Things to Remember; Emily

I did not make this list, and I don't know who did, but I take no credit for it and I am simply posting it because I have fallen in love with all of these words.  

• Quiescent - a quiet, soft-spoken soul.
• Chimerical - merely imaginary; fanciful. 
• Susurrus - a whispering or rustling sound. 
• Raconteur - one who excels in story-telling. 
• Clinquant - glittering; tinsel-like. 
• Aubade - a song greeting the dawn. 
• Ephemeral - lasting a very short time. 
• Sempiternal - everlasting; eternal. 
• Euphonious - pleasing; sweet in sound. 
• Billet-doux - a love letter. 
• Redamancy - act of loving in return.

An Undead Tale

Panic struck me as I rolled over, pulled the safety off my hand gun and was deafened suddenly by the three quick shots I released.

The body dropped on top of me, the hundred-and-eighty-something pound man pinning me to the ground.  His rotten smell enveloped my nose causing me to gag.  But I knew I had to hold it down, otherwise I'd suffocate in my own stomach waste.  

I shimmied my left hand into the inner side of my pant waist, tugging out a worn dagger and stabbing the man's gut to push him off.  

With great strain his body slowly slumped to the side, allowing me to turn over and hurl. 

What little that was in my stomach was now under me, and my body felt exhausted. 

That was the second close-call in the past day that almost sent me to my own immortal death. 

"Fuck!"  I spat, punching the cement beneath me, "Fucking fuck!"

I gasped and sat on my heels, looking up at the setting sun.  There was a stale taste in my mouth, and I didn't want to waste the water I had to rinse it out, so I pulled out a cigarette instead while adjusting myself to be able to see my ankle.  Or in other words, the ankle that the man had grabbed. 

Relief filled me as I realized he hadn't broken my skin with his filthy nails that were filled with this disease. 

I remember sitting at home with my brother when we were younger saying how the world needed something to purge people.  I know that's awful, honest I do, but we were young and heard all about over population issues and all of these terrorist threats.
When the virus hit the news, it seemed like a blessing.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't a blessing because it wasn't natural.
A blessing is something from the natural world that brings a person luck or sense of calm.
This was neither.

I pushed myself up, setting into a steady jog across this street.  All the doors of the large houses were bolted down with wooden planks, metal poles and simple cardboard.   As the sun kept setting, my panic was returning.

I remember when it was the sixth night when the disease started, we weren't too scared because media hyped things up, we knew that.  We knew that.  But when I was in bed, the front door started banging.  Really, really aggressively.  It woke my fifteen-year-old self, as well as my older brother.  Mum and dad were already up, they were always arguing and for the past few days they were arguing about whether to stay at home or visit our grandparents.  But I was really scared. Adrenaline hit me, see?  And my heart was racing.  My brother's room was right next to mine, and I rushed into his room full of fear, to see that he was in his clothes, a backpack on his back and his sword on his waist.  He got that sword for his ninth birthday.  He loved Japanese culture, so a family friend got him an antique katana.  He looked at me when I walked in and asked if I was okay.  I hugged him.
Dad when to check the door.
That was the first mistake.
That was the first damned mistake.
The thing lunged at him.
It didn't bit him anywhere.
It tore him a part.
Drove its hands into his chest with its nails.  Mum ran down to help him, but they travel in packs.  They're smart.  They're very smart.
My brother and I stayed in his room.

My breath was coming quicker, I was running faster.  The sun was almost gone.  I finally saw the lighthouse.  Thank fuck.

But like I said, they're smart.  This disease... I know people would call them zombies.  I know people get angry when shows call them 'walkers' or 'undead' but I can't use the term zombie.  The disease is a strain of rabies and tumour cells.  The people who made it thought the two could cancel out one another.  But it made a mecha-virus.   A terrifying virus.  The cancer cells multiplied muscle cells and tissue as well as rapid brain cell growth.  It protected their minds while giving increased strength and longer limbs.  Then the rabies... it made them crazed.  Rapid movement,  sharper teeth and longer nails.  It shut down the analytical mind and amplified the murderous, kill-or-be-killed.  Then once they began eating flesh like cannibals, it warped their sense of sanity to the extreme, just like how cannibals are affected.

As I reached the water to the lighthouse I dove in without hesitation, swimming to the little island.  And by the time I made it to the door, the sky was purple.

