completely,

to start building a life

with a man who understood

me and loved all the parts

of me, even those I didn’t

love. As the discussion became

more serious and we started

looking at different places,

a tiny spark of bright, pure light

began to grow inside of me.

As we packed our belongings

to move them into our new place,

that light grew to the size of a star;

I was carrying around the

impossible, a dream that was

coming true. When all of the

boxes and tubs, the odds and sods

of our lives, were mingled

together, waiting to be unpacked,

I should have felt nervous or

afraid or terrified. Instead,

I walked around the apartment

marvelling at the chaos that

surrounded us that we would

transform into a home, The star

inside of me grew brighter and bigger,

filling me almost to the brim.

That first night, I slept so well

beside you. When I woke and

realized that it wasn’t a dream,

that we had each other and

that this was our home together,

the star inside me overflowed,

my body unable to contain

the light that now spilled forth.

You were that dream made real,

that fantasy, come to life.

Living with you,

being loved by you,

has changed my life.

Every day with you is a blessing,

a wish come true. You’ve proven

that, sometimes, the impossible can

become possible and that sometimes,

if we’re lucky enough,

dreams do com true.

 

The Meat Wagon – A Short Story

This is my second Pay It Forward offering for 2016. It’s a story for Naomi. :)

 

Steven drove; or rather, he let the car drive itself.

He would enter the co-ordinates for his location, the hover car would go. Simple as that, most of the time. There were a few occasions where he had had to override the controls and drive manually, but that just went along with what he did.

Looking around him, he saw the tall buildings of glass and steel, tall spindles reaching up into points so sharp it was as if they wanted to puncture the very sky itself. Some cheaper hover cars zoomed by him, the sky looking as if it were filled with a zillion multi-coloured clouds.

Steven saw the monorail below him, travelling through the republic like a giant iron snake. It encompassed all of the metropolis and was the main method of transportation for people who couldn’t afford hover cars or teleportation transportation.

His hover car put on a burst of speed and went to the boundary of the republic. He was to pick up his new student, a woman named Naomi. He hoped she was waiting for him and not the other way around. She would learn quickly that being on time or early to pick up their fares would keep her alive.

The hover car let out a little jingle of noises, like wind chimes, to let him know that he was above their desired location. On the dashboard in front of him, the address he was going to was flashing in red. He could see a woman waiting for him. She had short red hair and a black leather jacket on and a dark pair of jeans that had holes in them. She looked like someone from the slums. He would have to talk to her about her taste in fashion, too.

He pressed a button and the sounds stopped. The car brought itself into a gentle descent until it was at street level. He pressed another button on the dashboard. This unlocked the doors and let them know that he had made it to his destination. He pressed another button and the drivers side door slid open with a soft hiss. “Naomi?”

She turned her head towards him and the first thing he noticed were her eyes. They were a sot shade of violet. “Yes. Steven?”

“Yes. Get in. We have a lot to learn in a short amount of time.”

She nodded and went around to the passenger side. He got in and opened her door and she slipped into the car. She was wearing a pair of black leather boots that ended in a very spiky heel.

“Lesson one, wear appropriate footwear. Your shoes might cause you to fall if you have to get away quickly. Wear something sensible.”

“Sensible isn’t fashionable.”

“Fashionable can get you killed. Lesson two, do up your seatbelt. It’ll save your life.”

She gave him a cold glare with her disturbingly purple eyes. “Yes, sir.”

He reacted quickly. Pulling a blade from his jacket pocket in one swift motion, he grabbed her and pulled her against him and put the blade to her neck. “Lesson three: arrogance and sarcasm will get you killed. So shut it and listen, okay?”

Nodding, Naomi said: “Yes, Steven.” She did up her seat belt.

“Okay then.” He realised her. “Lesson four: If anyone asks what you do, say you’re a taxi driver. That’s what I tell people and they don’t ask questions.”

He pressed the accelerate button and they rose slowly into the air. Entering the co-ordinates into the dashboard, he also pressed the button that told them he had picked Naomi up. He gave her a sharp look. “Have you driven a hover car before?”

“Yes. I learned to drive in a standard.”

“Where you drove the car yourself?”

“Yes.”

“How many accidents?”

“None.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way. If you were able to drive a standard hover car and not have any accidents, it means your reflexes are good. That’ll help when you need to switch off the automatic controls and drive standard.” He pointed to another button.

“Will I need to?”

“Do you know what kind of clientele you’ll be picking up?”

She shook her head. “Not really. They didn’t tell me much, just saw me drive and asked if I wanted a job.”

Shit, they hadn’t told her anything. He would have to be the one that told her and he wasn’t looking forward to it. That’s what happened when the elders chose a civilian. Everyone in the republic knew that the elders got up to some pretty rough stuff, but it was mostly rumours. Having those rumours confirmed as fact was a whole other thing altogether.

“Lesson five: you can’t look at your clientele as people. They are meat, pure and simple. The second thing you need to know is that every single one of them is going to die.”

Naomi shrugged. “We’re all going to die someday, unless you prolong your life by unnatural means.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Fuck there was no easy way to say this so he just came out with it. “You’re taking the passengers to their death. They will be killed at their destination.”

Looking as if she had been punched in the gut, Naomi gaped at him. “Why? Why would we pick up people who are going to be killed?”

