Legless Doubts [FICTION]

Slithering through the soul, the creature’s slender body curves and twists from side to side. So small that it can slip in the smallest opening, the snake slithers into the darkest, most secret parts of its host. Hissing softly, it whispers. The mind fills with lies, insults, and doubts under the pressure of that soft voice. The spirit quivers and quakes as soft suggestions break through impenetrable barriers. Eventually, oft-repeated phrases and questions push aside reason.

“You’re not good enough.”

“Why do you even try?”

“You can’t do thisssss.”

“Do you think anyone caresssss?”

“You will fail.”

“Why don’t you give up?”

“You don’t dessssserve love.”

Having conquered the mind, the snake changes direction and heads south. Riding the river that flows to the center, it wraps itself around the warm, beating muscle it find there. The heart shudders with every exploratory squeeze, struggling to pump out enough blood with such constriction. Time passes. Heart and mind struggle to regain control. How long the battle lasts depends on when their owner chooses to seek help.

Sinking down to weary knees, a plea for help falls from ashen lips. As tears stream down a pale face, vision blurs. In the haze a winged creature swoops downward, disappearing before its talons touch the smooth skin of the sweat-soaked forehead.

“Who would help you?” A faint question echoes softly.

A feathery warmth spreads through until it finds its prey. A struggle ensues between wings and great worm. The winged creature bites and claws. Sharp talons find purchase in slick scales.

The snake’s hold loosens. Blood flows again from heart to hands to feet to head. Thoughts clear. The hissing doubts subside. Freedom follows faith. Freedom becomes true.

Any Other Friday Night [FICTION]

“Sarah! Mary!” Nothing beats the rush of hearing your name called when you enter your favorite piano bar after a long week of drudgery.

I can’t play a single note on the piano, so the image of me in a piano makes my friends laugh. Mary tried to teach me about middle C once and I made a joke that she forbid me to make again. I enjoy singing and luckily my voice is good enough for the often inebriated denizens of Puck’s Pub. After a rough Friday at the office, we put on slinky black dresses and headed down to the pub, anticipating the lift from our traditional greeting.

“Ready?” Mary asked, rearranging a wayward strand of my hair.

“Almost.” In turn, I wiped a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her lip.

“Now?” She asked anxiously.

I nodded. We opened the door and stepped inside. We paused and waited. A few people glanced our way disinterestedly.

“That’s odd.” I muttered, let down by the absence of greeting.

“Yeah. What’s the joke?” Mary asked.

“Let’s see if we can find out.”

Mary directed her steps toward the piano while I made my way to the bar. 

“I’ll take a water, Joe.” I gushed as I leaned on the bar.

“My name’s Ralph, ma’am.” He replied gruffly, filling a glass from the tap and pushing it toward me.

“I know…” I paused.

Ralph’s reaction floored me. We’d played this same scene over and over with smiles on both sides every night. Suddenly, he didn’t want to joke anymore?

“Then don’t call me, Joe.” This time he didn’t add ma’am, which offered me a semblance of comfort.

“Arnold won’t let me play the piano.” Mary hissed in my ear.

I looked toward the piano. The short, bald man with his fingers on the keys eyed us suspiciously. His gaze morphed to annoyance as he saw our eyes resting on him.

“Really?”

“You can’t see the look he is giving us?”

I frowned. “Ralph acted like our standing joke was just me being stupid.”

“He refused to answer to Joe?”

He looked up as if he had heard the question or noticed our attention turn to him. His gaze lingered on me questioningly before turning to another regular. He leaned in to speak to the woman, who looked back at me with an equally quizical glance.

“She asked you to sing three songs last Friday and now we’re strangers?” Mary asked.

“What’s going on?”

Mary shrugged. “I think my urge to entertain has left the building.”

“Shall we join it?” I offered her my elbow. “Unless you want to take a try at amateur detective work?”

“We could do that…” She started toward the bar.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I called after her.

“What gives, Ralph? Why is everyone acting like we’re strangers?” She asked as he came over to take her order.

He looked up startled. “Sorry, ma’am?”

“Ma’am? Since when do you call me ma’am?”

“What would you like me to call you?”

“Mary.” She turned to me exasperated. “Are we crazy?”

“I think it is everyone else.” I muttered.

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” Heavy hands clamped down on our shoulders, directing us to the door.

“What’s going on, Bruce?” I asked the bouncer as he continued to force us from the pub.

