Bloody Mary

 

  She can hear her friends giggling and joking outside the bathroom door. Teenagers can be so cruel. Even to their closest friends it seems. She stands in front of the mirror in pitch black darkness. Now locked in the tiny washroom she is beginning to regret saying she didn’t believe. Taking this stupid dare now seems like a mistake. Best to just get it done with and move on. The sooner she does this the sooner she will be able to continue drinking and carousing with her friends. Directly in front of the mirror she stands, barely able to make out her figure in the dark moonless night. She leans close to the mirror, and with false bravado speaks clearly.

 

                                           “Bloody Mary”

 

  A large howl erupts piercing the air as the strong wind pushes through the trees outside the little window. Startled, she  jumps back a step and her heart races at the sudden noise. She chuckles under her breath and shakes her head. “Chicken shit”. Her eyes start to adjust to the darkness all around. Her Imagination casts shadows on the wall behind her as she starts to feel the cold chill of terror. Again she leans into her reflection and she hears the words leave her lips.

 

                                            “Bloody Mary”

 

  This time the words come out much less confidently and with a slight tremble in her voice. Her friends still lurking near the door goading and taunting. The hair stands up on the back of her neck and every inch of flesh on her body raises in goose bumps.  Is it her imagination or did it really get that much colder in this small room? She truly believes that there is nothing to fear, yet with each passing moment her anxiety increases. Every tiny noise is amplified as she is overtaken by fright. Phantom shadows dance on the wall and in her mind as she draws deep from the well of her own courage. She shuts her eyes tight as a single tear runs down her cheek and with a catch in her throat and shaky articulation she softly whispers

 

                                             “Bloody Mary”

 

  The young girl opens her eyes wide and waits. Watching the mirror intently for this vengeful apparition to appear. Nothing… Absolute silence. Even the wind outside the window has died. Her tension begins to lift as a smile brings color back to her face. She will be the one laughing now. She turns to leave the bathroom thinking only of how she will tease and chastise her friends over more strong drink and general teenage mayhem. She swings open the door forcefully to loudly begin her onslaught of verbal revenge.

   In a split second of recognition everything changed forever. This poor girl’s screams could be heard three blocks away as tragedy worse than any nightmare was now reality before her very eyes. Her three very best friends on the planet lay scattered about on the floor in a sea of scarlet. Throats ripped wide open, and midsections dreadfully disemboweled. Even worse than all this was their eyes. Three sets of eyes still wide open and holding within them an expression of fear beyond any human comprehension.

  This gruesome scene discovered by parents the following morning. The poor girl was found blood soaked and curled up in a fetal position on the floor in the middle of her lifeless friends corpses. Arms around her knees, and eyes unblinking, she rocked slowly back and forth muttering the same three words again and again. “She is real…..she is real…..she is real…..she is……”

 

                                      “Bloody Mary” Exists.

The Widow Black

 

  A cold winter chill filled the air and brought with it the bitter reality of the frailty of human existence. It was a large gathering this day. All here to pay their respects to the family, and most especially to the tragically misfortunate young widow.

  It seemed like no time at all had passed since many of these very same people were joyously witnessing the joining of these two people in holy matrimony. After suffering the heartbreaking loss of two previous companions to the most unfortunate of accidents, surely this was going to be the match made in heaven. The proof that paradise exists and can be found here on earth. But earth is what stole her happiness from her before it seemed. For her two previous shining knights were taken away by the ocean, and the dizzying heights of a mountain cliff. And while there were those that said this was all too coincidental, just one look at this beautiful fate stricken young woman would tell you right away that she was nowhere near capable of harm. These were just horrific accidents to be sure.

  And now here they all were, unbelievably mourning the death of the third man to fall so deeply in love with this tragically cursed, love deprived young lady. Again, the man she chose was taken by earthly accident. A fatal fire while the fair maiden was away. So lucky she was not to have died by his side that fateful night. Was this some evil conspiracy to drive this poor woman insane? Is she meant to be alone until her dying day? Perhaps we will never know.

