Jamieson Wolf's Blog, page 77

Skin Chrysalis – A Poem

It was the

same every year.

The day after

my birthday, a

thin crust would

begin to form

on my skin.

Throughout the year,

it would grow

tougher, as if

made from stone

or marble. It

would grow thicker,

It would become

more difficult to

move as the

year passed on,

harder to move

my body as

I wanted to.

The evening before

my birthday, the

crust would begin

to crack and

break, flaking off

and falling to

the floor. I

would sweep the

pile of dust

up off the

floor and place

it in a

small cloth bag.

I don’t know

why I kept

the dust, why

I held onto

It felt

right somehow, like

I was expected

This year

was different. The

layer of thickness

that covered my

skin began to

break and crack

the evening before

my birthday. However,

when the shell

that had made

a mould of

my body began

to break, it

slipped free to

reveal something different

about my body.

I had wings.

They were tattooed

along my skin

but if I focused

on flying, they

slipped out of

my skin and

would flutter in

the air and

I would rise

up a few

feet. When I

didn’t want to

fly, they would

rest once again

along my skin,

simple lines of

ink. I panicked,

wondering what was

wrong with me.

I gathered up

my cloth bags

of dust and

brought them to

a wise woman.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with me?”

She looked at

the tattooed wings,

ran her fingers

along them. I

made the wings

flutter for her.

She then looked

at the bags

of dust. I

looked at her.

“This was not made from a shell as you describe.”

“What was it then?”

She looked at

me with eyes

that were a

deep, dark brown.

“It was a chrysalis.”

Her words sent

my wings fluttering

anew. It seemed

that they agreed

with her assessment.

“I don’t understand. It’s always been just a shell before. Why now?”

She put her

fingers in the

most recent cloth

bag and took

them out. Pinched

between her fingers

was a glittering

powder. She let

it trickle from

her fingers and

it glittered in

the soft light.

“Would a shell produce this? As to why now? Well, the butterfly goes through several stages. The Chrysalis is just one of them.”

I shook my

head in bewilderment.

“Why now?”

Her brown eyes

saw so much.

They saw right

into the core

of my heart.

“Because you were ready.”

“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”

She laughed lightly

and the sound

was calming instead

of being jarring.

“Isn’t it obvious? What does a butterfly do when it leaves it’s crysalis?”

I shook my

head, not knowing

how to respond.

She simply said:

“It flies.”

Hallowed – A Short Story

The world had been over for seven weeks when the rain began.

Percy could see it from his window. What’s more, he could hear it. The rain fell not with the gentle music of normal rainfall, but with a hot an acidic sizzle. Slowly, he put his hand out the window but drew it back twice as quickly.

Looking at his hand, he saw small red welts where the rain had struck his skin. Smoke rose fro the welts but he knew they wouldn’t last long. This wasn’t the first injury he had withstood since the world as he’d known it had come to a close.

He waited mere moments, a minute or two. Then his skin began to knit together. There was a stinging sensation and he watched the welts begin to lessen their red hue and then disappear all together.

Percy stood there looking at his hand, at what had been mauled skin only a moment before. Now his skin was unblemished and whole again. He sighed. He had always said that geeks would inherit the earth. He just wish he hadn’t been right.

The trouble had started off innocently enough: Floods off the east coast of China, a breakout of hurricane like weather in Japan. Then there had been reports of the mass deaths of animals in the Australian outback, whole herds dying as one. First the marsupials then the mammal’s had started dying off.

Leaders of the world were approached for a cause or a reason behind what was surely some sort of disease. The religious groups started talking about a new set of plagues that had come to wipe the earth clear of everything that the gods found unfitting. They were all wrong. No one knew what was causing any of the disasters.

Then the weather problems jumped from Japan and China and found their way towards Niger, Guinea and Mali. Temperatures increased to the point where people would bake alive if they remained outside for longer than ten minutes, houses were set alight just by the rays of the sun.

Then people started dying out in Nigeria. They could find no reason for the illness, only that they were well one moment and then ill the next. They started talking on tongues first and then just screaming in wordless syllables. The self-mutilation would begin next, with people carving strange symbols in their skin. That was the last step before the people began to bleed from their eyes, as if they were crying out their souls. Then they perished. The whole illness took less than seventy-two hours to reach full effect.

Reports of this new disease were far reaching from Poland to Egypt to Sudan. There was no rhyme or reason to how or why it struck and the religious folk started saying that it was the end of days. Watching everything unfold, Percy was left with no choice but to agree.

The panic really began when the first unexplained death happened in Argentina. The man, a scientist by the name of Hector Chavez, went to work to study the weather patterns off of the cost of South Africa. He never left work. He started talking in tongues and within less than twenty four hours, had cut strips out of his skin shaped like a triangle with a small dot in the centre.

Looking at the dot, carved out of Hector’s flesh, Percy hadn’t known what to make of all of this. When he died, the animal herds of Argentina had begun to die quickly. The illness or plague had jumped continents and had come to South America. If a plague could move across water, there was no stopping it. Reports started to come in of illness and deaths in Iceland, Greenland and the Arctic. It seemed that temperature had no effect. It always behaved the same.

That had been around the time that Percy had woken one morning with a mark upon his skin. He had watched it grow as the days passed and panic began to reach a fever pitch. It was a few pale lines at first, as if someone had etched them underneath his skin.