My brother was always into dressing up as a superhero- spiderman, batman-- even as a Jedi master.  He had his sword ready as I quivered behind him, we both were watching the door.
We heard and saw the door shaking.  I felt tears forming.  He was sturdy.  Finally, the doorknob began turning.  Really slowly.  I thought about how in movies they did this to create suspense, but it was the killer toying with the prey.  The door shot open and the thing jumped at my brother.  I remember screaming as he swung his sword against the man's head.  It was rusty, but it cracked his skull and he dropped.  My brother was heaving.  More were coming through the door and he was slicing them.  When there was a break he shoved me, his backpack and something I didn't see under his bed, and he pushed several dead bodies over the bottom so I couldn't be seen or smelled.  And I was trying not to cry.  I was confused as to why he wasn't hiding with me.  But I waited under the bed for days.  Waited for him to get me.  Waited for me to stop being afraid.  But finally, I pushed out from under the bed, and stood up.
My legs were sore, as well as me back.  I tucked the little package he left into the bag and looked around and grabbed what I could.  I also checked around the entire house for useful items.  By the time I got to the front door, I noticed that mum and dad were tucked on the couch, looking like they were asleep, and the front door closed.  I sighed and opened it while saying goodbye to mum and dad.
I threw my shoulder against the door, falling into the lighthouse.  Up, up, up I went.  Finding my little sleeping ground by the rotating light.  I sat on my sleeping bag, looking through my backpack.  At the bottom was the little package my brother left me.  
I added another day to my journal.
It had been Seven Hundred and Eighty-Two Days.
Just over two years.
I sighed and pulled out the package.  He would be Twenty today.
I opened the package for the second time and reread the note inside of it.

Keep going, Isabelle, I'm out there.  I love you.  I'll find you by grandma's as soon as possible.  When you get there, wait for me.  I'll be waiting for you too.  But you need to get to -----

I dropped the package in water before I read it.  But I'll get there.  The sentence after talks about me meeting someone.  Someone by town hall.  The lighthouse is a thirty minute walk to town hall, and I sit there all day, and come back here to sleep.  I've been doing it for two years.

I heard the Lighthouse door open, fear slicing through my skull.  I grabbed the knife and huddled against the wall, waiting. 

Calling

I thought I would try to write you a poem

because I could never explain how I felt

but my throat always tightens from sadness

at the cards that I’ve been dealt. 

So I can’t tell you that my knees feel like they’ll give

or that my face is burning away

just because you acknowledge me

and leave me with nothing to say. 

So I thought that I could try

to bring these to words

but I’m falling

but I’m falling

but I’m falling.

Your simple smile towards me

makes my heart jump into my throat

making my mind explode in euphoria

and escape from my emotional boat.

I get so shaky that I can’t tell if I’m cold

or if it’s just from passing you

and I think so quickly that I can’t see

I can’t see if the sky is blue.

So I need to feel your soul

I need you to hear

that I’m calling

that I’m calling

that I’m calling

you

The Sea

I think I was swimming in an ocean of dreams

When my vision began to ebb

and the stars I was so used to seeing

Decided they wanted to go to bed

I didn’t think too much of it at first

because Jupiter began to shine so bright

and as I let my heavy head fall into the sea

My heart lifted to see it was sunlight.

The Little Mud in Life

When she was young, she tied her hair up away from her face.
His hair was trimmed but messy as he ran through the field with his friends.
She carried a colouring book to the swings, laughing with her older sister.
As she tried matching the blue sky to her picture, her sister pushed her gently.
He was slipping in the mud and yelling at his mates, screaming with joy.
But he slipped too close to the swings, and kicked up some mud onto her.
Her white stocking were wrecked, and the picture she worked on wasn't able to be seen.
Her sister started yelling,
He tried to apologize,
She didn't say anything,
and then the bell rang.
All the students scurried inside, trying not to be late.
But the boy stayed behind to try to wipe the mud off the swing.
The girl wasn't angry, just embarrassed that she was so dirty.
She was sent to the washroom to clean up, but on her way she saw through the window that the boy was using his water bottle to clear the mud from the swings.
She blinked a few times before walking into the bathroom.  She opened the closet full of cleaning supplies and grabbed the bucket and sponge.
She filled it up with soap and some water, but when she got to the swings there was no sight of him.
When she was about to turn away, she heard a slapping noise behind her.  To her feet were a pair of mucky black running shoes.  Her confusion was short, because after she saw them, she looked up.  At the top of the swing set was the boy, and in his hand was one of his socks as he was scrubbing the post.
She called for him to come down, but he resisted.
Finally, she soaked the sponge and threw it at him.  A squishy splat echoed in the air, and a large, oval, damp shape cloaked his navy t-shirt.
He was stunned for a moment, and both the boy and girl watched the sponge squish back onto the gravel.
He hopped down, and asked her what she was doing out of class.
She didn't speak, but pulled falling strands away from her eyes.  She reached down for the sponge and began cleaning his runners.
They didn't speak for a while, but cleaned the mess around them.
He put on his shoes bare-footed as she tried getting the mud out of her stockings.
And when they walked into the school again, they went into their own classrooms.
They didn't see each other again, for he played soccer when he was older while she drew.
But when they passed each other, he thought of her ruined stockings while she thought of his shoes.
And they went their ways.