“I’ll tell you next Friday.” He whispered and then raised his gruff voice. “You’re causing trouble. You have to go.”

Mary and I looked at each other, frowning but this was the closest to an answer that we had received. I tried to keep my lips from moving too much as I tried again. “Why can’t you tell us now?”

“Not enough time.” With that, he shoved us toward the door which swung open as another customer entered the pub.

As the door closed behind us, Mary grabbed my hand and squeezed it gently. “I guess we’ll find out next week.”

“Maybe.” I looked at the door, pondering whether I wanted to return in a week for a repeat performance.

Shall our story continue? It's up the you, dear readers. Do Mary and Sarah return to Puck's Pub and find out what was going on. Feel free to cast your vote in the comments below.

The Write Start to 2018

So my number ONE resolution for this year is to give my writer more freedom. She has been languishing so long that I might need to give her a solid kick in the direction of putting words to page, so feel free to drop encouragement.

Resolution number TWO is to make headway in the battle with my desire to create in other forms. From cards to jewelry to journals to quilts to stuffed creatures, I like to craft from paper and cloth until I have something new. If you are interested in purchasing one of my creations, please let me know. For instance, I created this choker necklace:

I should have more than two resolutions, but I feel like those two goals need the most attention in 2018. What goals do you have?

UPDATE: I found resolution number THREE. It was actually gently suggested to me by a beautiful and sweet friend. What is it? I need to work on being a better, mire-loving person (in the words of my friend, I need to look for ways to follow the example of Christ in my daily life). Hopefully, many people add a similar resolution to their list. I've heard far too much news of people destroying each other's lives instead of lifting each other up. We need to lift each other up. We need each other more than we know...

Write in a Forward Direction

A new year brings new goals, or, for most of us, a renewal of old goals and rebirth of old dreams. My writing has continued to suffer serious neglect over the past year, despite intentions to bring it back to the top of the list. I signed up for Camp National Novel Writing Month in July and wrote a four word title to my piece. Then life happened and the idea behind it has long since melted back into the folds of my brain. In November, I signed up for National Novel Writing Month with only a little more success. I eked out 10,000 words between morning sickness, caring for a sick toddler, Thanksgiving festivities, and the other excitement life threw at me. 

So with so many obstacles, why do I still pursue the allure of words strung together? One of my earliest memories is following my brother around, asking him to help me spell out words. I was about three and I wanted to communicate with those around me through the written word already. As I grew older, I learned to read. I loved making new friends inside the pages of books. I explored the pages of every tome that fell into my hands. I even borrowed reading textbooks from my older brothers. Then I discovered that I could write my own stories. I could send my toys to far off lands with my words. I could explore unknown kingdoms and make even more friends, as unique and interesting as I needed them to be. My early attempts amuse me when I unearth yellowed pages with my youthful scrawl, but some of my later efforts have brought smiles and laughs, so I shouldn’t give up. Should I? 

What lies ahead for my writing? I’ve resolved to make a real effort to balance my time better in the upcoming year. I want to spend time with my family and fulfill my callings at church, but I don’t want to lose the inherent abilities that I have, especially the writer inside who sometimes begs me to jot down lines of poetry or breathe life into a character who dances through my mind. So the upcoming year should see more posts for your reading pleasure and hopefully the completion of at least one of my half-started tales. Feel free to offer moral support, particularly if a piece touches your heart, makes you laugh, or stirs your imagination.

Sky Diamonds (POETRY)

Bring me diamonds from the sky
Promise me this one last lie
That these crystals won't melt away
Bringing me even further today
From where I was when the journey began
Crystal shapes do not understand
But you could if you opened your heart
And stopped trying to tear mine apart
Melt this ice, release this pain
Bring sky diamonds that don't melt to rain.

Grow Your Heart Three Sizes...

The heart of a grinch has taken over my tiny little hobbit body this season. I am hoping that when my cold dissipates, my heart will grow back to its normal size. In the meantime, I am trying not to overdo my slightly less than seasonal feelings. I did weed out a few names from my Christmas card list. If I have not received a card or heard from someone in a number of years, I don't feel confident that I have the correct address or that they want to hear from me. I always have extra cards. If someone surprises me and sends a card for a change, I can send one back.