In three days, it showed itself for what it was: a triangle, nine inches in diameter, with a circle in it’s centre three inches across. Percy tried to think of where he’d seen the symbol before and could only think of the mark the people with the sickness had carved in their own skin.

He fully expected to die in a matter of hours. However, he didn’t feel sick or feverish. Instead, he experienced a surge in health that he’d never had before. He’d smoked all of his life and his breathing had always been poor. He had constant pain in his back and legs, but that melted away and his breath improved.

As his health continued to improve, the mark on his skin changed once more. A thin line ran down the centre, from the point of the triangle to the base. He wracked his brain to think of where he had seen the symbol before, but his memory still came up empty. Even now, with all the people in the world gone except a few, he was no closer to figuring out the symbol.

When the scientist and doctors could find no reason for any of the catastrophe’s, and then perished from the illness themselves, everything went to shit. The plague and the weather disasters now spanned the world over. Percy had known then that there was no hope for the future. He had shut himself in the top floor of an apartment building. He supposed it was the penthouse once upon a time. From his vantage point twenty five floors up, he could see others in other buildings, looking out their windows at a world they no longer understood.

Then, they too disappeared. He started to wonder if they had died or merely withdrawn from looking out at a world they didn’t understand. In less than a week, the whole world had gone to shit and Percy certainly understand why. Seven weeks that felt like seven months, seven months that felt like seven years. He felt as if he had aged three times over, had gone towards death only to be given a reprieve. For what, he didn’t know. He didn’t understand why he had been spared.

All he did now was ruminate on what the world had become. His only pleasure was found in the books that had been left behind by the previous tenants. Percy had always experienced a joy when he read, when he held a book in his hands. Now the books provided a refuge, a reminder that the world that he’d left behind was not without joy, not without anything to remember it by.

As the rain continued to sizzle outside of his window, he heard a sound outside of the apartment door. He put the book he had been reading aside, setting it down beside a cup of tea and went to the door. Listening, he heard footsteps. They had stopped just outside of his apartment door.

“Hello?” A voice said “Can you hear me? Please, I need help.”

The voice belonged to another man. Percy looked carefully out of the peephole and saw a bright hazel eye looking back at him.

“Please let me in. Please.”

It was the second please that did him in. Percy knew that there was little kindness left in the world as it was now. Slowly, he unlocked the door, but did not disengage the chain. He was willing to help someone, but he wasn’t entirely stupid.

The man was breath taking. Percy could see that even with the red splotches left on his skin from the rain. Even as he looked at him, he watched the red welts disappear like they had from his own skin. He was struck by how beautiful the man was despite the healing redness of his skin.

“You’re not sick.” Percy said, even though this was obvious.

“No, Nor are you.”

“No.” Percy said. “How did you find me?”

“Like calls to like.” the man said. He held out his left arm. Percy sucked in a breath. The man had the same mark upon his skin that he did, only in black instead of red. Intrigued, Percy reached out to touch the mark. When his fingers made contact, he felt a burning on his right arm. Looking down, he saw that the red mark on his wrist had turned black.

“What does this mean?”

“It means you’re one of them, too. One of us.”

“One of us? Who are we, exactly?”

The man gave Percy a small half smile. “We get well despite the sickness and the plague. Our bodies improve themselves day by day, leaving behind all traces of physical maladies. There are a few names those like us are calling us as a group: the blessed, the cursed, the survivors.”

He took a breath and Percy felt himself taking a breath, too. The man looked at him with those deep hazel eyes. “I like the other name some are using: the masters of death.” He whispered. “This will take time to explain. Would it be okay if I came inside?”

Percy nodded and unlatched the chain. As he did so, he felt that his life was beginning anew which seemed odd, given that it had taken the end of the world for it to happen.

When the door was fully open, the man held out a hand. “I’m Harry.” He said.

“I’m Percy.”

Harry stepped fully in the apartment and Percy closed the door behind him with the distinct impression that, somehow, another door was opening. All he had to do was step through it to find out what was on the other side…

Miracle Serums by Oz Naturals – A Review

I have never put great stock into beauty products.

Sure, I use moisturisers and have made my own salves and balms before. I’ve used lip balms, facial masks and cleansers. Except for the organic items I made myself, I noticed no difference in my skin after using many high priced creams and toners and peels.

Thus, when Oz Naturals contacted me to see if I would review their products, I said of course, not expecting anything from the products themselves. I did some research while I was waiting for the products to arrived in the mail.

All of the reviews I read were highly positive. The products claimed to do what seemed impossible to me, given my previous experience with face creams and liquids: brighter, healthier skin with a radiant glow. It seemed too good to be true, really, but I was open to trying the serums.

The products I was asked to review were the 20% Vitamin C + Amino + Hyaluronic Acid Serum and the Hyaluronic Acid Serum + Vitamin C. The info on the packing states the following:

20% Vitamin C + Amino + Hyaluronic Acid Serum

When your skin is looking dull and unhealthy, no other product can provide the radiant glow our Vitamin C Serum delivers. It goes on light and absorbs quickly. Leaving your skin renewed and vibrant.

Hyaluronic Acid Serum + Vitamin C

Our HA serum deeply hydrates and plumps skin to diminish the look of fine lines and wrinkles. Also, rich with antioxidant vitamin C, this formula leaves skin soft, smooth, and rejuvenated.

Well, I can state the both products did all that was promised and more. In order to give each product a fair shot, I used the 20% Vitamin C + Amino + Hyaluronic Acid Serum on most of my face and neck. I used the Hyaluronic Acid Serum + Vitamin C underneath my eyes and on my facial lines.

