Redemption

Never has there ever been,
a darkness such that swirls within,
fed by thousands of broken truths,
a teardrop falls,
the river spins,
Poseidon comes at sea's wrath,
and with a gentle fist,
wipes away,
upon holy waves,
the haunted death within my veins,
a single breath,
a shuddered gasp,
I am free of my past,
no longer prisoner,
it guides my steps,
no longer tormentor,
it shows the path,
broken and flawed,
i am rebuilt,
I take within me that which used to beat me down,
it is my penance,
it is my gift.

Well Deserved

There is pain there.  Always constant.  I thought I had beat it.  I thought it was starting to fade.
But then I see you and it comes back again.  Rearing its head, I can hear the maniacal laugh coming from
its dark and cavernous gullet.  It shouts at me with liquid acid in its voice.

"I'm still here!  You can not be rid of me that easily!"  It laughs at me, surrounds me with its morbid coils.  My
skin breaks out in a cold sweat.  My sides are turned to jelly.  Soft and viscous, they slowly melt, my heart
is beating pain against my chest.  There are hooks in my ribs, slowly pulling me in half.  Broken inch, by broken inch.  Inside I am screaming for help.  Outside I can make no noise.

My lips stay shut.  There is no breath for me to use.  It is all spent on trying not to succumb to the sobs of guilt roiling inside.  I was stupid to assume I had forgiven myself.  I see you smiling, laughing carefree, and more guilt builds.  I never caused a smile like that.  Only sadness.  Only tears.  My insides are now gone.  I am but a shell of a worthless creature.  How many days did I have to make myself wake up?  How many times did I look in that mirror and scream at my self.

"I HATE YOU!"  How long has it been since I stopped looking in a mirror?  The pain begins anew.  I am Sisphyus, I am Tantalus.  Forever caught.  That is my curse.  I will not try to break free.  Everyday that I survive, is another day of punishment I deserve.  I can not tell my friends.  My loyal friends who say it is not all my fault.  Oh how I wish that I could accept your comforting words.  My loyal friends who refuse to see the monster that I truly am.  I do not deserve you.

So I stay quiet.  I do not tell you when I awake, dripping with sweat, shivering from the horror of seeing what I have done.  I let the pain wash over me and accept it for what I deserve.  I thought it was coming to an end.  How foolish of me.  I have barely pushed the boulder up the hill for the first time.  I have an eternity to go.

The First Package

Charlene could not sleep again for the ninth night in a row.  She could not figure out why.  Every time she would lay down, no matter how tired she was, she would suddenly become extremely restless.  She was becoming very frustrated with the whole situation.  Rain poured down, playing a staccato lullaby on her roof, and time drifted slowly.  A glance at the clock told her that what she thought was three hours gone by, was really forty-five minutes.

With a grunt of anger, Charlene stood up from her bed, walked to her closet, grabbed a pair of boots and a coat, and briskly walked out her door.  She figured, if she had to be awake, at least she could enjoy the storm outside.  Not caring that she was getting soaked, Charlene headed towards the river where she liked to think.  It seemed like the right place to go at the moment.

As she sat on the bank, she thought about the last nine nights.  It was very odd for her to be unable to sleep.  She had never had trouble before, even when she had a lot on her mind.  She would lay down and within seconds she was as good as dead.  Charlene racked her mind for some kind of clue.  And then it hit her, the morning of the first night she couldn't sleep.

She did not have to go to work that day, so Charlene had decided to take a walk to enjoy some air.  She picked a random direction and started walking.  Not long after she started, Charlene saw an old woman walking in the opposite direction to her.  As Charlene passed her, the old woman called out to her.

"You must be the courier!  I am so glad I was able to catch you.  Here's the package, and the money has already been wired to your account.  Thank you so much, this means the world to me."  Charlene had been stunned by the old woman's abruptness, and now she found herself holding a small box, watching the woman heading back from which she came.  She looked at the box to see if there was an address, but there was no writing or label on the paper that wrapped it.

Charlene could not figure out why she kept the package instead of just throwing it away, but her inability to sleep began after that woman gave her the package.

"This is all her fault.  I don't know how, but it is definitely her fault.  I'm not even a courier for crying out loud!  And even if I was, how do I know who to give this to?!"  Charlene yelled into the sky and looked around, half hoping that the old woman would magically appear to either take the package back, or to at least explain why she had thought that Charlene was a courier service.

