we shall see

img_20170101_215243_107.jpg

I see you, seeing me.
Asking questions with those eyes.
Preparing your blatant lies.
You can’t fool the jester.

We shall see what we shall see.
That’s how the saying goes.
That’s how the fiction grows.
I’m more than silly, mister.

Spinning rhymes, let it be,
And my gaze will find the truth,
More than words and more than proof.
More than sins that pester.

My sight looks out to be free.
Though my heart knows its place,
And I’m too tired to race.
So my words only fester.

……………….

Blah.  I’ve sat down to write a post with this picture for the last couple days, and nothing came to me, so then it became this hurdle I had to get through.  And prove that I could do it?  Or, maybe just be done with it so I could move on to something else?  Or, maybe just because I’m stubborn?  Hell if I’m going to let this picture thwart me!  Something like that.

Anyway, this was a completely accidental selfie.  I was at the beach and squinting against the setting sun to try and catch the rays stretching across the breakers, and couldn’t see what I was looking at.  I’d flipped the camera around and had forgotten to switch it back.  Whoops.  I love how it turned out, though.

Not as big a fan of the poem/rap I came up with to go along with it… but, looking for silver linings, at least I wrote something and am posting it?  Sure.  Why not.  That’s as good a place as any to start.  So, here we go… picture and some words…  and, maybe this will kick off more of both to be shared with all my faithful kingdomites out there?  We shall see.

echoes thundered

Gentling rubbing throbbing temples provided the illusion of relief without actually carrying through with the promise.  Another futile second and the hands dropped, defeated, and eyes flared open again.  Angry red lines coursed away from pools of deep blue that framed anguished black pupils.  Creases above eyebrows and worry lines appeared in the recently vacated spaces.

Neighbors cast furtive glances, some of concern, some of blame, and some of boredom, and they were all ignored.  There was no time or energy to deal with their intrigue, there was only pain.  Constant.  Intense.  It burrowed further in, disrupting the normal flow of tissues and synapses.  Eyes closed once more for balance but the bursts of light cascading in synchronized waves against eyelids required hands to go fumbling in search of something solid to cling to.

Balance restored, slowly.  Achingly slowly.  The throbbing headache remained.

Dark thoughts, twisted and writhing with mischief, found a way to surface when no others would or could: quick ways to end the suffering, names of those at fault for the current agony and how best to serve a fitting revenge, and the long road to recovery hidden in shadows and chains.  The abused heart lurched haltingly as it became wrapped in despair.  Knees grew weak.  Eyes, still hidden protectively behind their lids, rolled upwards.  Gravity did the rest and cooling air rushed passed falling limbs.

A steadying hand cupped under an elbow kept body from meeting floor, but it was close enough to send puffs of dust dancing around ankles.  “Thank you” was hoarsely whispered as the two bodies untangled.  Red eyes met clear eyes and skittered away quickly, ashamed of their plight, ashamed of their condition in the show of such strength and humanity.  A nod was all that was offered in return, and wobbly legs were left to their own devices as confident steps faded away.  Echoes thundered.

Shaking hands fumbled for car keys, and a parting of the gathered throng created a path to the exit.  Silent stale stares marked progress from desk to door and the emptiness beyond.  A collective sigh of relief, mostly internal for fear of drawing attention, welcomed the departure.  The sickness had left.  Those who remained were certain to be safe, secure, untouched by whatever curse had befallen the inflected.

Outside, trembling from grief and still throbbing temples, faltering steps carried across the parking lot.  Keys worked their magic and the soothing warmth of a molded seat offered what comfort it could.  The engine roared to life on command, confirming that the car was the only thing working properly that miserable morning, and home, across the city, and more specifically the bed, beckoned.  Rest.  Relief.  Recovery.

None of it was to be.  The fates laughed and sent renewed waves of crushing pain.  Cringes, unwanted, unstoppable, while hands clutched the steering wheel, sent the car spinning.  Crunched metal, shattered glass, a quick scream of fear and rending pain, and long darkness began its rule.

Still, the throbbing behind temples continued.

………………

This is my response to the current Finish The Story prompt.  Have you come up with an ending yet?  What are you waiting for?

Prompt: Finish The Story (#3)

First, a reading assignment.  If you haven’t already, go read all the contributions from last week’s prompt:

El Guapo
Judah First
Juliette Kings
Jamie
JED
moi
Matticus (hey, that’s me!)

Second, a writing assignment.  Here is the current prompt.  How are you going to finish it?