20% Vitamin C + Amino + Hyaluronic Acid Serum

My skin was dry and flaky before, with red patches. After only one use, my skin was brighter and more vibrant. It doesn’t sting at all and I could actually feel my skin tightening after each use.

It looks fuller and healthier and radiant. On another plus side, I can use the serum even after shaving with no redness or stinging or discomfort. Any lines I had have lessened or disappeared completely.

Hyaluronic Acid Serum + Vitamin C

I noticed two things in particular with this serum. I’ve had dark circles under my eyes for years that no amount of eye rollers or creams could get rid of. After one week, I noticed a reduction and now the dark circles are gone.

Even more than that: I have one facial scar along my nose that I sustained during an accident. The scar has gone down considerably and it healing at a remarkable pace, even though it’s several months old now. The redness has left the area around the scar and the skin there is looking healthy.

I also have a cyst underneath my left eye. I’ve had it for years and have even considered surgery to have it removed. The Hyaluronic Acid Serum + Vitamin C has made that thought unnecessary. The cyst has decreased in size and is almost gone now.

The Final Word?

I’m so impressed by the Oz Naturals serums that I wouldn’t just call them Vitamin C Serums. I would call them Miracle Serum’s.

They really do everything they promise they will. They’re made with vegan formulas so they are safe to use on your skin and work to repair your skin almost instantly and then over time.

I’m so impressed with the serums that I’m going to see what else Oz Naturals products are available and start taking more serious care of my skin. Beauty takes work, but I’m worth it and so are Oz Naturals.

Learn more and get yours here: http://www.oznaturals.com/

Letting It Go – A Poem

The anger still

tries to raise

it’s ugly head

within me. When

the dragon roars,

it is as

if I am

viewing myself from

a distance above

my head, looking

down. I’m watching

myself and don’t

recognize myself, what

I become when

I’ve lost myself

in pure emotion.

I always come

back to myself,

so that I

can see out

of my own

eyes once more.

When I come

back to myself,

I look around

at the fires

that I started

with my own

breath, with my

wordless wails of

woe and rage.

Afterwards, I sit

and remember to

breathe. This time,

I need the

wind on my

face, the earth

under my feet.

I find a

bench by a

city street and

sit there, letting

the world pass

me by. I

begin to cry,

the tears sliding

down my face.

Soon, the tears

pool at my

feet. The puddle

begins to grow,

the tears forming

first a stream

and then a

river where the

road used to

be. The drivers

ride along the

waves as if

nothing is wrong.

I realize that

I am the

only one who

can see the

water. It’s waves

lap against my

feet. I hear

a voice inside

speaking softly, gently,

in my ear:

“Let it go.”

I open my

mouth and tilt

my head to

the sky. Leaves

pour out of

my mouth, each

of them pointy

and black in

colour. There are

tinges of red

along the edges.

As each leaf

leaves my mouth,

it rides along

the air for

a moment before

landing in the

water. The leaves

make ripples in

the water that

radiate outward. Soon

the water is

filled with leaves,

a sea of

them. As each

leaf hits the

water, I feel

lighter, as if

I’m regaining a

part of myself.

Soon, the flow

of leaves from

my mouth slows

and then stops.

I simply watch

as the leaves

are taken away

by the water

that only I

can see.

Music, Bells and Birdsong – A Poem

There aren’t enough words…

I told him.

He looked at

me with a

smile that radiated

warmth. He took

my hand and

I felt that

warmth from him

pass into me.

There doesn’t have to be words. I know how you feel in here.

He pointed to

his heart. Then

to his eyes.

I see it, every time I look at you.

I know, I feel the same way.

I said. However,

he could see

that I still

wanted to find

the words. It

was what I

did. I was

always able to

describe the indescribable.

With him, I

found words lacking.

Tell me what you would say. Not with words, but with emotions.

I thought that

to be an

impossible task. He

could see that

I was having

trouble trying to

put into words

that which I

couldn’t describe. He

took my hand.

Just try.

He said softly.

For me.

I nodded and

tried to picture

what he made

me feel like.

I saw warm

sun shining on

my skin, bright

like the warmth

that he filled

me with. I

opened my eyes

and saw nothing

had change. He

took my other

hand and smiled.

You have to give life to what you see. Use your imagination.

I opened my

mouth to respond

and a ball

of light slipped

out of my

mouth. It floated

between us for

a moment before

rising to the

sky, filling the

world around us

with light. He

smiled at me.

There, I knew you could do it. What else do you see?

I thought of

how he was

like the breeze

flowing through the

trees, how just

the touch of

him made me

feel alive. Around

us, shoots began

to slide out

of the grass,

forming a circle

of trees around

us. He laughed

at this and

the sound was

like music to

my ears. He

moved closer to

me, put his

arm around me.

What else?

I thought of

how his love

for me filled

my heart with

song. I heard

the flutter of

wings and we

looked up into

the branches of

the trees and

they were filled

with birds of

ever shape and

colour. They sang

sweetly to us,

a melody that

made my body

lighter. He kissed

me, softly and

looked at me,

so deep that

I thought I

could see his

soul, as if

his eyes were

windows or doorways.

You’re perfect.

I shook my

head, letting out

a laugh that

was it’s own

kind of music.

I’m far from perfect.

You’re perfect to me and I love all of you.

