Tag Archives: #death

Fearless

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Impatience circles about me,

I crave the electric current of life;

One moment still haunts, drifts

out of the shadows from time to time

to remind me why I am unsated;

 

The labor room, a newborn in a bassinet,

my body exhausted until the soul began

to pull away; no angels there to greet me,

no demons, either;…still haunts…

Not the leaving, but the complacency of the spirit…

unconcerned with letting go…

 

In the remaining pools of my existence I hunger

for the splash of life’s vibe, and in this I am

Fearless

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/abbybatchelder/4744236187/”>abbybatchelder</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

The Girdling Root – Flash Fiction

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I’m feeling a bit experimental in my writing. The following has no dialogue and the sentences are long. I see it more as an exercise for exploring a future character and perhaps using some of it for that purpose. What do you think? And, while we’re on the subject – do you jot out character sketches in an attempt to get to know your characters better?

The Girdling Root

Once root girdling takes hold of a tree, suffocation and death are imminent unless the extreme decision to remove the offending root takes place. The specimen may succumb to death even with the procedure, most assuredly if nothing is done.

At first, I thought I’d had a stroke or a heart attack. In a way, I suppose it was the latter. My limbs still functioned as normal. My brain still registered date and time with the ability to recall any detail it so wished within reason of a ‘normal’ 48-year-old female. The problem wasn’t the body or the mind. The problem was the heart. Pain, alternating with numbness, pushed through weakened spots between heartbeats, grabbing hold, suffocating the source of oxygen and nutrients required for proper health. A doctor was of no use; however, the damage begged for repair.

Heartbreak is a fickle disease; one that requires constant monitoring, else irreversible damage may lay waste to any individual who harbors the ailment. As with a heart attack, once a piece of the heart actually dies, there is no repair of the dead area. If no treatment is secured for what remains, hope for survival wanes with every passing day. What of a transplant? No such convenience for the heartbroken I’m afraid.

I chose the path of so many. I ignored the symptoms for as long as possible until my breath caught at my own stabbing foolishness. No other option but to open my chest for examination. Ugly, regrettable and useless pandering to the emotion of grief that served no purpose settled into a lifeless area of impending necrosis. It was do or die time.

Accepting the void left where another once held court daily proved a vicious exercise of my recovery, but a necessary one. Recognizing that the risk was worth the potential reward, I cut away the offending root of my grief that served no purpose but to strangle my happiness.

I am now like the grasping, growing, forward-seeking roots of a maple tree forcing their way through unyielding sod, seeking new ground to explore. If I should, once again, encounter the pain of a broken heart, I will seek out the girdling root and I will cut it off before it threatens my existence. I will cut it off, and I will thrive, for I will not be suffocated by grief ever again.

  -end-

—-The most I learned about this character came at the end of this writing exercise –  I thought she was guided by her need to heal and be whole, but that wasn’t the case after all. It seems she was guided by survival at any cost.—-

PhotoPin: photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/wrathie/807388728/”>Antero Sivonen</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

Candle Snuffing

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This week’s post is in response to Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday. It also goes along with my October-Darktober theme. After all, what’s darker than a romance gone wrong?

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Her feet hooked into the backs of his legs as he pressed into her,

A satisfied chuckle escaped his lips after the release.

Their bodies entwined, believed themselves attached,

Allowed their hearts to wander, deceived by their own good intentions;

The false blue sky above opened to reveal looming clouds swollen

With regret and hopelessness.

Disapproval, a sinburst of consequences and repercussions

Threatened at a magnitude neither could withstand, but the addiction to one another begged to be fed, mouths and hands opened to an absolute need to

Touch and be touched – his work, her car; nearby park, his car; rundown motel barely beyond the horizon of prying eyes;

Last time, oh promise this is the last time…until finally, it was.

He lived in a state of paranoia – so fearful they would be discovered, yet wanting, wanting.

