A Brief Narrative – The Library

Couldn’t it get much colder than it already was? The air splashed upon her face in amazing gusts, one after the other as she walked on the sidewalk towards the campus library. She held herself even tighter, closer within her jacket’s limits, in hopes of lessening the shudder that crept from her lower back up towards the stem of her neck. Tears welled up in her eyes, cold weather always caused pain, and besides, her tears would freeze-dry on her lids and tingle painfully, she knows. She struggled across the campus in search of its library. She knew where it was, but rather forget its location for fear of it. The single motivation that stood is to arrive in time for a group meeting. It was essential for her to be present mainly because she had not met with the group the past two times they met before. At the moment, her hands became numb and she worked hard to heat them against her cream turtleneck sweater she wore under her brown woolen jacket. The warmth became immense as she hustled along the steps that led to the twin doors of the library.

The Library, a 151 year old relic of a three-story high edifice, with a built-in creepy ass basement bathroom was not the “buzzing with life” scene on the campus. People only shuffled in and out when certain assignments were given and professors would make up reasons to send students there so that the library would be utilized. Throughout the years, stories have circulated about the library, mostly, not good ones. Being that she was a college freshman, seniors would pass stories on during orientation week. There was mention that there were wooden floors that creaked too much, deafening silences in the study only room on the top floor, and even the feeling that you are being watched, intensely. Many would not frequent beyond the second floor or even use the elevator, which was an addition to the building three decades after it was built. She did not know if the stories were true or a figment of the imagination from a few students hopped up on stimulants…

“Glad you can finally make a meeting,” the leader of the assignment group, Garret said sarcastically. He smirked at the other members, then met her gaze with slit eyes, while she made no attempt to acknowledge his greeting. It was rather ironic that he wore a plaid shirt with yellow, blue and green strips, which bore somewhat of an annoying nature for the eyes. The other members eyes shifted back and forth and everywhere else except meeting the attention of their leader. Nothing else was said and the discussion continued abruptly about topics, preparations and the presentation of nuclear weaponry, how they are used and so forth. Out of no whaere the leader, Garret looked in her direction.

” What’s your name again?” he asked her.

She responded, “Shay”.

She focused her attention on him now, “yes, shay…would you present our research to the class?” She wanted to be honest and frank, “no,” but instead, since Shay was totally lost and needed direction. “Yes,” she answered after much hesitation. “Well, actually, can you excuse me for a few minutes?” He sighed, “Okay”.

Shay quickly got up from her seat, but stumbled on her chair in her haste, and fell over her seat. Someone in the group snickered, but Shay continued to scramble up and away to the stairs at the far corner of the room that lead to the downstairs bathroom. Downstairs to the basement she went. Down, down, down and down the hallway, sobbing from embarrassment. Down to the bathroom at the very end of the hallway, dead end. Once inside, she notices that much of the items in the bathroom is outdated. Outdated toilet, faucets and mirrors, perhaps installed in the last century. Everything was outdated, except the bright red door that was on the other end, opposite the entrance…This door was closed at the time, and the cubicles where the egg-shell colored toilets sat silently, all were slightly ajar. She looked in the first cubicle and locked it immediately once she got in. The red door was freshly painted…she noted to herself. The handle of the door was the color of iron, dark gray and cold. Shay quickly used the toilet and listened as the sound of her urinating echoed in the empty bathroom. When she was finished she got up and out of the cubicle, walking towards the bathroom mirrors and sinks to wash her hands and return to the torturous group discussions.