I let out

a happy sigh

and that turned

into a wind

that set the

leaves moving. The

sound was like

bells ringing and

I kissed him

amongst the music

of bells and

A Magnet of Hope

I had submitted this to the Reboot Your Life anthology for Chicken Soup for the Soul. It wasn’t chosen, unfortunately.

However, now I get to share it with you! I’ve been sitting on this since January of this year and now you all get to read it. I’ll be posting it to this blog and my MS/CP blog Two Steps at a Time.

Awesome.

 

I was  lost inside of myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I had recently been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis after months of trying to figure out what was wrong with me. For months I had been unwell, but it was a magnet that my mother had given me that brought me back to myself.

In January, I was misdiagnosed with Labyrinthitis. I had fallen down the back steps of my apartment building the week before. The fall was jarring and I was bruised. The doctor thought the Labyrinthitis was caused by this; its a fracture that affects the inner ear. It can be caused by head trauma. It causes dizziness, vertigo, nausea. He was wrong, though. It was much more than that.

I just woke up with it. I went to sleep on December 31st 2012 and I was fine, I woke up on January 1st 2013 and it was as if I was in someone else’s body. I could barely stand and the whole world was spinning around me. After sleeping again for a few hours, I woke and I was still the same. I knew that something was wrong.

I got myself to the doctors and could barely hear him when he told  me that it would last anywhere from two to four weeks. Then the Labyrinthitis would go away on it’s own.

I couldn’t go to work and I wasn’t able to watch television or read. I couldn’t write and there were days I could barely walk or stand. Other days where I could hardly see. I listened to audio books when I wasn’t asleep. I was essentially bed ridden.

Somehow, I pulled myself up. I got better enough to go back to work, to get back in the world. It had been three weeks.  Three weeks of being barely able to walk, of sleeping all the time, of not being able to do simple things. Three weeks of being lost in my own body.

When I went back out into the world, I did so with the aid of a cane. The left my face was frozen, even my taste buds and I was deaf in my left ear. I thought I’d had a stroke and just didn’t know it. I fought and willed myself to get better; or better than I was. It wasn’t an easy process.

When I stated getting better, I tried to prove that I was okay, that I was fine-but I knew I wasn’t the same person, I wasn’t the same anymore. My face unfroze little by little and I waited for the four weeks to be up, for this temporary sentence to be over. Then four weeks stretched into five weeks, then two months.

I wasn’t any better though. Now it had been almost three months. Each day was a struggle, Then I lost the ability to write. I’ve written all my life and that was taking away my hands. Then I lost the ability to speak properly. I could hear the words in my head, but I could only say three of five of them to get my point across.

That’s when my mother stepped in. I left work and went to the emergency room. She stayed with me for the whole six hour stay. I was seen by a neurologist and booked for a battery of tests. It was April when I found out what had been wrong with me all year.

When the doctors told me I had Multiple Sclerosis, I thought: Thank goodness, it has a name; now I knew what it was and I thought I was okay with everything at first. I was holding up-but eventually, I got too  lost in thoughts of: what would happens now? What is my life going to be like from now on?

By the beginning of May, I’d withdrawn from everything and everyone I knew. I went to work, but I couldn’t do what I used to be perfectly capable of doing every day. I came home to my cat and held her while I went further and deeper into myself. I was consumed by what my life had become. My mother would call it brooding-apparently I’ve been a champion brooder ever since I was a small child. It wasn’t brooding, though. I was lost. I thought long and hard about taking my own life.

In June, I was making a passable attempt at cleaning when I saw it. A few years ago, my mother had given me a magnet. It was a small circular piece of glass and someone had put a saying inside of it. It had a bright yellow background and six simple words: my life is up to me.

Just six simple words and they were like an epiphany. It seemed so simple: I could sit and wallow and wonder what my life would be like now, or I could get busy living it. I could bemoan the fact that I got Multiple Sclerosis or I could accept it and what was to come, no matter what it was.

I knew that’s what had to be done and that I was strong enough to do it. That yellow magnet from my mother was like a beacon in the darkness of the Labyrinth and into the light.

By the time I got my official diagnosis in August, I was ready, come what may. I knew that my life as it was had changed. It would now be a life filled with difficulties and hardships, but it was my life to live.

All I had to do was get out there and live it.

I am a Bisexual Moose – A Poem

When I first

knew what I

was, the secret

inside of me,

I was at

university, a world

away from home.

We were in

the unicentre cafeteria,

a whole group

of us. We all

rotated around one

girl, Sheenagh. She

was our light.

I sat next

to her and

she could tell

that something was

bothering me. Artists,

whether into literature,

music or theatre

can always sense

discontent. She

gave me one

of her patented

Sheenagh looks, where

you wondered what

she would say.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you on your man rag?”

She gave me

a Sheenagh smile,

and her brightness

increased. I wanted

to shine just

as brightly as

she did, but

for now, I

was content to

be in her

orbit. I struggled

with the words

I had to

say, words that

I had been

holding in for

as long as

I could remember.

I was nearly

shaking. Sheenagh

saw this and

put a hand

on my arm.

“What is it, honey? Don’t be afraid of what you need to say.”

I swallowed thickly.

“I think I’m gay.”

The world did

not stop and

no one ran

screaming from the

building. She laughed.

“Oh honey, I don’t think you’re gay. I know you are. Say it again. Own those words and be proud of who you are.”

I nodded and

gathered my voice.

“I’m gay.”