………………..

Gentling rubbing throbbing temples provided the illusion of relief without actually carrying through with the promise.  Another futile second and the hands dropped, defeated, and eyes flared open again.  Angry red lines coursed away from pools of deep blue that framed anguished black pupils.  Creases above eyebrows and worry lines appeared in the recently vacated spaces.

Neighbors cast furtive glances, some of concern, some of blame, and some of boredom, and they were all ignored.  There was no time or energy to deal with their intrigue, there was only pain.  Constant.  Intense.  It burrowed further in, disrupting the normal flow of tissues and synapses.  Eyes closed once more for balance but the bursts of light cascading in synchronized waves against eyelids required hands to go fumbling in search of something solid to cling to.

Balance restored, slowly.  Achingly slowly.  The throbbing headache remained.

Dark thoughts, twisted and writhing with mischief, found a way to surface when no others would or could: quick ways to end the suffering, names of those at fault for the current agony and how best to serve a fitting revenge, and the long road to recovery hidden in shadows and chains.  The abused heart lurched haltingly as it became wrapped in despair.  Knees grew weak.  Eyes, still hidden protectively behind their lids, rolled upwards.  Gravity did the rest and cooling air rushed passed falling limbs…

 

designated driver

I was given an elixir this morning… This magic potion promised to heighten, sharpen, perfect whatever sense I was concentrating on the most when I drank.  Sounds great, right?  Unfortunately, the warning label in super fine print on the back said that all the other senses would be dulled as a result.

My immediate instinct was to drink it down anyway.  I’ve been struggling with poor eye sight since I was in elementary school.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to see without the aid of glasses or contacts, without the star bursts at night, without numbers and letters swirling in front of me due to my astigmatism?  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to finally be able to see what everyone else is always pointing at and talking about?

I brought the bottle to my lips to knock it back, but as I started to tilt it I caught a whiff of a rather unpleasant odor coming from it, and that made me wonder what it would taste like, and what it would feel like as it ran passed my tongue and poured down my throat.  I shivered at the thought and gulped audibly, the sound reverberating in my head.  I pulled the potion away from my mouth.

I like being able to hear.  It let’s me know what all is going on around me that I can’t see.  I like being able to smell.  The good smells are tied to memories (the oceans, the mountain trees) and the bad smells let me know when something isn’t right.  I like being able to taste.  There is nothing like having a buttery filet melt in my mouth, and if something doesn’t taste right I can spit it out before I do myself harm.  And if I dulled my sense of touch, then would I be able to lift the little prince and hoist him over my head?  Would I be able to feel him tugging at my shirt when he wants to be held tighter?

I couldn’t risk dulling any of my other senses just to see again.  I set the potion aside.  It wasn’t for me.

………

I kept it just in case I found out later it would give me a super power like x-ray vision, or laser sight, or something else awesome.  Then it would definitely be worth drinking…

a month in the life

My dearest little Prince,

A month, a month, you’ve been alive for a month.  And where have those days, hours, and minutes gone?  How has it passed so quickly?  And yet, how has it only been a month, because I feel like you’ve been a part of our lives forever.  Haven’t you?  Isn’t that the case?  I guess not.  I guess that’s just a testament to how tightly you have your mom and I wrapped around your tiny little finger.

I guess that’s as it should be.

Though, that little finger isn’t as tiny as it was a month ago…

I guess that’s as it should be too.

And your eyes, your crystal clear blue eyes, are amazing as they flit back and forth, soaking in every inch of your surroundings, analyzing, cataloging.  I can already see you getting smarter, learning, growing, as I peer into their depths.  And I have spent hours doing just that, powerless to break my gaze away.

Sometimes, when the light is right, I can see myself reflected back in them… and that is a feeling that is indescribable: seeing yourself in your child’s eyes.

Do you recognize me now?  Do you know me for more than just my voice?  Will this time be the time that I pick you up and say your name and you smile at me, not because it is a reflex but because you actually mean to smile?  When will I hear your first laugh, your first giggle?  When I can unleash the Jester that I am fully for your entertainment?  I eagerly await those moments.

In the meantime, I will continue enjoying every second I get to spend with you.  Every squeal.  Every grunt.  Every cry.  Every tantrum over having to change clothes.  Every dirty diaper.  Every moment of quiet alertness.  Every moment of squirm time.  Because all of these moments are just as precious as everything that is to come.

One day you will understand that too, and that makes me grin from ear to ear.

With all my love,

The Jester