Chapter One-The Nightmare

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The room was filled with balloons and the floor was carpeted with bubble wrap. The balloons looked like normal balloons but seemed to bob strangely in the air, as if filled with something. A small child is huddled in the corner of the room, fearfully facing the only exit to the room; a large red door. The door begins slowly begins to open, creaking loudly in the process but  no one but the small boy seems to notice. The door then shuts and the balloons and dancing guests part as an invisible force makes it’s way towards the young boy, the bubble wrap crackling with each step. The small boy whimpers and his lips can be seen mouthing “Stay strong my boy, Stay strong my boy”.

His lips quiver as he keeps muttering the mantra under his breath, eyes fastened fearfully on the advancing force. Then clenching his fist, he resolutely faces the creature as if determined to face whatever challenge comes his way. Suddenly the balloons start exploding violently, spewing puffs of color into the room. POP! POP! POP! Each pop shattering the silence like a shotgun blast. The colored fog that billows from the balloons eats up the air in the room and transforms it into a mystical shadow land, the chairs, tables and people acquiring almost ethereal qualities as they are consumed by the fog.

In the fog that is created, a silhouette can be seen. A blank area where the fog can con penetrate, and it is advancing on the young child who is now standing, fist clenched and face scrunched in concentration. The crowd, oblivious to the action bursts into song “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Kevin…” The happy joyous song striking a sour chord, each burst of merriment underscoring the young child’s advancing death. The irony of a celebration of life on the eve of his death seemed to register on the young child’s mind. He glances fearfully at the incoming  menace and then with a shout charges into the mist hoping to get lost in the crowd and make his escape through the door. He moves faster than he has ever moved before, running as if he has gained wings, but before he can even reach the edge of the crowd the shadow is upon him. He can feel the cold clammy hands gripping his neck and drawing him back as if by sheer force of will. He struggles, his legs pistoning and arms flailing but it’s as if the very air is against him and he is drawn back inexorably to his doom.

His flailing starts to slow and his body begins to grow limp. There seems to be no escape. Then from the resounding silence that had come after the balloon explosion and songs, a voice booms out, filling the room with sound.

“Boy! The whistle, blow the whistle boy! Remember what your father said, when facing death, blow the whistle!!”

The boy, moving as if through thick jello reaches for his chest where the whistle hangs. His hand rests on his heart for a moment and he can feel his heart trying to rips it’s way out of his chest. Grabbing the whistle and struggling to bring it to his lips even as the invisible hand crushes is throat, he blows with all the air left in him. The whistle’s piercing scream fills the air and the room is consumed by it. Time stops and the room is silent it the midst of the sound, each person frozen as they were. Then the aura of death, darkness and confusion is shattered and so is the room and everything else in it.

Still screaming, the echo of the whistle still ringing in his head, Kevin lurches upright, hitting his head on the top bunk. Panicked he looks around, eyes darting from place to place, thoughts running rampart in his head like stampeding buffalo. Where am I? What’s going on? Who…?

The realization hits him as he look around and sees the walls of his room and the scrunched up sheets laying in disarray and his bed that looked as if it was the victim of an aggravated assault. Sweat drips from his face and he rolls over and wipes it on his pillow in disgust and whispers “Why does this keep happening?”

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Sticky Note Story: Fragile, Handle with Care

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He looked at the dull brown box and read with tired eyes: “Fragile, Handle with Care”. He laughed then, a lonely bark of a laughed that was both swallowed and echoed by the now cavernous walls of his house. “Handle with Care,” he muttered darkly and sneaked a guilty glance at the only memento left of them together. It was a picture, their smiling faces the background and their hands together forming a heart the fore. “Fragile” he whispered. 

Starving

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I have eaten today,

and my stomach is content

I have drank today,

I have no thirst for water

But I am starving

My skin tastes bud shriveled 

and parched as a desert 

I am like an aged parchment 

unkissed by the oily fingers

and I creak and groan as I move

threatening to rip or tear. 

I have no emotional grievance

and my spirit is somewhat at peace

but yet I burn with need

and I am sucked dry by the flame

I am a garden, with no gardener 

dry and thirsty, hungry

I am starving for humanity

Picture Poem: Melancholy Winter Night

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The Lonely Bench

 

Soft light bathes the blue dark with radiance

The landing of the snow echoing soundlessly 

A whisper wind sighs through the skeleton trees 

forgotten dreams walk the melancholy night

remembering leaves dancing in brighter days

but the night soon swallows the memory of the sun

as the moon fades to nothing

and left is the plastic light muted by feathered wishes

white kisses caressing the cold earth

 

A bench is there under the soft light

casting a shadow that fades to night

its face sprinkled with sky kisses and little girl wishes 

the rough surface scarred by love and hate and desparation

and memories of warmth as lovers lay entwined

or a beggar shivers and presses himself against the bench

hoping to capture the leftover warmth of the lovers embrace

the bench caught dancing leaves dying 

and showered in tears of joy and pain and rain

but now it is empty and forlorn

a faded silhouette being consumed by night

the faded M and R scratched on it’s surface covered

by a blanket of soft coolness and casual distance

 

The bench is alone

stark in the soft light of the winter night

Lonely and longing 

Sleeping and dreaming 

of sunny days when the wind danced with the leaves

But now the bench is alone

on a melancholy winter night

 

 

 

Fool’s Friend

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I’m searching for a friend

I used to have one but I think I lost it

I’m scrambling up and down

Looking in cabinets and in dish racks

I even pulled out my book of faces

And scanned desperately through the pages

Of faces looking up at me

But I couldn’t find my friend

How can this be?

Just yesterday it was smiles in the hallway

And secret inside jokes

But now it’s just a face in my book

And a memory that grows dimmer every second

Was it ever real, my friend?

I’m desperate, throwing everything out in my search

My goals and dreams lie on the floor in a pile

Ignored in my quest to find a friend

And at the bottom of my drawer of desire

I see a glimmer and I pounce and grab

But it’s a false alarm, a fool’s friend yet again

Where are you friend?

I have been calling out for you

But maybe you don’t understand my language

I can’t find you but I won’t give up

Maybe it was never my job to search 

instead I’ll gather my dreams, hopes and goals

straighten them up and try them on for size

i think I will even go on a trip somewhere

and hopefully I will stumble across you

half buried somewhere like gold

A Poem For Faith (My Sister)

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Sometimes life hits you hard, 

a sucker punch right to the heart

Sometimes the sun dims

and your nightmares come true

Sometimes your eyes are screaming

but no one can hear

Sometimes you look down and only

your steps mark the sand

Sometimes all you can do is cry

and hope for a better tomorrow

 

But remember you are never alone

 

Remember we only fall to remember

why standing is so sweet

Remember that all nightmares

must end when the sun come out

Remember who you are 

and what it is you believe

Remember that it is OK to cry

but never to give up hope

Remember your name

Remember above all else,

you are loved