She laughed again,

the sound like

a tinkle of

bells being caressed

by water. Sheenagh

touched my cheek.

“You’re so serious. It’s not a serious thing, it’s a glorious thing, becoming yourself. Am I the first person you’ve told?”

I nodded again.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m honoured. What’s your favourite animal?”

I though about

it for a

moment. It had

been cows up

until recently, but

lately, Wolves had

been entering my

dreams at night.

“Wolves.”

I said, smiling.

“There now. We have to celebrate your freedom!”

“My freedom?”

“Yes! You’re free from your past and your life begins now!”

She stood up

on her chair

and then got

onto the table.

She raised her

arms up in

the air and

spoke in a

loud voice that

carried through the

whole unicentre cafeteria.

“I am a bisexual moose!”

I expected the

others to laugh,

for the crowd

around us to

tell us to

shut up, for

someone to complain.

Instead, one of

the other people

who orbited around

Sheenagh, another artist

named Jackie, stood

up, and proclaimed:

“I am a lesbian porpoise!”

Others were getting

into the spirit

of things, climbing

onto their tables

and proclaiming what

they were for

everyone to hear.

“I am a gay lion”

“I am a lesbian tiger!”

“I am a bisexual bear!”

“I am a straight fish!”

“I am a lesbian gorilla!”
“I am a gay tortoise!”

“I am an asexual dog!”

“I am a straight cat!”

“I am a gay chinchilla!”

“I am a lesbian cougar!”

I was the

last one, the

only one who

hadn’t stood up

on the table

and proclaimed to

the world who

and what I

was. Sheenagh held

out her hand

to me, smiling.

“It’s your turn honey. Shine bright and do not be afraid of who you are.”

I stood and

climbed up onto

my chair, I

took her hand

and got up

onto the table.

“I am a gay Wolf.”

I said quietly.

“Oh, no, honey. You have to yell it. Wolves aren’t quiet like mice, they howl at the moon! You have to howl it honey, howl!”

“I AM A GAY WOLF!”

I screamed. Tears

were sliding down

my cheeks and

I felt a

moment of release,

of weightlessness. I

looked at Sheenagh

and she was

shining bright like

the sun she

was. She looked

at me with

eyes that were

so incredibly wise.

“There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it? I’m proud of you, my little Wolf.”

Everyone around us

began clapping and

cheering. In that

moment, I was

free. After university,

I never saw

Sheenagh again, but

I’ve followed her

example and have

continued shining brightly.

A Waking Dream – A Poem

I hadn’t slept

in days. I

would lay awake

at night, waiting

for sleep to

come, but it

wouldn’t. I would

take warm baths,

drink herbal tea,

but sleep still

eluded me. It

had been seven

days since I

had known sleeps

embrace and I

was starting to

lose it, even

though I didn’t

know what “it”

was. I started

to see things,

objects and people

that couldn’t possibly

be there, while

I was awake.

The shadows of

the waking dreams

moved along my

bedroom walls, along

the sidewalks,

showed their reflections

upon store windows.

The mirror people

would glare at

me as I

passed by, watching

me, almost as

if they were

measuring my worth.

The mannequins would

move closer to

the windows, hoping

to catch a

glimpse of me

though the reflections

that shouldn’t be

there but were.

Then the unthinkable

happened. In bed

one night, waiting

hoping, praying for

sleep, I watched

as the shadows

moved and slithered.

They whispered as

they moved along

the walls. I

watched them as

they shaped themselves

into an arch

of branches. There

were thorns running

along them. Even

though they were

merely shadows, I

knew they would

draw blood. In

front of the

arch was a

sign that merely

said three words:

Sleep, This Way.

I knew I

would have to

walk through the

arch. I gathered

up my courage

and walked through

the thorns. Breathing

deeply, I did

so, feeling the

bite and caress

of the thorns

and brambles. There

was darkness for

a moment, just

for a second and

the smell of

sweat and age,

rot and filth.

When my eyes

cleared, I found

myself in an

alley. There was

but one light

that hung high

up on one

wall, flickering like

a candle flame.

I could see

shadows along the

ground, shapes that

I knew were

other people. I

wondered if any

of them were

the reflections, the

dream people that

had watched me.

I walked down

the alley, the

arch of thorns

having disappeared. Several

of these shapes

called out to

to me in

gruff, angry voices,

men and women,

the lost people.

“I didn’t do what they said. You gotta believe me. I didn’t.”

“I need a drink real bad, just one drink. Any drink.”

“I used to be so pretty, so pretty. I could have my pick of men.”

“I didn’t mean to kill her, but she was asking for it. So was he.”

“You gotta wear a foil hat, man. Otherwise they can hear your thoughts. “

“I’m so hungry. Spare a bite to eat?”

I walked on,

faster, faster, faster.

The alley and

the forgotten went

on forever and

my footsteps were

loud in the

darkness, each step

a crunch of

gravel, glass or

stone, each grab

of their arms

like the thorns

on the arch

I had walked

though to get

here. I pulled

myself away and

broke into a

run, trying to

find the end

of the alley.

The light was

flickering madly off

of the brick

walls and there

was no ending

in sight that

I could see.

Then, in front

of me, a

shadow person stood,

detaching himself from

the mass of moving

thorn people. He

held out his

hands, telling me

to stop without

words. I tried

to run past

him, but he

grabbed hold of

me, held tight

until I stopped

struggling. The entire

time it took

me to calm

down he was

talking to me:

“It’s okay man, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.”