In the opposite direction, the end of my cold promises the chance for some warm seasonal baking. I hope to still have enough friends who would like a sweet token of seasonal affection by that time. I don't think I will repeat last year's efforts to distribute treats individually to the hundreds of members of my church family. That takes far more energy than my body can handle this holiday season. I'll just have to pass out more smiles and wishes of a Merry Christmas. Those won't threaten to send buttons flying off of pants at least.

How do you get in the holiday spirit when your skin feels a little green and your heart feels shrunken?

Sing Christmas carols?

Spend time with friends?

Mail out holiday cards? Admire the ones you have received?

Watch cheesy holiday movies?

Help someone in need?

Donate to charity?

Read select passages from the New Testament?

Wrap presents?

Bake treats?

Inspire me...

Don’t Tell [FICTION]

“I’ll never tell you where I hid the jewels.” Grace clamped her mouth closed on the last word.

The taller man laughed and handed the gun to his stocky companion. He rolled up his sleeves to reveal arms thick with hair that they evoked images of a charging bear. Grace looked away as he took a step forward and placed a thick thumb under her chin.

“You’ll tell me everything.” He assured her.

Grace started to shake her head but stopped herself. Instead, she closed her eyes.

“Come on, Ed. We don’t have time for games.” The shorter man tightened his grip on the gun and stepped toward his partner.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam.” The taller man buried his hand in the dark curls that fell past the woman’s cheek.

As he jerked her head to the side, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Just tell me.”

“Are you trying to romance me?” She asked through gritted teeth.

“Not yet.” He pulled her head backward until her mouth dropped open.

He slapped her until her teeth rattled. A soft keening sound filled the air. The shorter man looked away. His pale eyes focused on the far wall. The keening stopped as Ed released her hair.

“Maybe I need to be a little more personal.” He grinned and reached for her hand.

She tried to pull it from his grasp, which proved impossible with her wrist firmly secured to the sturdy wooden chair.

“This will only hurt as long as you let it.” He produced pliers from his back pocket and closed them over her pinkie.

She screamed. Sam glanced at her and quickly turned away as his face paled. Ed’s face remained unchanged as he moved the pliers to her ring finger.

“Two.” As the pliers locked, a cracking sound erupted from her fingertip and the corners of his lips twitched.

“Stop.” Grace wept. “Please, stop.”

“Not the words I want to hear.” Sam moved the pliers again.

“Stop! I’ll show you where they are.” She pled. “Just don’t.”

He released her hand. Her fingers curled into the palm of her hand. Silent tears trailed down her cheek as her mangled fingertips touched her palm, but she held them there protectively. Her head tilted away as she surveyed the damage from the corner of her eye.

Ed turned to Sam. “Untie her and bring her outside. I’ll bring the car around.”

Sam nodded, putting the gun in his waistband long enough to free her. As she slowly rose from the chair, he jabbed the gun into her back and led her out to the car. She offered terse directions as Ed’s old beater chugged through the crowded city streets. They finally stopped at a storage facility on the edge of town.

“We’re here.” Grace whispered as she looked down at her mangled hand.

Ed stopped the car and circled around to pull her out of the car. “Show me.”

She reached into her pocket, fumbling with her uninjured hand for a worn key on her crowded key ring. “Unit 427. The jewels are in there.”

His eyes gleamed as he took the keys. “Stay with her, Sam.”

“I’m coming with you.” Sam circled to the back of the car, opening the trunk with his spare key. “She can watch herself in here.”

“That works too.” Ed shrugged and helped lift her into the trunk.

She rested her head against something soft, hoping it wasn’t dirty laundry or something worse. Hurried footsteps pounded away from her.

The two men remained silent as they wove through the units in search of the correct unit. As Ed fumbled with the keys, Sam slowly lifted the gun to chest level.

“Put that away.” Ed didn’t look up. “I’m not going to cheat you.”

“I wish I believed that.” Sam replied, keeping the gun leveled and tightening his finger on the trigger.

Ed sighed and turned back toward the door of the storage unit. “I was afraid you might feel that way.” He turned back toward his friend with a gun in his left hand. “Looks like we have a draw.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t mind going if you go with me.”

As they stood their ground in silence, a soft click from the door caused both pairs of eyes to waver. The door swung inward and two men with assault rifles and body armor greeted them.

The closest officer smiled. “I think we can help you out.”

The second officer gestured with his gun. “Drop your weapons, boys. You’re under arrest.”

Sam’s gun clattered to the ground as his hands shot up above his head.

Ed shook his head and lowered his weapon. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

It's been too long, so happy May to you. Hope you enjoyed.