“Surely you know how much the republic and the elders control? They control how people end their lives as well. Less messy that way. The people get in your car, you drop them off and they simply disappear.”

“Why would the republic want to have them killed?”

“A variety of reasons, really. They owe money to the republic, they insulted one of the members, they did something they weren’t supposed to do and pissed off the wrong people. It could be anything. These aren’t move stars and entertainers you’ll be picking up. Some of them you have to be wary around and all of them are somewhat dangerous.”

Naomi was quiet. He listened to the sounds of the wind against the metal as they made their way to their destination. Peter knew that it was quite a shock, that for someone who wasn’t part of the “family”, what he did could be rather shocking. Peter wondered what kind of life Naomi had experienced so far.

“Sorry.” She said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know.” He said kindly. “You’re going to ride with me for the first day and then you’ll get your own car. Every drop off and pick up is recorded and checked via the powers that be at headquarters.”

“So we’re always being watched?”

“Yes, but they can’t hear what you’re saying. And there is a way to turn everything off.”

“I thought that everything you do is logged?”

“It is, but I know how to get around that. If you’re at this job as long as I am, you learn a few tricks. There’s always a way.”

A beep went off from his personal communicator. He held out his left wrist and tapped it. A screen appeared on his skin and he saw his mothers face. “Peter?” She said. “Can you come, please? I need you.”

He thought about it for a moment. Could he trust Naomi. She seemed bright enough and there was enough of a human spirit left inside her. He could tell from her eyes that she was curious. “Be right there.” He tapped his wrist and the small screen disappeared. He let out a soft sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked genuinely concerned. “Can I trust you?”

“Yes, you can. Your secret is my secret.”

Deciding to go with his gut, he thought he could trust Naomi. There was something about her that told him she’d fought to live her life, just as he had. He said quietly. “We’re taking a little detour.”

Reaching down under the dashboard, he pressed yet another button that few people knew about. The lights inside the cabin went dark, though the car stayed aloft.

“What’s going on? “

“Remember me telling you that I know a way to work around the republics notice? This is it. We’re off the grid now.” Taking the stick shift in hand, he turned the hover car towards another direction of the republic.

He sped towards a large building made of glass and chrome. He parked the hover car at the penthouse parking spot and opened both doors. Saying nothing, Naomi got out and came with him as he made his way towards the entrance.

“Who’s place is this?”

“Mine.”

He said nothing else as they entered and came to the main door of the penthouse suite. He held up his left wrist to the keyhole which scanned it and they heard a click. The door opened and they stepped inside.

Waiting for them was a woman. She had white hair and Peter could tell that she was having one of her episodes. He approached her and said: “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my husband!” She wailed. “I know he was here this morning but I can’t find him now. There are no pictures of him or anything. Where did he go, Peter? Why did he leave me?”

“Come here mother. We’ll take you back to bed, he’s waiting for you there.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. You’re such a good son.”

Gently, he led his mother back to a bedroom, Naomi following close behind. He gave his mother two white tablets and a glass of water. When she had taken them, he watched over her until she fell asleep. He got up to leave but bent down to kiss her softly on the forehead.

They left quickly and got back in the car. When it was airborne, Naomi finally spoke. “That’s your mother.” She said softly.

“Yes. She is.”

“She looks well past the age of seventy-five and has obvious signs of dementia.”

“Yes, she does.”

When Naomi spoke next, her voice was strained. “You know the republic asks that those seventy-five or older submit for voluntary suicide for population control. Added to that, anyone mentally frail or ill is also offered the option.”

“You know as well as I do that it’s not an option. They’d kill her, just take her away from me. She’s my mother.” He said simply.

“I understand.”

They said nothing further on the subject. They picked up and dropped off some passengers and then it was time to call it a day. “Do you think I can ride with you again tomorrow? Pick you up in my own car until I get used to driving it?”

“Sure thing.” Peter said.

The next morning, he was waiting outside the entrance to his penthouse apartment. She had changed into sensible pants and shoes. “Hey, you’re learning.” He let the door slide closed.

“Well, I did have a good teacher.” Naomi said softly. She reached into her coat and pulled out a gun. It was a reductor, able to fry his insides into a soft much. Without lungs or heart or internal organs, death would take him quickly.

“What are you doing?”

“Didn’t you tell me that everyone who gets into one of our cars dies? Now it’s your turn.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? The republic was having you followed. I had to report back to them with what I saw when I picked up my car. Did you think they didn’t know about your mother? They needed confirmation. Just know that I’m sorry.”

She fired and the gun and it sent a jolt of electricity through him. He could feel himself melting from the inside out. The darkness began to spread behind his eyes and he knew that he had mere seconds left to live.

Naomi reached out with her free hand and found his, probably so that for his last moment on Earth, he would know the touch of someone else.

“I’m sorry.” She said again.

The Electric Hum of Smoke – A Short Story

Dianne steered her bike carefully through the slums.

She could hear the hum of electricity that was the constant music in her world. To her, it sounded like thousands of slot machines, all going off at once. If you were in the midst of all the lights and bustle of the centre core of the city, it was just as bright.

She eschewed the tram, the monorail that ran through Campton and the other parts of the republic. Family vehicles flew through the air with a constant hum. If you were too poor to afford a family saucer, there was always a hover board. They had grown in popularity as of late.