I stopped and

looked at him.

He was grimy

and covered in

filth like the

rest of them

but there was

clarity in his

face. He smiled

at me and,

despite my fear,

I smiled back.

“You’re going about this all wrong, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

My voice echoed

off the walls.

“You can keep running forever, if you want to. Makes no difference to me.”

“What else can I do?”

“Well, you can focus on the person who’s dreaming of you for starters.”

“But I’m not sleeping.”

“I know. Legend says that when you can’t sleep, someone else is dreaming about you and you’re awake in that person’s dream.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Does any of this?”

He motioned around

us at the

walls and the

flickering light, at

the mass of

shadows that were

people. He gave

me another grin.

“This is where your nightmares come from. Dreams don’t make any sense. They are pieces of our life we’ve already lived.”

I found myself

nodding, knowing he

was speaking truth.

“So what do I do? How do I leave this place?”

“Well now, that’s simple. You have to focus on the person who’s dreaming of you and go to them.”

“I can do that?”

“Sure. It’s your dream, isn’t it?”

I turned around

in a circle,

looking at the

shadows. I turned

back to the

man, his eyes

bright and his

smile warm, comforting.

“How do I find the other person? I don’t know how to get back the way I came.”

“You wouldn’t want to. No, your way to him is simple. See that light?”

He pointed to

the light, the

only source of

brightness in amongst

all the shadows.

“That’s him. He’s been watching over you all this time, you know. Even in the darkest of times, he’s there.”

“How do I go to him?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? Close your eyes, think on the light. Don’t think about anything else. Go towards the light.”

“Is that like dying?”

He shook his

head back and

forth, laughing and

smiling at me.

“Well, they do call sleep the little death.”

He said, thoughtfully.

“This is a dream, not some horror movie. Some dreams end and some dreams become a reality. That’s the great thing. So just focus on the light, nothing else.”

I did as

he said and

closed my eyes.

I thought of

the light, pictured

it growing brighter.

I could see

the brightness

of the light

growing, even with

my eyes closed,

could even begin

to feel the

heat of it

on my face.

Soon, the fetid

air disappeared and

was replaced with

the smell of

a spicy cologne

and the scent

of honeysuckle. I

heard movement as

someone moved towards

me. I would

not be afraid.

A voice said:

“Open your eyes.”

I did and

saw him and

the feeling of

the light upon

my face flowed

through my whole

body. The light

came from him.

“I dreamt of you.”

He said. I

smiled at him.

“I know.”

I said softly.

Then words weren’t

necessary. There was

only me, only

him, only us

and the gorgeous

possibility of dream.

The Unknown Language of the Heart – A Poem

My heart was

unable to speak.

It would look

at other people

in love and

wonder what they

were saying to

each other without

speaking. What kind

of unknown language

passed between them?

I despaired of

ever finding someone

who loved me

deeply enough to

speak without speaking,

to touch my

heart with a

simple caress. That

changed when I

met you. The

love between us

grew slowly, starting

as a seed

that was planted

in my heart

the moment we

first kissed. It

was nurtured with

every endearment and

each caress. When

the flower bloomed,

filling me completely,

I heard a

soft buzzing, felt

a throb of

vibration as my

heart began to

respond to yours.

Now, when you

touched me, it

was like you

touched my heart.

Now when you

spoke to me,

it was as

if you spoke

to my soul.

At first, I

was terrified. What

was this unknown

language? What did

it all mean?

You took my

face in your

hand and looked

right into me.

“Don’t be afraid.”

You said to

me. At those

words, my fear

fell away and

a series of

words I had

not known began

to show themselves

appearing as if

something was rubbed

away and the

words were there

the entire time.

All they needed

was someone to

help me see

them. Now when

you look at

me, the words

from the unknown

language become known

all over again.

All it took

was your love

to set the

words, and myself,

free.

Dead Letters – A Short Story

Everything dies in the end. Even words. Poppy knew this better than anyone. She saw dead words every day. She was their mistress.

Even when she was sleeping, she would hear the words. Words that would never reach their intended, never be read. As she read the words, she mourned them. She tried to pace herself, one letter a day, one dead letter that got lost along the way.

Anything more than one letter and she would lose herself in the words, in the ink that stained her fingers. The ink tasted of dreams. She would open the letters, unsure of what was to come. Was it a letter, a bill for some unknown object? A postcard promising redemption?

Today, she wondered what she would find. She was supposed to dispose of them, that was her job. But she saved one each day instead. If she saved at least one dead letter a day, the words would find some way to live on. She pictured them living inside of her, thriving.

She entered the dead letter room, the light dim and glowing. She could hear the letters whispering to her when she entered. The whispering was like a music to her and Poppy wondered, not for the first time, if she was the only one who could hear it.

She turned up the lights so that it was brighter, more vibrant. Dead things should always have more light, not darkness and shadows. Darkness was for nightmares and things best left forgotten. Dead words, dead letters, needed light, not darkness, to be remembered.

Poppy looked at the letters waiting to be destroyed, waiting to have their life taken from them. She wondered which one to save. Today, the letter chose her. She reached out to pluck one out of the pile with her eyes closed. She liked to leave things to chance.

She was about to pull a letter out of the pile and heard a loud slap. One letter had fallen from the pile to land on the concrete floor. Opening her eyes, she saw that the envelope was newer; the envelope didn’t have many creases or marks on it. She bent to pick it up.