The woman did not appear, instead, a ship's horn was the reply to her question.  Charlene stood up quickly.  Her mind was racing every which way.  Why was there a ship on the river at this time of night?  Why was there a ship on this river period?!  The river was barely ten feet wide and only about eight feet deep at its deepest areas.  And the ship that was heading towards her was as big as the Titanic.  Yet it glided over the water at a crisp pace.


Charlene watched it as it slowed the closer it came to where she was at.  With another loud blast from its horn, the ship stopped right at her feet.  A ramp began to lower from the side and it's slow progress gave her a chance to read the name of the ship.  The S.S. Chameleon.  She did not know what to make of all this when the ramp touched land, and a shadow started to descend, which she soon saw by his hat and coat, that it was the captain of the river offending vessel.


The captain walked right up to Charlene and gave a great big smile.  She didn't know what to do.  Minutes passed with Charlene wide-eyed and practically petrified.  The captain's smile began to waiver when he realized that Charlene was not going to move or say anything.


"Well?", he said, "Don't be shy now lass.  Hand it over will you?  I've waited fifteen years for my bonnie lass' trinket and I don't want to wait another one just so you can get your wits about ya."  Charlene just stared even more confused than before.  The captain saw the confusion in her eyes and things clicked in his head.  "No one told you what's going on did they lass?  Leave it to land lovers to forget the details."  "It's quite simple really, you are the new spirit courier.  It's your job to carry items from the living, to their loved ones that have passed on.  Now, lets have it shall we?"

"Wait," Charlene had been broken from her reverie with this last bit of information the captain had given her, "are you telling me that you're dead?"

"Now you're catching on little lady.  That's right, I'm as dead as they come, and I have a tight schedule that I need to keep.  So how about you pass me that package in your pocket, and I can be on my merry."  Any normal person would have probably fainted from the thought of talking to a ghost, but the only thing that went through Charlene's head was whether or not she would finally be able to sleep.

Charlene reached into her pocket and pulled out the package, which she never remembered putting there to begin with, and handed it to the captain.

"Ah!  Many thanks lass, now I can be with my bonnie lass always."  and with that, the captain turned and strode up the ramp.  And before the ramp was pulled fully back in, the ship was already moving down the river blaring its horn.  But the noise fell on deaf ears because Charlene was asleep right where the captain left her.

The Perfect Gift

My lady, sweet carriage of Pandora's box, your gaze wanders not away from your query.  The questions that cross the fields of everlasting dreams elude the answers that you seek.  Yet, upon this vassal, a task has been set, to show you that which you seek.  Allow me then, Mistress of Everlasting Sleep, to paint the picture with mine gilded brush....

The quest was for a gift.  A gift of unparalleled beauty and significance.  A gift, to be presented to his love, so that they could finally become whole.  A gift...that was to be presented to you.  Alas!  Sadly, so soon in this tale must the clouds be turned.  He could not find it.  There was not a bauble or jewel that shone brightly enough.  No matter the gleam in the trinket, or the intricacy of the comb, not a thing would suffice, not even the king's very own throne.

He came back to you with empty hands.  With a look of sorrow heavy in his eyes, he knelt before you and raised his hands.

"I promised you a gift that equaled your beauty and the warmth that you show everyone around you.  But I have been unable to find one.  Though my hands may have the appearance of being empty, I can assure you, they are not.  They are filled with the determination to search out what I have proclaimed.  And I will not return until I have fulfilled it."

My lady, you did not care about the gift, but your love for him was great.  And though you wished for him to go not, you let him, for you saw the fire in his eyes, and you could not bring your-self to be the one to snuff them out.  So with a heavy heart, you watched, as the mist of the morning closed around him.

The moon waxed and Waned.  First one cycle, then another, and another.  Tales began to reach your ears of your love.  Courageous acts of valor.  Seasons passed, and more tales came.  Evidence of why you chose him to house your heart.  A village saved, a flood diverted, a creature of myth tamed but not destroyed.  Yet no tale to say he was coming back to you.  He searched and hunted to no avail.  You waited and watched for his return.  And on the eve of the fifth winter solstice after his departure, a figure crested the horizon.

With a tired walk, and a heavy burden, it made its way to your threshold, and one step over.  He fell to his knees with weariness, for he was an old man, and from his cloak produced a scroll with your love's favor.  With trembling hands you reached, a hollow well forming at the center of your being.  Slowly you unfurl the scroll, and allow your arms to drop numb to your sides as what you read strikes home.  From your fingers, his favor falls, and the ring of metal against stone is like the sound of the last iron bolt being driven into his coffin.  He is dead.