Dianne liked to go her own way, to use her two feet. She didn’t like to rely on electricity, electronics and technology to get her where she wanted to go. She was considered an odd ball because of this and was an outcast.

She didn’t really mind, but it could get lonely. Living on the edge of Campton, she took her bike everywhere. Dianne still remembered the day she had found it: The bike had been on the trash heap, a forgotten relic from another time. She didn’t know what it was at first, had no idea. However, she knew it was something wonderful.

Taking it home to the slum she lived in, she turned on her computer. She didn’t have much in her life that relied on electricity, but she did have a computer. It gave her access to a world gone by, one that she frequently wished she had been born into. She used it to research things like music, television and travel from long ago and to find out more about a world she wished she had been part of.

Unable to find anything on the Universal web, she took the contraption to the only person who would know: Dickenson. He was the man that ran the black market. He claimed to be from the world before, the world that had existed before electricity had taken over, before people depended on gadgets to help them walk, speak or even think.

He claimed to be from hundreds of years ago. Dianne knew that this was possible if you wanted it. It was possible to live for as long as you wanted to, if you had enough money and enough access to the medicine that would keep you alive that long.

Dickenson claimed that his body hadn’t been altered, that he had no implants or electric parts in his body, nothing to enhance his eyes or his vision. He claimed to be just as the Gods made him. Dianne knew that there was no way he was hundreds of years old without having a little help, but there was no electric hum emanating from him. For all she knew, he was telling the truth, or his version of it.

His face had shone when he had seen it. “Where did you find that?”

“On the trash heap. It was buried under tons of other stuff, furniture and gizmos and the like.”

Calling it a trash heap was a bit a misnomer. It was actually a sea of trash and it took up an entire fraction of Campton. There were all kinds of things to be found there if you were brave enough to look. Some people, those that were homeless, lived there, eked out a life among the refuse and dug a home out of the things left behind.

“Well, you certainly found something useful though I doubt anyone would want it.”

“What is it?” Dianne asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“It’s a bicycle, or bike. Here, let me show you how to ride it.”

That had been three years ago. Her bike was Dianne’s constant companion. Now in terms of prized possessions, she had only two: her computer and her bike. She rode it now, once again heading towards Dickenson’s black market.

It had grown a lot over three years. Instead of just a garage, it now spanned a whole city block, largely underneath the city; all the better to keep it hidden. The Enforcers cracked down on black market trades but only if they could find them.

As she made her way towards Dickenson’s, she rummaged in a satchel. She slowed when she saw Sliver, a woman with skin as silver as her name. She had tried a skin transplant but the doctors hadn’t told her that they had gotten the skin from an unknown lifeform. The rosy hue of her skin gone, she left to go to the slums. It was safer for her there.

Silver smiled when she saw Dianne. “You got my order, honey?”

“You know it, though I don’t know why you bother. You’re already beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you keep telling me. Now do you have it?”

Dianne pulled out the slim tube and held it out to Silver. “That’s fifty credits.”

“Gosh, why not just rob me?”

“You have no idea what I did to get this. Trust me, fifty credits is cheap.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She held out her wrist and Dianne did the same. Dianne looked down at her wrist and saw that the screen was showing her balance of credits. It had just shot up twenty pieces. Of course, the wristwares were normally monitored by government and the republic, but Dickenson had hooked her up with one that wasn’t monitored by anyone. Most of the people in the slums had one designed by him.

“Thanks Diana.”

Dianne grimaced. “You know my name is Dianne.”

“I know, but I think that Diana sound prettier. Oh, and Ms. Kowalis was looking for you. Wants to see if you can get her some spare parts for her viewfinder.”

“I already got them. I’ll go see her after I see Dickenson.”

“I’ll let her know if I see her. Thanks Diana.” She looked back over her shoulder and gave Dianne a wicked grin.

Dianne smiled despite herself and got back on her bicycle. She headed towards the main entrance to Dickson’s. You now had to go through a maze of streets to find the entrance and only the people who shopped there knew where it was. It was a location that spread by word of mouth. This helped keep away those that would only cause trouble and helped Dickenson keep a low profile.

Zooming down a narrow street, Dianne came to the entrance. It was made to look like just an alleyway, with soot markings and crumbled streets, but only those in the know knew that it was something else altogether. She drove her bicycle up to the entrance of the alleyway and waited.

A wide red laser beam erupted with bright light in front of her. Then it spoke: *State your name and business.*

Looking into the red light, Dianne remembered to keep her heart rate steady. The laser was programmed to read the heart beat and scan the eyes of each person entering the black market. It had pained Dickenson to do this, but needs must. He had almost been overthrown twice; it would not happen a third time.

“Dianne Hartstock. I seek an audience with Dickenson.”

The red light bathed her in its glow and for a moment, all Dianne could see was the colour red. Then the ground beneath her feet started to rumble softly and a voice said *You may enter.*

It always astounded Dianne as the ground began to fall away, moving as if by an unseen hand. Dianne watched as the ground fell downward and began to form itself into steps. Then the rumbling stopped and Dianne took her first step down into the darkness.

As she descended, she began to hear the noises of the people going about their shopping and trading for goods they couldn’t find anywhere else. Dianne was always on the lookout for objects from a past she wasn’t from: records (she had been told they had been played with needles), cassette tapes (imagine there being songs on simple brown tape! She had a complete set of David Bowie cassettes.) and other trinkets. What Dianne most loved were the books. She relished being able to read without the aid of an eScreen or a vid screen. The story came more alive when she could actually hold it.