The envelope was heavy with words. She looked at the address. It read: To Cissy DeMile, The City of Abraham. There was no return address. Poppy held the envelope in her hands, ran her fingers over the words printed on the front. Who sent this to Cissy? Would the words live?

She turned the envelope over and opened it slowly. She liked to draw out the suspense, liked to draw out the revealing. It soothed her. She flicked back the flap and drew out a single printed page. Studying the paper, she saw a series of dark scratches of pen and ink.

The note was written on what looked to be an old invoice. The invoice was dated 1999 and it was from a Chinese food restaurant. The paper smelled of old grease and it was crumpled, as if someone had shoved the bill in their pocket. She turned the note over and began to read.

What she read chilled her. The words were written in fast block letters, as if it had been written quickly. As if time were scarce.The note said:

I AM INNOCENT. I DID NOT DO WHAT THEY SAID I DID. LET CISSY KNOW THAT. LET HER KNOW THAT I LOVE HER. I AM ABOUT TO DIE. THEY HAVE MOVED ME TO DEATH ROW. MY TIME IS ALMOST AT AN END. LET CISSY KNOW I LOVE HER AND THAT I AM INNOCENT. WHO EVER FINDS THIS. LET HER KNOW. WHO EVER FINDS THIS, PLEASE LET HER KNOW. CONTACT MY LAWYER AND TRY TO END THIS BEFORE THEY END ME. CECIL

The note scared her. Poppy had never read anything like it. Though the words were few, they frightened her. There was truth in them. There was pain in the words; desperation. They were dead words from a soon to be dead man. Poppy closed her eyes to calm her breathing.

Normally, words would move her. Never before had they frightened her. The truth is always frightening, she thought. The truth sees. Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, she flicked on her computer and pulled up the white pages online.

She typed in the words “Cissy DeMile, City of Abraham” and pressed enter. She fully expected to get no hits on the name. She expected it. What she didn’t expect was to get a hit, just one hit. It read: CISSY DEMILE, 666 ELYSIAN WAY, CITY OF ABRAHAM, 333-3330. Poppy shivered.

She knew that she should just close the screen, pick another letter and start over, forget Cissy and her father. But she couldn’t. The truth in the words held her, pulled her in. Instead, she hit print and stared at the words in blank ink on the page.

The words, a woman’s name and address, seemed so threatening yet so innocent. She ran her fingers over the words, words no longer dead. Poppy was unable to concentrate. Work sped by in a blur. She kept seeing the woman’s name everywhere she looked. A name full of promise.

When she got home, she pulled off her shoes and grabbed a beer from her fridge. Her cat, mewed at her for attention. Poppy sighed. She knew that she would be unable to concentrate until she called Cissy. Until she passed on the dead words. She sighed again, tired.

How did you contact a stranger you didn’t know? She took the paper out of her pocket and looked at the number. Numbers had power too. Dialing the number, she held her breath. She hoped no one would answer so she could get on with her evening. It was not to be.

A woman answered with a soft voice. “Hello?” Her voice was like velvet. Poppy wondered how to continue. She was silent for a moment.

Poppy cleared her throat, tried to think of words to say. Words should be respected, chosen with care. Instead, she blurted them out. “Ms DeMille?” Her voice sounded shy, hesitant. “You don’t know me but I received a letter from your father.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone and for a moment, Poppy didn’t think Cissy had heard her. She spoke again: “Ms DeMille?”

Her words were stopped mid sentence. “I heard you.” Cissy said roughly. “I heard you loud and clear.” She sounded angry, upset. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are and why you’re calling me.” Cissy said. Poppy heard something that sounded like crying.

Even though she didn’t know her, Poppys heart went out to Cissy. “Ms. DeMille? I know that I have no business calling you, I know that-”

“Then why are you calling me?” Cissy sobbed openly now. “You have no right to call me about…my father.”

Poppy felt her heart break a little. A break that could not be healed with words. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe if we could meet?” She knew that she was being foward, but Poppy felt this was important. She could feel it. “Maybe for coffee or something?” Poppy held her breath, waited.

“Coffee would be fine.” Cissy said eventually. “Meet me at Calebs Coffee at 3pm. Is that all right?”

Poppy nodded even though Cissy could not see her. “Yes, that’s fine. How will I know who you are?”

“I’ll find you.” Cissy said. She hung up leaving Poppy listening to silence. Shaking, she hung up the phone trying to calm herself.

She wondered why this was so important. She just knew it was. Words and numbers had power, she thought. Even dead words have power. Knowing that she couldn’t concentrate on work, Poppy grabbed her coat and headed into the sunshine. It was cold and the wind whispered.

She walked across the street towards the park, the sunshine inviting her to daydream. Poppy listened to the music of the cars rushing by. She was blinded momentarily by the sun. She turned her head away and blinked. When she opened her eyes, a man was standing before her. He hadn’t been there before. Poppy was sure of that. But people don’t appear out of thin air, do they?

“Sorry” she said. “I didn’t see you.” She held a hand to her beating heart. “You startled me.” She looked at his face, saw ice blue eyes.

The man smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You see more than you think.” His voice was deep and rumbled out of him.

Poppy feared this man. There was something in his eyes that said he had seen things she hadn’t. She moved back a step, wanting to keep space between them. He had dark hair and scruff on his chin. He was still smiling at her.

“Is there something you want?” Poppy asked. She wanted to be away from him. She wanted to think of what she would say to Cissy.