  Overwhelming sadness is felt for the loss of this man by all in attendance, but it is engulfed by the compassion felt for his love forsaken wife. For nobody should have to endure the loss of a spouse even once, let alone for a third time in such a young life. Surely she must be damned by some powerful Demon to realize such tragedy and loss to the power of three. The sorrow and empathy were thick in the air, and the emotion could be felt by all that were there. Such raw feeling and strength of concern for this poor youthful matron. Sympathy so strong for her that the funereal reality seemed eclipsed by the pity being expressed for the lady in black.

  As the funeral proceedings were coming to a close and all were done paying respects and consoling the widowed bride, a young man approached and shyly, quietly said “excuse me miss? I could not forgive myself if I did not pay my respects properly. My name is Walter. I knew your husband as a child and considered him a dear friend. My deepest sympathies to you for your loss”. With this the young woman seemingly began to gently weep under her dark veil. Noticing this, the man meekly spoke again, and with a tremble in his voice said “You seem in no shape to drive miss, might I give you a ride to your next destination?” To which she replied,  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance  kind sir. I thank you for your generosity and concern. While I am flattered by your gesture, I have arranged for my transportation previously. But I do hope we will meet again soon, and under more pleasant circumstances?” And with that, the young widow in black turned to make her departure. As she slowly walked away, and with her veil still masking her face, no one could ever possibly notice the malevolent gleam in her eye or the wicked smile as it spread across her lips.

Celestial Sentinel

  I wake once more to the light of a new day. As I shake off the cobwebs left by another peaceful night’s slumber, I have no choice but to smile. I am by myself in my quiet morning world, but by no means am I alone. My companion this day and all days prior is all around me and within my very soul. With each new day of courageous perseverance and clarity of the mind, she gains a stronger hold on my security, sanity, and peace of mind.

  Times have not always been this relaxed and carefree however. My life’s journey thus far has had great triumphs, but has also been plagued with very dark and disturbing travels through worlds of hurt and despair. Whether self inflicted or brought by the hands of others I have felt true anguish.  This wretched affliction is not abolished from my current reality now, but merely lies dormant waiting for my divine protector to lose her grasp on my safety in a momentary lapse of concentration.

  This ethereal energy that surrounds me and keeps me sheltered from the bombardment of temptation and the trickery of tragedy is unwavering in her vigilance. It must surely be an exhausting task to look after someone such as myself. Most certainly my past indiscretions, the playing of dangerous games, and my countless dances with the DEVIL have left her battle weary and burdened.

  This day my heart is rich and my spirit is light, but I must always be mindful of the fact that the dark realities of my compulsions, addictions, and deadly desires lie in wait to be the ruination of my very soul. My Guardian Angel protects me, but I must also lessen her strain by acknowledging my weaknesses and taking avoidance of the most obvious perils that remain to see me fall again. This much I owe to the one who keeps guard of my remaining sanity and protects me from myself.

  The depths of gratitude I feel for this unseen entity are immense and immeasurable. The debt I owe I can never repay. For without the divine intervention of my devoted defender, I most assuredly would have encountered a fate worse than death.

  I am happy today and my thoughts turn to hope. The hope that I will be accompanied by this true warrior spirit for the rest of my days. I want to feel her watchful eyes upon me until my proper time has come and I am peacefully carried off to the kingdom of light and love.

The Girl In The Window

  

   For the first time in many years I find myself in a new place. I needed to escape from the mundane existence I had grown so accustomed to for far too long. Where I am now matters not, but I must say I find it very refreshing to be somewhere different and unfamiliar. Even the constant rain and dismal weather does not seem to bother me. In fact, I have taken to walking most places within reasonable distance and find it a healthy way to clear the mind of distraction.

   On my usual route there is a cottage sitting on one corner that I find very unique. It is a quaint little place that seems to be caught in time. The home itself is kept in immaculate shape. I find it quite unusual that a home so well taken care of would have a yard that is so obviously neglected. Overgrown and unkempt. If it were not for the girl in the window, I would almost think that the place must be recently abandoned.