Stunned, you wait for the grief to hit.  You wait for the first sounds of a sob to pass your lips.  Yet nothing comes.  Was your love for him less than what you thought?  Did it dwindle as the seasons passed?  You search yourself.  Why do you not mourn the passing of the man you love?  There is a feeling there.  It is not grief, nor sadness, nor pain.  It is something else, something hotter than even the flames of Apollo could produce.  It is a passion stronger than any you have ever felt.  It is the burning of the truth that you know.  That your love is not dead.  And so you make a vow.

"Know this," you say, power growing within you, "this scroll that has been presented to me is full of false words.  I am supposed to believe that my love is dead, but I know otherwise.  Therefore, I will no longer be threaded into the skein of the sisters until my love comes back, and returns to me by his own hand, his favor that lies there upon the courtyard stones.  There it shall stay until he does so."  And with these words, you waited.

Hearing tales that seemed to be about your love every now and again, you sent out searchers in hopes that they might find him.  Always they returned empty-handed.  You began to lose count of how many years you waited.  Ages upon ages, you saw the fall of many empires.  Your own castle slowly diminished before your eyes.  When the courtyard was the last room standing, you decided that you were tired of waiting.  You were going to look for your love yourself.  So you set out, following the same path you remember him taking so long ago, leaving behind the last standing room, and your loves unmoving favor.

We now come my lady, to the journey's end.  You were not wrong when you spoke that your love was not dead.  At least, not completely.  His body did indeed perish.  But he became whole again through rebirth.  His love, your devotion, gave him the chance to fulfill his promise to you.  He would be reborn again and again, even unto the edge of time, until he fulfilled his promise and your vow.

And so he lived life after life searching.  Passing through the ages as you did, searching the whole time for the promised gift, just as you searched for him.  And so does he return to you, for I have found the perfect gift.  Upon my finger I wear my ancient favor, and will gladly return it to your hands as you have demanded.

Your love stands before you, he gazes upon you and drinks you in.  From his head, he takes off the velvet covering of high standing, and towards you, four steps he takes, no more, no less.  and with the glint of a tear in his left eye, he bows, takes your hand, and to his lips does touch but lightly against your knuckle, and leaves behind, the perfect gift of a tiger-lily.

A Sure Thing

Click

I became a villain that night.  The night I yelled at her for the first time.  That's the thing I hate about it the most, the first time, more than once.  I don't think I've hated myself more than now.  I raised my voice and was immediately sorry.  The look on her face tore me to shreds.  I don't even remember what we were arguing about that time.  I'm just glad I never raised my hand to her.

Click

I hate drinking.  So does she.  But then I never really did any drinking.  So I can't blame my anger on that.  I can't even blame it on her.  It's not like I could get drunk anyway.  I wish I was lying.  I wish I was bragging.  Well, I guess tonight will finally be the lie to that truth.  Another bottle empty, I can't remember finishing this one.  How many more bottles before I start forgetting the memories?  There were good times.  We laughed, I remember that too.  But as soon as I start on those memories, the ugly ones rear their heads.

Click

I became a villain that night.  That keeps running through my head.  I'm not supposed to be that guy.  I despise men like that.  Always thinking that they are better than everyone else, full of themselves.  I was supposed to be the hero.  The good boyfriend.  The one who saved her from having to deal with those kinds of men ever again.  Instead I make the number one spot on the world's worst boyfriends list.  I never, Never thought I was better than her.  I loved her.  Another empty one?  No that was the last one.  Here's the new one, already half gone.

Click

The worst thing is that I was never angry because of being some controlling chauvinistic pig.  I was angry because I was hurt.  That is no excuse.  Acting like a child is definitely no excuse.  But that's what it was.  I was a giant child throwing even bigger tantrums.  And the collateral was her.  Her tears, Her scared face, Her inability to speak because of fear that I would get mad at anything she would say.  What the hell was I thinking?  Why couldn't I get over my self-indulgence pity parties?  Why couldn't I make my self talk to her?  Why couldn't I have been better?....That was the last bottle.