The man shook his head. “I only wanted to speak to you.” His voice was deep and it rumbled. “I wanted to warn you.” He smiled again.

Poppy was even more afraid. Her heart beat quickly inside of her chest and she wondered if he could hear it. “Warn me? Against what?”

“Ignore the letter.” the man said. “Do not get involved. You will put yourself at risk.” He pointed to her purse where the letter hid. “Burn the letter, dispose of it. Do not get involved. You seem nicer than the rest, then the others.” Each word came out like a slap in the face. Poppy took a further step back.

Poppy could barely speak, fear closing her throat. “Who are you?” She shielded her eyes from the sun which had grown brighter.

The man smiled again, the smile not reaching his eyes. “I am no one to be trifled with.” he said. Then, slowly, he bowed to her.

Poppy blinked, the sun blinding her. When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She felt a chill fill her skin and her heart beat quickly. She wondered, vaguely, whether words could cause harm. She wondered if the words she read could bring about the end of her own story.

Not wanting to be late, Poppy headed to Caleb’s Coffee to meet Cissy. She shook off the feeling of doom that covered her from head to toe. While she walked, she looked over her shoulder, wanting to make sure she wasn’t followed. The man had filled her with subtle unease.

“Ignore the letter…” she said this out loud if only to reassure herself that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. What did that mean? She had little time to ponder this. When Caleb’s came into view, she saw a woman with blond hair standing by the entrance.

As Poppy approached, the nervousness increased. The woman turned and faced her. “Poppy?” she said. “Poppy Stone?”

Poppy nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Cissy. I wish we could meet under more normal circumstances.”

Cissy laughed, her dark eyes flashing wildly in the sunlight like sapphires. “There is nothing normal about this. Nothing normal at all.” She rummaged in her purse. “Do you mind if I have a smoke?” Not waiting for an answer she lit a cigarette breathed deeply.

Poppy nodded, though it was not required. “I’m sorry about this. I shouldn’t have called you, I shouldn’t have-”

Cissy barked out a laugh. “No, what you should do is tell me how you got a letter from my dead father.”

Taking a deep breath, Poppy let it out. “I work in a dead letter room. Where unfound mail goes to die if no one claims it or it doesn’t reach the intended address.”

There was a sharp look in Cissy’s eyes. “Do you routinely open the letters?”

“We have to determine that there’s nothing of value in them. It’s procedure.”

“And do you normally contact the people who the letters were sent to?”

“If there’s an address, yes. Sometimes they have moved or can’t be found. Yours was odd though. There was no address.”

“So you looked me up on the web.” Cissy smiled. “Resourceful. I can respect that.”

Their waiter came and they both ordered tea. Poppy excused herself to go to the washroom. There was something odd about Cissy, something Poppy couldn’t put her finger on. She seemed unnecessarily angry, not quite the grieving daughter she had on the phone.

Slipping into the washroom, Poppy stood at the sink and rinsed her face with cold water. When she looked up at her face in the mirror, she stifled a scream. The man from earlier was standing behind her.

“How did you get in here?” Poppy said. “This is a woman’s washroom!”

“It’s too late for you, she has your scent now. She won’t let you go. She’s been quiet for so long, but people like her are always hungry for more.”

“What are you talking about?” Poppy whispered.

“My daughter.” He replied. “I’m talking about my daughter. “

“The one you wrote the letter to? Cissy?”

He gave her a sad look, his eyes drooping for a moment before snapping back to look at he again. “I did not write that letter.”

“But you did, I’ve got it here-” She rummaged in her purse but he stopped her by speaking again.

“It doesn’t matter. They all look the same. That’s how she gets them, people like you, drawn to the mystery of it all. They always find a person willing to die. They always find her next victim.”

The words sent a shiver running down her spine and she looked at him in the mirror. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re almost out of time. She’ll come looking for you in a moment. Take the letter and get out of here. Destroy it, get rid of it, otherwise, she’ll find you.”

“How can she find me with a letter?”

“It’s not written with ink. It’s written in blood. She can smell it’s scent.”

Poppy pulled it out of her purse. She removed the envelope and examined the letters again. She saw they were a dark red instead of the black ink she had taken it to be. Shivering, Poppy looked back at the man in the mirror. “Can I destroy it here? Will she know?”

He nodded. “But she will not be able to find you.”

He took a lighter out of his pocket and held it out to her. Poppy turned but saw there was no one behind her. Turning back to the mirror, she saw that he still held out the lighter with its flame flickering brightly.

“What are you?” Poppy whispered.

“I am already dead. I was her first. She wrote the first batch of letters with my blood.” He looked behind him at the bathroom door. “Hurry now, you’re running out of time.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because you see more than you think you do. People like you are rare. Hold the letter up to the mirror, quickly now. Take your hands away as soon as it touches the glass.”

Poppy did as she was told. She touched the paper to mirror and took her hands away quickly as a flame licked across the paper. Soon, the paper was gone, but she could still see the words shining brightly on the mirror.

“Now run. Don’t look back and run.”

She didn’t need to be told twice As she ran out of the coffee shop, the screaming started. Poppy looked into the restaurant and saw Cissy, screaming with her skin on fire, burning as the letter had done.

Poppy ran out of Caleb’s Coffee, the sounds of Cissy’s screams and the sight of her burning skin following close behind her.

As she ran, she decided that she would call in sick tomorrow. She’d had enough of dead words and dead letters to last a lifetime.