The basement bathroom was eerily still the whole time she occupied its space. She checked her face, turned on the faucet to splash some water on her skin and eyes to liven herself up before she reentered the first floor of the library. The water ran cold for quite a while before it warmed up, but she was patient with its progress. Glancing at the mirror, she noticed something move around the ceiling of the bathroom and above the toilet cubicles. It seemed more like something dark, but shadow-like scurried across the roof, upside down. Whatever it was seemed like it crouched similar to a spider, except it was the size of a small human child. Shay shook off the sight as her eyes must have picked up a shift in lighting that caused the effect. She then continued to adjust her clothing while she was looking in the mirror and heard shuffling beside her, near the red door. The shuffling sound became louder when she acknowledged its presence, coming in her direction, is sounded sharp on the tiled floor, which was also egg-colored tiles. She looked around frantically to see what could make these sounds but nothing physically was to be seen by her eyes. The scratching or shuffling sound came closer, closer to her and she raised her arms to her chest in anticipation of a blow from something invisible. But instead she heard the door knob on the red door turn and release and it was slightly open revealing darkness from within. From the angle she stood, she saw lots of dust, with just an equal amount of darkness. She stood there with her arms down by her sides…unable to lift them up at all. There was a pull towards the door and it beckoned to her. Her body she found could not run or move against this control and as she was forced to walk in a march towards the bright red door she could now see darker shadows make their way back and forth in the darkness. Tears quickly rose in her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks because this was the only function that she could control at her own will. Then closer and closer she went until there was nothing, not even Shay to be seen when the red door closed behind her.

Journey – Mimic’s Last Recall

As the day begins, we never stop to think where we will be by day’s end. Yet it is inevitable, but we still live our days by time’s law, as though it makes us immortal. When we realize we are physically mortal, then, it’s too late, of course. The questions come into play as to where will we go, and of what our final transformation? We are afraid to even venture that far in our daily capacity of work, family and friends.

In came the butterfly, that somehow lost its way. Or at least, that is how I want to tell the story of this creature. A co-worker found a dead butterfly and passed it on to another co-worker that thought I would want to examine the specimen. I did want to see this creature, all be it, in its post-mortem state. Even if in its post-mortem state it was so stunning in all its glory. It was somehow, or perhaps, newly departed. The butterfly, which I will name Lailah, may be a variety of the Viceroy-Monarch Butterfly or a mimic Monarch Butterfly that is somewhat similar to the Monarch (also known as the Milkweed Butterfly) but does not carry its poisonous nature. Though it may be a mimic, it was the most beautiful and visually alive thing that I experienced all day, well except for that special someone. They know who they are. Observing the beauty of this insect had to be captured by me, because it was just a copy of its former self. I took it upon myself to love this organism, though it was not alive, and record or recall its existence by photo. Lailah will not go forgotten, because social media and even this blog will be shared of her ephemeral time. A sentient transient, as we are but are too busy to make time to meditate upon our own ephemeral existence.

Lailah was a reminder of our own journey from gestation, birth, living or existing and death. What does it matter? Which part matters most to each individual? After capturing Lailah, I plan on providing a burial, and burials, are in essence for those who are alive more than for the deceased. I am just trying to complete the circle/cycle of life. We must love every moment, even in suffering and look at all experiences in life as a path to transformation. I believe it is most important how we live not exist, reveling in the journey with our eyes wide open.

Brief Narrative – Ms. Onna’s Plight

Nightfall in a mystical meadow, inhabited by creatures of the mystical nature. The guardian of that meadow was the Leaky-Eyed Pixie called Neferu. She was born of pure love and pure wonder and laid between the lines of both raw emotions. Neferu managed the meadow throughout the day, but in the evening time, a little after six, she would retreat to the tree of Good and Evil. This tree was known for its duality, being that it was neither good nor evil but a part of the realm of nature that knowledge of all things lived.

Neferu discovered other immortals there that lived comfortably in this place, not good or actually evil. Neferu came upon a woman, her name was futakuchi-onna, who had two mouths…the woman, she discovered was cursed and found refuge as the other inhabitants of the tree, lived in the tree trunk itself. The woman spoke to Neferu in Japanese, but one of Neferu’s powers was that she understood any language spoken in the realm, no matter what it was, and she was able to understand everything the Japanese creature articulated. Ms. Onna, as she referred to herself, was absolutely famished and was concerned fore she would get terrible headaches that were triggered by her starving second mouth.

After expressing her plight to Neferu, Ms. Onna asked for Neferu’s help in satiating her second mouth’s curses. Ms. Onna and Neferu both set out to find either delicious fruit or vegetation in order to keep the mouth from devouring Ms. Onna’s brain. The second mouth lay under her hair in the back of her head and all about her head were thick black silk tentacles wildly dancing forty inches off her head! The tentacles were used to feed Ms. Onna’s second and sometimes even her first mouth, which had lips and fit upon her face in a fashion that was a perpetual frown. The second mouth had serrated teeth that fought upon each other for space, were yellow and sharp, but had no lips, and just a slit in the back of her head. She actually gave it a name and she call it Grub Grub, since it is always hungry, always.