   Ah yes, the girl in the window. I find her the most compelling of all. She has been there every time I pass by. Day or night. Watching the rain fall and the world go by. More than once I have caught her gaze. She looks so sad. My mind has often strayed to thoughts of what has made this poor damsel seem so forlorn. Is she bound to a wheelchair? Sick with disease? Where are her parents? How long has she been in this state? The questions keep mounting. I am driven almost to the point of obsession with this young maidens plight.

   Once again on an evening stroll I pass by that corner house. Again, the young lady sits in waiting. I just shake my head as I think to myself how unfortunate her situation must be. It is evident in her eyes that her heart weeps. She looks so pale. My heart begins to weep for her as well.  

   A short while later I find myself in the local pub trying to shake off the cold and having a shot or two of liquid warmth. Being so new to the village I have refrained from asking, but with the comfort of strong spirits from the bottle, I am compelled to know once and for all the truth behind the cottage and this mysterious sad girl. Bringing it up in general conversation with the proprietor of this fine establishment, I asked in what I thought was the most respectful way possible if he knew anything of the property and the girl I see each time I stroll past.

   The response I received was both the most unexpected and chilling thing I have ever heard. I am sure to be haunted by these words in my nightmares and in my waking thoughts until the day I die. The man looked at me with a very stern face and said ” I know exactly the girl you speak of and I find your attempts at humor in extremely poor taste. Surely you know that a house no longer stands on that property. That lot has remained vacant ever since the fire”………….

A Nightmare To Remember

   

    Have you had this  dream as well?? It comes to me often in restless fits of frantic  slumber. The destination is always unclear, but the urgent desire to arrive is pressing and tangible. As I cross the threshold  into the empty cavernous stairwell, I am drawn to the darkness  below. An indescribable feeling of  anxiety and agitation takes hold of me as I draw from a deep well of courage to continue down  the dimly lit steps into a vast and harrowing hallway of  uncertainty.

    Why must the lights flicker  so? With no rhythm or continuity the meager lights cut in and out adding to the thick and  palpable unearthly tension. With each descending step the fear increases astronomically. Almost to  the point of paralysis, but never quite enough to prevent me from  taking the next terrifying step downward. Familiar shapes begin to shift and move in and out of the wavering lights. Darting back and  forth from dark to light, light to dark. Elusive but intent on making  themselves known.

    Then come the  voices…Seemingly thousands of voices speaking clearly, plainly, yet cannot be understood. A myriad of indecipherable exclamations fill the air around me. So very many voices speaking as one, and  one as many. Listening to this  cacophony at great length would surely drive one to utter madness would it  not? But would it be an  insufferable madness? Or quite possibly a pleasurable new existence to be  embraced with eagerness and open mind. Certainly there must be a reason for this yearning to discover what beckons me  from below.

    As I press on toward the  depths, I  become aware that the steps that were taken with such fear and  trepidation are now replaced by much  more relaxed and purposeful movement down the steep stairwell into the dark  unknown. My entire body still  consumed with terror, but somehow at ease with the reality of   being  overwhelmed  by sheer unrelenting horror. The flickering of the lights and shape shifting shadow creatures coaxing me ever downward into the  concrete abyss. My senses telling me I am growing ever closer to the realization of all my fears and desires  simultaneously.

    So close now I can feel it.  The anticipation of the impending realization is heavy and distinct. The moment I have been cautiously awaiting is  finally at hand. As I continue to make my way down the steps, I am overcome with the feeling that the mood has changed. Is it  my imagination or is it becoming increasingly brighter in these depths? Yes…. the shadows that led me to this point  have all but disappeared as the light gets brighter still, and brilliant streams of sunlight start to pour through the cracks in the  walls and ceiling. As I start to run downward chasing the darkness, I am pulled  away by the light.

    Sadly, this is where my  dream ends. Each time I seem to get closer and closer to the point of dark  fulfillment, only to be taken away and left to  walk through my waking hours consumed by the curiosity of what I hope to find at  the bottom of that stairwell. For I am certain now that the only peace I will find will not materialize in the  conscious world, but in the dark expanses of my own eerily imaginative unconscious mental dreamscape. Perhaps next time I am drawn into that descending stairway of  dread, I will be able to make haste and find true discovery of self and purpose  with whatever waits for me down  below.