Click

To be a villain, you have to regress.  You get worse as you go along.  The things you do become viler.  It's the hero's job to stop it before it affects more people.  To stop it before the world is torn asunder...I always wanted to be a hero.  Never a villain.  It's funny though.  Heroes are not supposed to gamble.  But then again, I only bet on a sure thing.  I'm sorry love.  I never meant for it to go like that.  it was never because I wanted to control you.  I was hurt and acted like a child.  I'm sorry I never talked to you.  I'm sorry I became a villain.  I can promise you one thing.  I won't let it happen to another woman....Remember...squeeze...don't pull....

The Silent Man

There was a calm about him as he walked down the street.  It encircled him the way a mother's arm embraced a beloved child.  Comforting and protecting.  It radiated from his very core.  The grace of his step, which seemed to float him over the surface as fluid as a country river.  The way he held himself, sure and welcoming at the same time.  But most of all were the eyes.  Storm grey and as deep as the Delphi.  Intellect showing through that seemed to be just as vast.  To stare into those eyes would be your unmaking.  

But despite his powerful aura, he traveled through the crowds of the town unnoticed.  The only sign of his passing was a wake of people who strangely felt, suddenly, as if they had just left the embrace of  their one person they could not live without.

Slowly he made his way to the local diner, entered, and sat at a table that was off to the side.  The rest of the patrons gave him no more than a passing glance.  The waitress took his order and left him to his lunch.  Other customers came and went.  When he finished, he paid and left.  Heading North-West he left the town behind him.

Adam had seen the man when he entered the town.  There was something about him that struck Adam as odd, yet he couldn't place it.  He decided to follow the man to try to see if he could figure out what it was that had caught his attention.  As he made his way after the man, the feeling that something was off continued to grow.  At first he didn't catch it, but when they made it into the deeper parts of town, it clicked.  No one seemed to register that the strange man was passing them.

This baffled Adam.  How could everyone not notice this man who stood out so plainly.  But this was only the first odd thing about the man.  There was more, otherwise Adam, after figuring out what was weird, would have returned to his games.  So he continued to follow the man, straight to the diner.  Adam waited a few minutes before entering and sitting at the counter, ordered a glass of milk.

He looked around and again saw that everyone seemed to not realize that the man was there. But as Adam continued to watch everyone, he was startled by what he saw next.  Lucy, the bitter woman of seventy years, who always sat alone and never talked to anyone except to berate them for existing, suddenly smiled a toothy grin, and started to talk lively to the newly wed couple one table over.  Roel, who had lost his legs in an accident recently, started making jokes about his own demise.  And young Ben, who was mad at the waitress for dumping him, got up, walked to the sheriff who was drinking his coffee, and placed the revolver he had hidden in his jacket on the table and quietly left.

Adam knew that the man was the cause for this.  He didn't know how, but he felt that these events were connected to him.  But there was still something not right.  As he turned back to the man to get another look at him he stopped moving.  He watched as the man paid.  The man pushed back his chair and left.  And finally Adam knew what it was.  The man produced no sound in anything that he did.  The clothes he wore never rustled.  The chair he had just seen him scrape across the floor never squeaked a protest against the ceramic tile.  The bell on the door never chimed its greeting or salutation.

Adam jumped off the stool and dashed for the door.  Yanking it open he heard some people grumble at his hastiness but he was already gone before the first words were out.  Quickly he scanned the streets to see where the man went.  Adam caught sight of the strange man's pack turn the corner and he raced after it.  It continued this way to the edge of the town.  The man always just ahead of Adam.  And Adam trying to get that much closer.  When Adam made it to the town's end, he saw the silent man already quite a ways off.  Without a second thought and only a slight pause, Adam stepped past the border of his home and began to follow the man.  He watched as the man stepped off the path and headed for an entrance into the small woods that ran parallel to the road, crossing into the shadows of the trees.  Adam never quickened his step at this but continued at a steady pace.

When Adam made it to the entrance of the woods, he stepped through and tripped.  Picking himself up, he looked down to find the offending object, only to find the pack that the silent man had been carrying.  Feeling someone staring, Adam looked up from the pack to see the man a few feet in front of him looking at him.  There was a question there in his eyes Adam could see.  There was no other movement, just the question and calm patience.  Adam knew that if he needed to, the silent man would wait through eternity for his answer.  He also knew that there was no need to wait that long.  Adam nodded once, picked up the silent man's pack, shouldered it, and waited.  The silent man returned the nod, turned and continued walking.  Behind him, a boy followed.