Dickenson was waiting for her at the front of the crowd. She smiled when she saw him coming towards her and felt that rush of heat she normally experienced when she saw him. He had dark curly hair and his chin was always covered in stubble. He also had a thin build but she didn’t let that fool her. She had seen him manhandle roughnecks that tried to cause trouble. She knew that every inch of him was muscle. He made her think of a sexy librarian.

“Dianne! Glad you could make it! Come on, I have something to show you.”

“Oh, is it more books? I loved the Jane Austen one. Hard to believe that that story was written thousands of years ago.”

“It’s better than a book. It’s a choice between this life and a better one. Come with me.”

He had a mischievous gleam in his eyes and she took his hand as he led her away from the crowd in the black market and down a hallway she hadn’t been to before. The hallway led to another staircase that led further downwards.

“What do you want to show me?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re there. You have to see it. Don’t worry, Dianne, I’ll keep you safe.” He squeezed her hand as if to emphasize this.

“Okay, lead the way.”

They went down one staircase and another, further downward than she had ever been before. She was actually starting to feel afraid. Her breathing was shallower and there was a film of sweat breaking out on her skin. Dickenson sensed her mood change and gave her hand another squeeze.

“Just a few more steps, Dianne. Then you’ll see what I wanted to show you.”

Indeed, there were only three steps left and they turned around a corner and Dianne felt her breath leave her momentarily.

They were standing on front of the largest indoor body of water she had ever seen. The water seemed to change colour, first blue, then green, then aquamarine. There was a smoke that rose off of the water and there was a hum in the air, as if the smoke itself was singing to her.

How long she stood there looking at the water she didn’t know. She jumped when Dickenson touched her shoulder. Turning to him, she tried to calm her breathing and her heartbeat, both of which were racing.

“What is this place?”

“It’s what I wanted to show you.”

“I’ve seen it. But what is it?”

He was quiet for a moment and she could see him trying to find the words to answer her question. Finally, he said “Do you remember me telling you that I’m over one hundred years old?”

“Yes, and I still find that hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s not true, I’m actually thirty-two, but I’m from hundreds of years go.”

Dianne let out a laugh that echoed around the cavern. The echo sung along with the electric hum of the smoke that rose off of the water. When Dickenson didn’t laugh with her, she stopped laughing. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I am. I came from the year 1983. I came from there.” He pointed at the water.

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, human regeneration shouldn’t be possible, but it is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, of course you don’t. I’m not explaining it properly.” He took a breath and began again. “I was working in a sanitation plant at the time and we got all manner of water filled with all sorts of chemicals that we had to clean. The water was so contaminated that I couldn’t believe we were sending it back out into the world.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was. Even worse, there was an accident at work one day and one of the vats ended up releasing all of the water. I was the only one hit because I was working the floor that day. I was covered in it and every manner of waste. They took me to the hospital and I was left alone. The doctors said nothing was wrong with me, that time was all I needed to heal. But in the morning, I noticed that I was starting to disappear.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly that, Dianne. I looked at my hand and could see through it. Then it was my arm and my other hand. My legs came next. Within the hour, I was completely invisible. I decided to lay down and sleep, hoping rest would give my head a shake. When I woke, I was here.” He pointed at the water. “Here at the waters edge.”

Dianne knew that everything he was saying should be lunacy, but one look at him convinced her that he was telling her the truth. She could feel it in her heart. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Well, this water was clean, it didn’t have the smoke the contaminated water had. I had to find the right mix of chemicals. I heard the humming from the smoke early this evening and knew I had finally found the right mix. I think it’s my way back, our way back if you’ll come with me.”

Dianne could only star at him. “What do you mean our way back?”

“Back to 1983. You’re always obsessing over a past you’ve never lived and don’t fit in here. I’ve been obsessing about a past that I did live and I think this is the way back. All we have to do is take a swim.”

He took both of her hands in his and looked right into her eyes. “Can you imagine it, Dianne? A world where David Bowie is alive, a world with no wrist scanners or the republic. A world where technology hasn’t taken over.”

“But it will take over, won’t it?”

“Yes, but we won’t be alive to see it. We’re a long way from 1983 so if we go back, we’ll never see any of this again. What do you say?”

“What about my life here?”

“And what kind of life is that? No family, no friends? Nothing to hope for but a life in the slums.”

“You’d leave all of this behind?”

“I would. And I want you with me.”

While holding her hand, he stepped into the water. The smoke swirled around him and the electric hum grew stronger. “Say you’ll come with me. Please Dianne.”

Looking at him, she watched as his skin began to go translucent, as if it were shining from within. She stepped into the water with him and her skin started shining.

All they had to do now was wait.

The Door to Life – A Poem

For some time,

everywhere I went

there was a

door that followed

me. It was

scarred and its

paint was peeling,

its door knob

was rusted. On

the door was

written one word:

Life

I would see

the door out

of the corner

of my eye

no matter where

I went. It

would appear in

front of me

while I was

walking, always a

step ahead of

me. For a

while, I was

the only one

who could see

it. The door changed

as the years

went by. The

paint changed colour,

it looked even

more aged as

I got older.

Finally, one of

my friends noticed

the door. She

nudged me in

the ribs softly.