The journey commenced to find Grub Grub some sustenance to relieve Ms. Onna and Neferu was a local guide all throughout the realm. They ventured beyond the meadow at night to enter the Garden of Everlasting which had plants for everything and would have fruits and vegetation of every nature. Once in the garden, they came upon a lush and leafy vine of fleshy fruit, somewhat similar to a plum, ripe and desirable to Ms. Onna’s eyes. Her eyes lit up and her mouth on her face actually perked up and smiled, it was a gorgeous smile that vivified the night. Neferu was pleased that she was able to get that reaction from Ms. Onna and encouraged the woman to pick one of these fruits to see how she liked it. The woman paused, surveyed the area, as though she was prey, and then swiftly plucked one of these juicy flesh-like plum fruit from the tree. As soon as she picked the fruit, that portion of the vine quickly wilted and browned then turned to ash. They both gasped. Looking at each other, together they slowly looked back at the fruit, but the fruit did not change at all, it was still glorious and desirable. So, one of Ms. Onna’s hair tentacle reached for the fruit and brought it to Grub Grub’s lipless grin. There was an immediate reaction from Grub Grub. Moans at first, then crushing sounds as it got to the core of the fruit, with nut inside. Ms. Onna also sighed in relief. And oddly enough, Grub Grub was satiated. In all Ms. Onna’s curse, Grub Grub has never eaten anything that has it satiated, it always wants more. This must be a magical fruit!Neferu encouraged Ms. Onna to take two more of this fruit just in case. The same process occurred whereas, the fruit was plucked, the vines died and became ash and the fruits were intact.

On the way back to the Tree of Good and Evil, Ms. Onna thanked Neferu. No one has ever been this kind to her since she arrived in this realm. As a gift, she gave Neferu a large ball of silk tangles from when her long black silk tentacles would shed. She told Neferu, that the silk tangles are the strongest thing in the universe and that she can use it for anything that she would want to keep in place, put together or climb. Neferu thanked the woman and did not realize that their adventure took them throughout the night, and that it was soon sunrise time in the realm. She sauntered off to the meadow, bidding goodbyes to Ms. Onna and Grub Grub’s satisfied grin.

VERSE – Our Next Arrival

When you

At a distance

Long before your next arrival in my life
Awaiting to hear the voice that renders me

Vulnerable at that very moment, open heart and woes bare

Disintegrate

I hear…

“I love you” uttered in between kisses that open doors

I make mention of “more” and the appetite escalates

To unusual octaves and tones

The hard rain against the window pane

Makes melodies drumming

As fingers keep thumbing the small of my back

Rather be here, right now than anywhere

Stare as you glance and moan with each pairing

Daring, secreting away last kisses and caresses

Hoping its not our last one

And when departing still reaching out for bliss

VERSE: THE MATTER OF SYNTHESIS

Your mouth takes my breath from beneath me

attenuating tensions, kneading pleasure centers

bringing about heightened emotions, purrs and cries

Rousing skin between kisses, swells and sighs

Delicately soothing points around and within my thighs

Precious moments so significant

Bringing us closer to unreasonable instances

Your kisses so natural as my heart beat strong

Gazing into your eyes as you kiss me softly and long

Stroke my hips twice with

permission as I pleaded in your neck

Seeking in your eyes where my soul belongs

and forever seemed relative just then

Like a hit of opium, I’m high off you, sin

Loving you is cool, deep and sticky sweet

Indulging in you so secretly, so illicitly

Makes us invisible, we become invincible to the world

Union

Seeking neither validation nor permission

To merge and ignite

VERSE: The Languid Wallflower

I am the Gerbera Daisies painted on the walls

Lasting beyond the comprehension of time

Beauty and full; solid and undying

But can wither under an uncaring touch

and just neglected can erode; left to dust

Some come upon beautiful things and gain to possess and loss

Others grasp the opportunity to make those petals immortal

truly loving the essence of the wallflower

capturing it better than it has made model of itself.