He wondered if she still felt his skin under her fingertips, if she remembered the small

Violet birthmark on his back she used to kiss, how she played with the ringlets of his wet hair that fell to his neck and the scent of his skin.

He wondered if she still felt his hands glide up her calves and the way his eyes glazed into a state of blissful wonder at her naked body.

Yes…she remembered.

The memories scorched her blood they grew so hot inside her. The light within dimmed.

Then, like the remains of a candle, its glow barely visible at the tip of a wick floating in a shallow basin of liquid wax,

She blew out her insignificant flame. One lingering puff of smoke dissipated into the ether and all was gone.

 

(Image courtesy of OpenClipArt.org)

Second Look

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Mired in the ways of this lethal world

Temptations and traps at every turn, watch your step to avoid a snare

All who can float away, grabbing a balloon full of lighter air

Furious flames lick a silent horizon; no more will music play

Trust no one and nothing; death is whispering to the sails in the bay

Conjured up from some ancient game,

A beast sets to place his foot upon the earth

While the innocent ones lose their battle in birth

And the wealthy seek to prove their worth

No more will things be the same

No more will things be the same…

 

 (Image courtesy of Microsoft ClipArt)

 

Cold Reality

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Slip into a winter’s dream

My pillow is a mound of snow

My blanket, snowflakes, soft and clean

The ground is firm, icy greens above

Warm are the worms below

 

Tear-filled eyes slowly freeze

Black lashes open to the sky

My body, its secrets, seek reprieve

Painful is the grip that holds the heart,

Those memories of you and I

 

Spring comes, long is the wait

The snows melt, water trickles downhill

My body exposed, found too late

Feeding from me, the creatures underground

At least now, you never will

 

(Image courtesy of Microsoft Clipart)

Empty Rainbow

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Restlessness dripping, as from a faucet that won’t shut off

You in your house of loved and unloved ones and me in mine

One day a reason will find its way to explain, won’t it?

Or is this the consequence, never attaining an understanding

 

Some would say we got off easy

“some” don’t know a damned thing, though

 

There is an ever-winding path that brings my thoughts

Back to you, against my will

Somewhere a bluesy voice sings a song about a rainbow, and

Finding a dream that comes true

Mine stands in the distance, over where you live;

Color washed away

 

Innocents die as I cry

Tears of selfish loss

I’ve got an empty rainbow

 

 

 

Coping

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The whippoorwill’s prophetic melody echoed every night the week before Beth died. Evan hungered for one more moment, one more touch, one more of anything. In the midst of a bourbon escape, he called out her name. A desperate attempt by a longing heart. He listened – all he heard was the distant march of invading silence, to which he was defenseless. The mourners had gone. Family dispersed. Friends gave their hugs. The door shut behind each one, slowly emptying the house once shared by two, now one. Couldn’t he leave, too?

Would every night be so long? Would every moment be spent staring at a clock that mocked him with indifference? He caught a wisp of her fragrance as he stood to pour himself another glass of liquor. Her essence, like the light that was her life, was gone. Darkness remained and it could take what it wanted from him – he no longer cared. He stepped outside, onto the porch where they once shared slow dances and intimate whispers. “I love you,” she’d say, running delicate hands along his back. He wanted to be with her, wherever she was now. His eyes were sore and stinging from the endless crying. He leaned against one of the wooden porch posts for support.

A whippoorwill began to sing in the distance. Had it captured Beth’s soul? Was it returning for his?  His footing was unsteady as he made his way down the steps. The grassy earth accepted his knees as he dropped before a starless sky. He felt his body weakening as the song of the whippoorwill became louder. Morning would soon be making its appearance. Evan closed his eyes, his arms hanging in defeat at his side. His heart slowed as the singing of the bird lulled him into a false sense of peace. He fell forward, absent of consciousness, his body surrendering to the whiskey at last.

 

Photo Source:

Clipart ETC

http://etc.usf.edu/clipart