“You know there’s a door there, right?”

I looked at

her, surprised that

she could see it.

“You can see it too?”

I asked. She

nodded and said

“Of course I can. How long has that been following you around?”

I shrugged.

“Quite some time. Years actually.”

She gaped at

me and said:

“Why haven’t you gone through it yet?”

“Because I have no idea where it will lead.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun? Life is meant to be experienced. Open the door and find out where it goes.”

I walked home,

the door following

me. It had

begun to pulse

and shift, almost

as if it were

starting to fade.

It stood in

the middle of

my living room.

The word on

the door,

Life

had begun to

glow, the door

handle shining brilliantly.

I took a

deep breath and

reached for the

door handle, expecting

it to be

white hot in

my hand. Instead,

it was as

if a calming

breeze filled my

skin. I opened

the door slowly

and, at first,

saw only light.

Then a shape

began to become

clear. I was

looking at the

shape of a

man. He held

out his hand

to me and

I took it.

“Come with me.”

You said.

“There is so much of life waiting to be explored.”

I stepped through

the door and

felt my life

begin anew.

Heart Song – A Poem

I checked the mail

when I got home.

I opened the mail box

and was nearly blinded

by the light coming

from within. I shielded

my eyes and reached inside.

There was one envelope.

Looking at it, I tried to

blink past the light

to see who it was from.

When I saw the return address,

I knew it could be

only one thing. I went

upstairs, holding the envelope

so gently. While I rode

up in the elevator,

I listened to a soft

music coming from the envelope,

the light pulsing in rhythm.

I waited until I was

inside the apartment,

until I was with him,

to open it. When I opened

the envelope, more light

spilled out and I marvelled

at the fact that a simple

piece of paper could shine so brightly.

“Well, go on.”

He said.

“See what it is.”

I slid the paper out

and saw it for what it was.

The chains that had been

around my writs and ankles

for so long, jingling like

Marley’s ghost, fell away.

The light spilled into me

and I almost turned away from it.

It felt wrong, somehow,

that I should be feeling such joy

at what is normally a

sad occurrence. I ran a finger

over the surface of the paper

and I could swear that I could

hear it sigh in contentment.

I mentioned my thoughts

to him and he put the paper aside

and took my hands in his.

“Look at everything you’ve been through. You would be a different person if you hadn’t been through it.”

I thought of his words and

they struck a chord in me;

it rang out loud to sound out

with the small song coming

from the paper. I thought

of what he said. Had I

not known heartache,

I would not have looked

for something more.

Had I now known despair,

I would not have looked

for true happiness.

Had I not known solitude

when I was supposed

to be overjoyed,

I would have never

learned to be comfortable

with myself; I would

never have looked within

myself to see what I truly

wanted and what I was worth.

Had the one I had been with

loved me completely,

I would never have been found

by the one that loves me now,

each day with him a gift.

So I looked down at the paper

that to some symbolized

pain, rejection and failure

and realized that the one

that I had been with had

given me another gift of sorts.

Through his actions, he had

forced me to forge out

on my own and to see what

I was truly capable of.

What I was truly worth.

I put my hand to the page

and said the only thing I could.

“Thank you.”

At that, the light from the page

increased until it was near blinding

once more and the song coming

from the paper and from inside

of me rose to a higher pitch,

so that the home I now shared

with him, the man that

holds my heart as I hold his,

was filled with my heart song,

bright and pure and true.

 

The Old Man and the Tree – A Short Story

From on the ground, Ralphie looked at the other two boys. They seemed larger than they normally did from this angle and their shadows reflected that; when Ralphie looked to the right, he could see Terry’s shadow, impossibly long and tall, stretching across the grass.

“We don’t play with guys like you.” Terry said, spitting a wad of phlegm. It landed on Ralphie’s shoes.

“Guys like what?” Ralphie dared to ask. The one cardinal rule with bullies was paramount: if you want to get out alive, don’t talk back. However, Ralphie always played against the rules when he could. He was a rebel that way.

“Fucking nerds.” This from Paul, Terry’s cronie. He was the shorter of the two boys and from this angle looked like an angry troll. “That’s who. What book are you reading today, Ralphie? Winnie the Poopoo?”

Ralphie was stung a little at the insult. Winnie the Pooh was a wonderful book and he had read it several times. “I’m actually reading The Secret Diary of Adiran Mole, Aged 13 ¾’s.”

“What the fuck you reading that for?” Terry said, sneering. He picked up the book from the grass. “Why you reading some guys diary? Looking for tips on how to jerk yourself off?”

“It’s not like that, it’s actually a very good book. What’s the last book you read? Your mothers Penthouse magazine?” Ralphie was a rebel, true. He was also a bit of a daredevil. He laughed in the face of danger.

Terry kicked him in the stomach at that point and Ralphie had cause to regret being a daredevil. When Terry then stepped down hard on his legs, smashing his feet into them, that regret was full blown. But what were a few more scratches and bruises? He already had scrapes down his arms from where they had pushed him down on the pavement. Add a bloody nose (and possible black eye) he got after running away from them and Paul had grabbed him by the shoulder and pummeled him.

Robbie looked at each scrape, cut and bruise as a badge of honour. That’s the only way he could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Badges of honour.