Portrait of a senseless tragedy (Fatal Addiction)

    Tortured souls and darkened hearts, hardened by the atrocities the eyes have looked upon with casual indifference for so long. Beauty seems lost to the sensibilities of the spiritually barren beings whose sole purpose is to keep kindled a meaningless existence. The potential damned and the inherent beauty never realized is the tragedy of reality when the perception becomes one of complete absence of self worth.

   Was it really so long ago when things were much different? When the path that led to this dark place was not so overwhelmingly present? When exquisite grace and soft sensibilities could still be glimpsed in the mirror?  In remembering those times it seems like just yesterday, but somehow, as things have become excruciatingly evident, also seems like a million years have passed since that time of carefree innocence, and the signs of things to come were not so foreboding.

   This must serve as a constant reminder that far too often the other cheek is turned away from the horrific truths and the worlds sons and  daughters are left to join the ranks of the walking dead, as the flame that is their spirit and will to survive flickers in the breeze and is finally extinguished by the cruel hand of fate.

The Angel and the Demon (A silent war)

 

    A war is being waged…. A silent but undeniable war. Fought each and every day in the hearts, minds, and souls of each member of our earthly  existence.

  Jokes have been made and nervous laughter can be heard, perhaps in an effort to downplay the severity of these personal subliminal struggles. A continual confrontation of cast outs and favored angels, tormentors of souls and saviors of the virtuous, all grappling in an unseen battle for the conscious mind.

  White veils of angelic softness wage wars of suggestion with evil as hard as forged steel. Promises of eternal life and everlasting peace fall on deaf ears that hear only the assurances of infinite ecstasy in a kingdom of amoral carnal debauchery.

  Many have made mention of the ANGEL and the DEMON. Often times in a lighthearted manner, seemingly to ease the discomfort. Discomfort brought by the endless struggle to choose that which is right or that which is pleasurable and dangerous.

  We all know these entities well. Each one takes its rightful place on either side of us. Whispering in our ear, speaking clearly, or even the occasional shouting of suggestions and  commands. I must tell you, however, that I am  no longer a puppet. No more am I the pawn in this treacherous game of manipulative influence. My will is no longer being coaxed in separate directions while my conscious mind questions its decisions.

  For the battle that was waged for me has been won and the battlefield has gone  quiet. I will never again question the actions taken to appease the constant direction being  forced upon me from either side. For the DEMON beside me has chased the ANGEL away. The ANGEL could no longer fight the undeniable strength and cunning influence the DEMON  possessed. I have found my single direction and guide through the remainder of my earthly journey. My shepherd and fellow traveler from this day on, this “DEVIL  on my shoulder” if you will, can only be known as “MY IMAGINATION”

What we have become…..

 

  Anger, resentment, frustration, and an overwhelming sense of futility. These emotions cannot be denied in my present reality. However, I am most assuredly not alone in my plight. This sentiment is made abundantly clear  to me by the emphatic voices of my peers and colleagues.  Friends and foes alike cry out at the injustices being served by the ruthless perpetuity that defines the corporate machine.

  We have been reduced to nothing more than numbers. Barcodes to be more precise. To the ones who control the things that affect us most we are really nothing more than a series of seemingly random lines varying in thickness representing some impersonal numerical code. The human factor no longer exists when things are examined from this perspective. We are not even a tiny spoke in the great big wheel, but rather miniscule grains of sand being driven further into the ground as that wheel of progress rolls onward, and the giant known as greed uses the working class as stepping stones in its quest for MORE.

  Our triumphs go remarkably unnoticed while the smallest errors get brought into pinpoint focus. The only true success now is to remain invisible, because to be noticed surely means you have been found lacking.  Each day the microscope under which we are observed gets more powerful and our flaws become more evident while our true value goes tragically undetected. 

  It is because of all this that I call out my plea to any and all who are fortunate enough to be living out a dream as a means of making ends meet in this brutal day to day existence. For if you truly enjoy what you do as a means of survival than I must applaud you with both admiration and a tinge of jealousy. I wish nothing more than to wake with a smile and eagerly anticipate what the day holds in store for me. So if you find my dream your reality, you must promise me this…..  That you will never become complacent or take for granted the good fortune you hold. Smile and remember those less fortunate. Not just remember, but make a promise to yourself to NEVER FORGET.                