Amen.

It seems like humanity is lost.
That's heard pretty often from people, yeah?
But every once in a while something will happen that will make your heart feel like a bit of gold is shining on it.
Like there's so many good people out there.

A year or so ago, I wasn't feeling great.  None of my friends were at school that day, I felt alone, depressed and hopeless. It was cold outside, and air helps calm my mind, so I decided I'd go outside in the cold to cry, since no one would be out there.
I was contemplating ditching out the rest of the day, just go home.  Don't even grab my bag, just go.  That's what I was thinking.  And I was going to.
I don't necessarily believe in a god.  I'm spiritual.  And before you glare at your computer screen, whip out the holy water and spray this technology while verbalising the Holy Bible and chanting what a sinner I am, hold up.  Just, fucking stop for a second.
When I was in such a state of despair, I kid you not, a shadow fell across my feet.
Empty field.
Empty courtyard.
Just me.
And as I looked up, clearly upset, I see a dark figure with the sun beams wrapping its edges so clearly she looked like an unearthly being.
I tried to stop crying.
I feel embarrassed crying in front of people.
But this girl, as she bent towards me, sitting down next to me, didn't speak.
I knew her vaguely, she was a yer ahead of me and in my drama class.  I also knew her sister, and I knew that both of them moved from Nigeria a year prior- for her sister and I got along in the classes we had together.  I didn't know either of them though.  But these girls... I can honestly say I've never met two purely whole people that cared so deeply about others.  I consider myself a caring person, but to plants, animals and a few people who I feel deserve it.  This is why I always carry change when I take the train, so if someone needs some, I can say yes.
I'll call this girl Renee.  Yeah... that's pretty, like her soul.  She didn't say anything, but turned her head to me and asked quietly, "Is it okay if I pray?"
I'm not against religion.  I love it.  I love hearing about it.
I loved that she asked this. I nodded and tried to smile.  She bowed her head, her black hair covering her face, and I can hear what she's saying.
"Dear God, I am praying to you for this beautiful heart, for she is feeling ill right now.  And I'm going to tell you why she deserves to feel better.  She deserves to feel better because she has had the sorrow for more than any person should feel.  I know this may be needed of her, but please, please take the pain away for a bit.  Please let her feel healed for a long while before she has to face what is hurting her so.  If you've truly seen her as everyone has, you'd see how she needs a break.  Just a break.  Amen."
And she sat with me for a bit, before she tugged at her scarf and put her hand on my shoulder.
"Emily, please know that you'll be in my prayers."
And she left.
I think that's one of the last times I saw her.
But my gosh, that is one of my most treasured moments.
So when you see a homeless man or woman on the street, and they're asking for change- or they're not- either way, maybe give them what you have, no matter what they use it to buy, just giving them something can make them feel that same glow, that same love and thanks.
It's an idea.
But maybe,
humanity isn't as lost as we think it is.
Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places.

To a Friend

The first time I saw my father, I was already a twenty-nine year old man with an ex wife and a daughter.
And hell, let me tell you, that wasn't no walk in the park either.  It wasn't as though I strolled up to him on a sunny spring day saying, "Care for a smoke?  Only the best for my paps."
Oh no.  It was a bloodbath to say the least.