“Fucking queer boy. Fucking cocksucker.” Terry picked up Ralphie’s book from where is had fallen on the grass. Ralphie knew what Terry was going to do a moment before he did it, but he still experienced a slash of pain run through him.

Taking a cover in each hand. Terry ripped the book in two. Seeing the book mistreated like that was like a knife to the gut. Then Terry started ripping up the pages and let them fall from his hands. Ralphie did pause to consider how much like snow the pieces of paper looked like as they were carried off by the wind. He appreciated the picturesque-ness of that.

“Fucking queer boy.” Terry said again. He gave him one more kick, to the ribs this time. “Try reading the fucking book now.”

Terry and Paul walked away. Ralphie remained silent this time and watched their shadows shrinking until they slipped away over the grass. Then Ralphie spoke: “Asshole.”

He stopped himself from going after the pages, they were lost to the wind. However, he did pick up the front and back cover. He hugged them to himself, as if the book could be healed by such a simple act. Ralphie sighed and wiped his bloody nose on the back of his arm. Taking the book covers, he went to a tree that was sitting on the edge of the field.

It was a large tree, easily over a hundred years old. Its branches, covered in hundreds of thousands of leaves, stretched across the sky. He wondered who had planted it and how long it had really been here? Right now, it would provide him refuge.

Ralphie sat down at the base of the tree and did what his beaten body and emotions had been threating to do for a while: he cried.

The tears came slowly at first, sliding down his cheeks in big fat drops, but that was just the beginning. Soon a torrent of tears was sliding from his eyes, especially the one that would become a black eye by morning. He tried to mop his tears on his shirt, but more of them came. So he just let them come.

“Fuck.” He said quietly. “Shit, fuck, gosh diddily.” The last word made him smile and he let out a watery laugh.

“That’s it kid. Ain’t nothing that can’t be fixed by a good laugh.”

Ralphie looked around and didn’t see anyone else in the field. There were people on the road that ran along on edge of it, but no one else but him inside it. Who had spoken? “Hello?”

“Hello yourself. Here, you should dry those tears. Your face looks like a wax work gone wrong.”

There was a rustle of leaves and a branch from the tree came down in front of Ralphie’s face, shaking its leaves softly at him. Letting out a little yelp, he backed away from the tree and looked up at the leaves with wide eyes.

“Who’s there? Terry? Paul?”

“No, those guys are long gone. It’s just you and me, kid.”

“Who the hell is speaking to me? Am I going mad?”

“Kid, I’m right in front of you.” The tree shook its branches. “Gosh, for a kid that reads a lot, you’re not so smart are you? Or are you just intent on ignoring what’s right in front of you?”

Looking at the tree again, Ralphie stood. “Are you speaking to me?”

“Now you’re catching on.” The tree laughed, shaking its leaves. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t know that trees could talk.”

“Well, normally they can’t. But I’m not an ordinary tree. Come here, sit a while. My trunk is rather comfortable. Watch out for the squirrels, though. They like to drop nuts from my branches, the cheeky bastards.”

“You’re pretty foul mouthed for a tree.”

“And you’re a smart mouthed little boy. Shows what you know. I already told you, I’m no ordinary tree. Come, sit. The sun is nice today.”

Pretty sure he was going insane, Ralphie sat against the trees trunk and let the sun warm his skin. He wiped the last of his tears from his face and felt almost normal again.

“Want to talk about it?” The tree asked. “I always find that talking about your problems makes them seem less than they are.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are so many.” The tears threatened to start again but he blinked them aside.

“Try me. Just say what comes out and go from there.”

Taking a deep breath, Ralphie did just as the tree asked. “I have no friends, no real friends. I’m beat up at school every day. They keep calling me queer or faggot.” Ralphie shakes his head, as if to shake away the memories. “I don’t know what I am anymore. I just know that books have never lied to me or hurt me. Books are my friends. Added to that, my parents fight all the time. I don’t know how to help them.”

Ralphie took another deep breath and realized he felt better. It had been the first time he’d actually been able to tell anyone what was going on. He may have told it to a tree, but at least that was something.

The tree was quiet for a moment. Then branches came forward to wrap him in an embrace.

“What are you doing?” Ralphie asked.

“I’m giving you a hug. What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know, checking my pockets for loose change?”

“What would I do with loose change, honestly? Do you see any pockets?”

Figuring that it was probably not a good idea to tease the one thing that had brought him some measure of comfort, he apologised. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never been hugged by a tree before.”

“Never talked to one either, I bet. Look, my mother used to say that a hug can cure all kinds of ails. Just following her advice. Now, let me tell you something. You think you got problems, kid? At least you’re not a fucking tree.”

“Well, it’s not a bad life, is it?”

“Are you kidding?” The tree sighed and its leaves drooped. “Birds making a home inside of you, kids carving their initials, squirrels storing their food inside of you. Now tell me what’s not bad about that?” Sighing again, the tree said “I miss being human.”

For some reason, that shocked Ralphie. “Weren’t you always a tree?”

“Kid, how many talking trees do you know? How many trees do you know who had a mother? No, I wasn’t always a tree. I was a man, just like you will be some day.”

“So how the fuck did you end up in a tree?”

“Hey now, language.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Respect your elders kid. So how did I end up as a tree? It started when I was cutting one down.”

“That’s a fairly good beginning, but you need to work on hooking the reader a bit more.”