A Brief Narrative: Child of Misfortune

Be sure to ask for you what you want of gods, also understand in worship, you may just get what you want, but not how you want it. Ask for something good, sweet, kind and squeeze your eyes tight hoping that when you open them, a stranger shall appear. These child’s eyes has seen and sought so much gold, but only to realize that there is such a thing as rust and rotten in this world. William Wordsworth has written that “the child is the father of the man”, for which the child was first and has birthed the man’s concept of the world. Shaped those concepts into rights and wrongs and who to slaughter first? When still all the rights may be wrongs for another that is posed with the same dilemma.

The author decided to make a twist to the tale, that is infinite but reckless still, even with understanding. We choose our battles and are left with scars and win wars and lose some. What does it matter to the universe? What does it matter which fork we choose to eat with or which path to tangle our feet? Is it all for naught or is it for freedom we choose to live, or love or live without love? So many disputes about everything, no answers linger but belief is strong and demanding and will overcome. You cannot stop true love in its tracks instantly or demand it to come naturally either. One choice is already outweighed by the other.

Brief Narrative: Hands of Wonder…

From a distance, not to interrupt him from his present task, I observe as he draws a character of his own imaginings with his hands of wonder. These hands that I admire, silently as we work. It is rare that his hands are still or quiet. They are constantly hard at work, busy cutting items, moving product, lifting and pulling. Watching, I admire them in silent.

Without his permission, I gave adorations to what his hands are made of and who molded them. Those blessed hands probably have the whole universe in one hand, while the other hand is holding onto a ledge. Because the reality, apart from my imaginings, can shed light on the deep and intense understanding of what has affected him throughout his life. Being compassionate with him, not knowing what shaped him and made him who he in currently. From time to time, I would see his fists clench with possible tension from everyday wear and tear. I worked alongside him to chance upon a close encounter. His fingers long but thick, his palms, I discover are broad providing support and care. With all my imagination notwithstanding, I try to envision something just as simple as how his hands would feel around me in an embrace.

Without his knowledge, I doubt he is conscious of my thoughts and intentions of his hands. He may believe them to be insignificant, coarse and large, but his hands through my eyes are powerful, potent and secure. Also, he molds, crafts and impress upon everything he handles with his hands. His wrists are never nude and always have a watch. Sometimes his watches have intricacies, whereas the inner workings of the mechanics of the watch is visible with knots and bolts as the hands on the face of the clock moves through seconds, minutes and hours. As I work alongside this man’s hands, which sometimes graze mine, our electromagnetic fields collide. A static jolt would make our hands quickly separate, but I daydream of a time whereas both our palms would touch and our fingers comingling in unison. Secretly, a soft smile curled upon my lips as I form thoughts of these hands of wonder. Yet, he goes on about his handiwork and I look on still adoring his fingers as they tirelessly did this and that and moved along technology. Again, covertly longing for those hands to caress and passionately rouse me.

VERSE: Hidden Temple

Encountering you, an ongoing adoration that’s complete with satisfaction daily

The hidden temple about us, where everyone dares to seek but cannot find

They don’t know what to call it, but it calls out to them and they flock like birds to us

Singing a cacophony of lures that they know not of but make much noise still

We rise above it all, because we are greater and know it

Whispering our secret notes, in pitches and tones above them

In our hidden temple, no one can touch us, but we can touch each other with

Words

Sounds

Spirited glances

Illuminating graces

All growing, becoming full, rich with potential that we must both protect and care

VERSE: Making Out Session

Ration kisses

Marks on misses

Drops drip lips kiss

Left prints so deep

Marinated in rouge

Tells the tale of yearning

Exhale, sigh, inhale keep pressed

Keep on kneading my memory

Until the original repeats

itself

Over and over and over

I play the rhythm you claim

Synchronize beats we aim

When high on lifeforce

Willing the will to push more

We bore forth and tore

Desire the cushion we lay

As dusk took on the break of day

Tender kisses

Evaporate

Take on our form

We wake

satiate