FOUR

  First came the RAINS….Steadily pouring for what seemed like an  eternity. Winds blew strong and  hard from  every direction bringing with it sharp whistles and crude  whispers of the events that were going to transpire. Deaf to the warnings  being brought forth by the ceaseless storm, The worlds population  remained oblivious to the imminent destruction about to be wrought on a  home so taken for granted.

  It came from the EAST. starting as a very low rumble, as  steady and unrelenting as the rain, and continuing for forty  days and forty nights. The rumble became louder and more  persistent as the days and nights passed. Soon what began as a low  undecipherable rumble became this Thunderous roar which was being spoken of by many, but  understood by none. With each passing day it became clear  that the rumble was unmistakably the sound of charging horses. Galloping steadily  and with great haste toward the unsuspecting masses.

   The sound being put  forth by the oncoming charge was that of SIXTEEN  hooves pushing onward through  the driving rain, while simultaneously setting fire to the earth with each forceful stride.  Flames rose high behind them, impervious to the sheets of rain falling from the  sky. Sixteen hooves, driving  four thundering steeds. Atop each sinewy mount rode a familiar  horseman. First mentioned in the  BIBLE, the horsemen were that of Conquest, War, Famine, and  DEATH……….For they were the four horsemen of the apocalypse and their journey will bring certain doom to all mankind.

  Riding single file they  take their positions in an ominous line of swift efficient  punishment.First is Conquest, riding a white horse and wielding a bow, bringing all to their knees with ease and force. Second comes a red steed ridden by the  horseman swinging the sword of War, followed by a black horse and a rider holding scales as if to  measure the weight of atrocities committed and balance them with punishment due.  This is the horseman of Famine bringing hunger and desperation to the war torn land. And  last…. riding a pale horse and clutching a scythe, the horseman of DEATH brings plagues and disease to the last of the human race before  collecting their souls for the final RECKONING.

  With the day of final  judgement complete, the souls of all mankind  have been taken for the last appraisal. As the world washes away and burns to ash simultaneously, the FOUR take  their swift departure to the west, leaving only destruction and ghostly whispers of distant memories. Memories of a once thriving population. One not so bent on self destruction and utter disregard for their surroundings.

  What could bring such a horrific demise to  an entire planet rich with  resource and bountiful in its raw beauty? Most certainly the catalyst for the  swift destruction of all the worlds people  was the never ending Greed. Greed for wealth…Greed for power…..Greed for  higher status both in politics and in  religion…..And finally the ultimate reason for Apocalyptic Doom? The  irreversible damage being done to the Exquisite home bestowed upon us by the Creator of all that is good and kind. WHOMEVER that shall be. For the anger caused by  the reckless destruction of such a beautiful gift, was undoubtedly what brought  the “Quartet of  DELIVERANCE” charging  through the land……

 

MY MUSE

  There are many who I can point to directly  that have a definite influence on my tireless imagination. The list is long with people who drive my creative impulse. But I must take the opportunity to bring to light one in particular. Someone who captures my imagination like lightning in a bottle, only to use it to further stoke my passion for the exploration of life through my wandering thoughts.

  She arrives to me in my daydreams as if carried by the wings of a dragon. An inspiration so powerful that she too must be a mythical creature. But I know it is real. So real in fact, that she makes my world of thought come to life in a vivid collection of images and words. The perfect contrast and compliment to my imagination and reality. The push to my pull, light to my dark, and perpetually the balance to any wavering of personal well being. The perfect answers to all of my questions, and better still the right questions to my many answers.

  She undoubtedly is the creative YIN to my imaginative YANG. For this I am eternally grateful, and I hope she is able to recognize how instrumental she is in my journey to explore the twisting, shadow fallen path that is the roadmap to my creative mind. My greatest hope is that she will remain by my side, or never be so far away that I am not able to draw from her bottomless well of inspiration. For all this, the only emotions I can put forth now are heartfelt gratitude, and endless thanks to you…….MY MUSE.