“Do you want me to tell you the story or not?”

“Sorry, continue.”

“Okay then. A hundred years ago, there was no field here. There was actually a small village here. I was having a tree cut down on my property. The loggers were taking it away to do what they do. I went outside to see how they were progressing. I wasn’t paying attention to the people screaming at me to move, to run, but it was too late.”

“What happened?”

“The tree was coming down. I had walked right into the line of fire, as it were. The tree was huge, meters round and it was over a hundred years old, must like I am today. That fucking tree crushed me, squished my lungs to nothing but a fine powder.”

“Didn’t anyone come to help you?”

“Oh, they tried, but how many people do you think can lift a tree that weighs a ton?”

“Point taken. Continue.”

“I lay there for what seemed like years, but was only mere minutes. I was breathing in the scent of tree, the taste of the leaves, I could smell the dirt around me. I remember the taste of the tree in my mouth; it tasted of earth and things unknown.”

“If they were unknown, how do you know that’s what they tasted like?”

The tree sighed. “Look kid, I’m trying to be poetic. I’ve never told this story before, so let me tell it okay? Anyone tell you that you have a big mouth?”

“All the time. My mother says my mouth will get me killed someday.”

“Don’t listen to her. Anyway, I was lying there and knew time was short. I expected to just die but something else happened. I felt my spirit start to slide into the earth, sinking into it. I grabbed at anything I could to stay above ground, but all I could grab on to was an acorn. It slipped into the ground and my spirit was inside it. My spirit fell into the earth but my body was taken away.”

The tree was quiet for a moment which prompted Rlaphie to ask: “What happened next?”

“Well, time passed. I started as a small seed, but then started to grow. Over the past hundred years, I watched my family get married, have children, move away. I watched the world around me change and develop and become something I couldn’t begin to understand. It was like I was watching a live twenty-four how reality show, only at a much slower pace.”

“Must suck having only one channel.”

The tree chuckled, it’s leaves rustling. “I guess so kid.”

“That’s horrible, what happened to you I mean.”

“I don’t think so. If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be able to speak today. Hell, I’d be dead and buried in the ground and would have never been able to tell you this piece of advice: it gets better.”

“So you think I should put my spirit inside a tree and live for hundreds of years?”

“No, kid, that’s not what I’m saying. I just meant that something miraculous happened from what started out as a pretty shitty situation. It may not seem like it at the time, but it does get better. Those kids who don’t like you? They’re just jealous because you sparkle and shine so brightly that they don’t even hold a candle to you. Just you wait, kid, you’ll do great things.”

Ralphie was silent for a moment, thinking this over. Finally, he asked “What was your name? When you were human?”

“My name? I was called Will.”

“My names Ralphie.”

The tree held out a branch. “Very pleased to meet you kid.”

Shaking the branch, Ralphie said “Likewise.”

Just then there were the sounds of loud voices and laughter coming from father away. Ralphie looked and saw Terry and Paul coming back towards the tree and towards him. He heard Terry say “Did you see how that fucking faggot Ralphie started crying when I punched him? Fucking faggot crybaby.”

“Oh no…” Ralphie whispered.

“You just leave them to me kid, Okay? You leave them to me.”

Terry spotted Ralphie first. “Oh look! It’s the faggot crybaby himself! Still crying over your book? What you going to read now, shit head?”

“I have lots of other books. Bet you can’t even read; you’re too fucking dumb.” Ralphie said, sounding brave but not feeling brave in the slightest. He stood with his back to the trunk of the tree and took comfort from it, from Will.

“Looks like we didn’t beat you enough. You’ve still got a lip on you.”

Terry stepped forward, one fist raised to take another swing at Ralphie. Only this time, the punch never got the chance to connect. One of the trees branches whipped out and slapped Terry so hard, he fell to his feet.

“What the fuck?” He looked at the tree with wide fearful eyes.

“I’ll get him Terry.” Paul charged forward like a linebacker, as if he meant to tackle Ralphie to the ground. He didn’t get very far. Another branch, a larger one this time, snapped forward and slammed into Paul’s stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Stunned, he fell to the ground as well.

Lying there, they both stared up at the tree with looks of terror. “Dude, I think that tree is alive!” Terry said.

“Of course it’s alive, dumbass.” Ralphie said. “It’s a living thing! You would know that if you weren’t looking at Sailor Moon cartoons on your phone during science!”

Letting out a yell of rage, Terry got up and ran again at Ralphie. The tree whipped back another branch and it rammed into Terry, sending him flying into the sky. Ralphie watched him for as long as he could until he lost sight of him. Paul ran after Terry, screaming the entire way.

Laughing, Ralphie said: “Boy, I can’t wait to go to school tomorrow!”

“See, kid? I told you it gets better!” The tree said.

Tunnel of Light and Shadow – A Poem

There is a twin inside of me,

one that rarely sees the light

of day, or feels the light inside

of me. He doesn’t stop to ask,

to comprehend, to contemplate.

All he knows is emotion, pure

and unadulterated. However,

whereas I try to live my life

holding light, within the light,

he knows only darkness.

As he is my twin, the yin to

the yang to my light self,

his emotions are mine.

When he takes over,

I can see myself through his eyes.

I can contemplate his actions,

try and stop him, try to hold him

back from doing something he

will regret. But there must be

darkness to appreciate the light

just as there must be light

to appreciate the darkness.

I’ve struggled with him,

with who he is and have

a terrible time convincing myself

that he is myself at my most

dark moments. After the whirlwind

of his emotions, I spend a day or two

taking myself to task for giving in,

for entertaining such thoughts and actions.

I get mad at myself for letting him take over

and then I get angry with myself for being angry.

It is an almost unending cycle

of self abuse and self loathing. However,

there is light at the end of the tunnel.

It shines bright amongst the shadows

that linger within me. Within that light

is my salvation, my relief, my breath.

I often see myself walking down

a tunnel, one hand holding shadows

and one hand holding light.

He’s walking beside me.

Eventually, he sees how tired I am,

how weary, and he reaches out to take

the shadow. But there’s light at the edges,

twinkling like stars. Just as there is

darkness within my light, adding depth

to the brightness that shines forth.

I walk to the exit of the tunnel,

the light glorious on my skin.

As I walk into the light, I look back

only once. He is standing there,

watching me go and I wonder,

fleetingly, when I will see him again.

Climbing Downward – A Poem

* For Rachael, with thanks and gratitude.

 

When the siren sounded,

we ran to the cliffs.

I would have to

scale the rock face

to find safety.

I didn’t think I

would be able to find

my way to safety.

Looking downward, it seemed

to be an infinity of space

between where I was

and where I would be safe.

“Want some help?”

I turned and saw a

mystic woman. She was

dressed in a flowing garment

of silver and black;

it flowed around her in the breeze

that flowed so strongly

on the top of the mountain.

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

I said to her. I was so afraid,

terrified, really, when each step

could mean disaster.

She smiled at me,

and she spoke kind words

that lit a fire inside of me:

“You can do whatever you set your mind to. Come on, I’ll help you.”

Slowly, so very slowly,

I made my way down the mountain

with her assistance. She watched

my every step to be sure that

it was true and stable.

She helped me to find

the footholds in the rock face,

the depressions in the rock

that I could hold on to.

She kept checking on my

to make sure that I was

all right and kept up a

constant chatter to take my

mind off of the task

we currently found ourselves in.

I just told myself to take it

one step at a time,

and tried not to think about

tumbling down the mountain,

landing in the water.

I focused on taking

one small step after another,

and part way down, I knew

that I could to this.

We passed through a veil

of mist as we finished our journey,

and it blinded me temporarily.

When we got to the bottom,

I looked back at

how far we had come,

how high we had been.

I saw flights of stairs

rising up sixteen flights.

People were still climbing

downward, milling around us.

What had seemed like a mountain

at first was now revealed

to be merely one more

obstacle that I’ve conquered.

One more mountain that

I’ve climbed down from.

I looked at the mystic

that had climbed downward

with me and could only

give her my thanks.

The Gateway – A Poem

I was inside of

a house. There was

no way to know

how many floors there

were; from the outside

it seemed to stretch

right into the clouds.

From the inside, it

seemed just as big,

just as tower like.

I stood at the bottom

of the staircase and

you were beside me.

“It’s okay, you can do this.”

I looked at the

stairs with some trepidation.

“I don’t know that I can. You know I can’t do stairs very well.”

You smiled at me

and took my hand,

just for a moment.

“It’s okay, I’ll be right behind you.”

I nodded, knowing that

there was no other

choice. I started up the

steps, holding onto the

railing. I wondered at

what the woman outside

the house had said.

“If you enter and are brave enough, you will discover a gateway at the top.”

I looked at her, with

skin that seemed translucent,

as if the light would

pass right through her

if it caught her in

a certain way. I

moved closer to her.

“A gateway to what?”

She shrugged, a small

smile on her lips.

“You’ll have to find out yourself.”

And now we were

here, inside the house,

going up the steps

to an unknown miracle.

“What kind of gateway to you think it is?”

I asked you. I

heard your voice speaking

behind me and the

sound of it helped

calm me. When you

spoke, it was as if

you spoke to the

centre of my being.

“Who know? There’s only one way to find out.”

We continued to go

higher. Every time, I

stumbled, you caught me.

Every time I tripped

on a stair, you steadied me.

Every time I didn’t

think I would make it,

you kept me going.

Every time I felt

like giving up,

you encouraged me and

told me that I

could do anything.

We neared the top of

the staircase and I

could feel the wind

on my face. I turned

and looked at you.

“How high have we come?”

You took my hand and

helped me up onto

the very last step.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?”

There was only light

when we stepped forward

and out onto a balcony.

It looked over everything

and I saw that we

had just done what I

thought was impossible.

The house was built into the

face of a mountain and we

had just scaled its heights.

We stood there, looking

out at the land below us.

You put your arm around me

and we took in the

brightness and warmth of

the sun. Something had

changed within me. We

had done what I thought

to be impossible. We

accomplished it by looking

at it in a different way.

“You can do anything you set your mind to.”

You said to me.

I could only turn

to you and put

my lips to yours,

hoping that the kiss

would speak what my

words had thus far

failed to express.

As I kissed you,

I thought of the woman’s

words again:

“If you enter and are brave enough, you will discover a gateway at the top.”

I could feel my heart

opening further, filling me

with light. What locks

there were inside me

fell away at your

touch, opening the gate

wide so that only

light could shine through.

When your own gate

opened, the two hearts

beating as one, shone

brighter than the sun.