You see, I was adopted at a young fuckin' age.  My mother died at birth, which my paps blamed me for.  Don't get me wrong, I don't blame the guy, but that ain't no reason to shun out your kid like a sack of rotten Chinese food.   Which is what he did.  By the time I was six I was so fuckin' underweight that I literally blew away in the wind.  Literally.  I was out with some crack-birthed neighbour kids, and we was racin' down the block the some fanny guy's rank old yard.  I chugged down that fuckin' hill like an unholy saint in a churchyard and when that wind picked up, fuck I was gone.  They was howlin' though.  Hell, I thought it was hilarious too.
When I was eight though, man was I fucked.  And I knew it toos.  See, my paps was a drinker.  Hard core, always drunken drunk that was so accustomed to bein' drunk that he was always sober.
But that was no ex'use of beatin' a kid.  A blood related one nonetheless.  But that sore fucker did.
There was a night when I came home late-- the streetlights were on.  That was m' curfew.  And I had screwed the fuck up.  I know that.  I triggered him.  Big whoop.
Or at least, I got a big whoop.
He unbuckled his belt, didn't bother spinning me around, and whipped me across my face, neck, shoulders, abdomen and thighs so many times with his fat, jiggly arms that I couldn't see anything but red on me.  I couldn't see anything but red.
That night I bolted to the police station.
I was rushed to the ER of course, he was placed in handcuffs.
The drunken S.O.B wasn't upset though-- the only time he wasn't upset.  He was laughing with anger.
"He's the fucken murd're!  You should've seen m'girl Nancy!  She was a pretty thang 'till he fucken came 'round!"
Nancy was my mother.  I've only seen photos of her, but she was a pretty little thing.  Short brown hair, large blue eyes.  Medium build.  She looked like a pixie.
My adoptive parents were sickly sweet though.  They've course were them gooey type.  Smilin' so big they always looked like them Asians.  Fucken' Asians.  They the type who sang the carols at christmas, and made you wear them stupid ugly fuckers.  Y'know, the sweaters.  Ughk.  Ugly little fuckers.
Anyhow, as I grew up, I became bored with everything.  In fact, by the time I was thirteen I sat in my new paps car with the windows up and engine on.
Of course, I got out before any damage was done.
Shame.
Fucken' shame.
Even as I grew up, I remembered that psycho.  I didn't see no one, because that would've seemed weak to me.  I need to emphasise it was weak to me to tell some'ne that I thought I had PTSD, because I was beaten so often when I showed even the slightest bit of weakness.  It's just how my mind worked.
As the years dragged on, I was constantly bullied at school.  I think I switched schools ev'ry year till highschool.  That's kind of when things slowed.  Because then I found art.  HA.  It sounds dumb of me to say, an' I know I ain't the best speaker, but art held my soul in ways I ain't ever had it held b'fore.  Not the sketchy-type art, with pencil, but metal work and woodwork.  I built everything I could've in those three short years.  And I was fucken' glorious with 'em.
I got so many of them awards that it seemed almost like a chore to go accept 'em.  Which sounds awful high 'n mighty of me, but I ain't tryin' to be.
Anyways, one of those award evenings, pro'ly in year twelve, I met this girl.  It sounds so cheesy when I say this, but when  I saw her it was like all the light focused in on her, and the rest of the gym was dimmed.  She had this short wavy-type bob that framed her face as it seemed to meld into her skin.  It was a light brown.  Then her eyes, oh god.  They were such a pale blue that they looked Gray.  And she wasn't wearin' those tight black skirts like most of 'em other girls neither.  No, she had on an elegant long sleeved dress that looked like the smoke that came out of people's chimneys.
And my god, when she was talkin' to her group of friends, she looked up under those thick light lashed and met my eyes.  In an instant her cheeks grew crimson, and I felt like I won a million bucks.  And then I felt like I gave all of those bucks to support fluffy bunnies who were homeless or some shit.  I felt giddy.
Of course I didn't have the confidence to speak to her, so we just kind of shared glances to each other now and 'gain.  It was like we already knew each other.
Next day at school she walked up to me.  She said she was Lucy and that she loved my pieces I displayed the night b'fore.
And I never asked her out, we just kind of were together.
That may be the mistake we made, now that I think about it.  I'd see her talkin' to some guy and I'd think she didn't like me any more.
But we loved each other.
We got married when we graduated.  We had Lillian when we was a bit older though.  We was twenty-four, twenty-five.  But then Lucy kept gettin' sick.  She had troubled with her white blood cells, so she got sick often and for long periods of time.  But it got to the point where she didn't get better one day.  Well I guess she did, because she wasn't sufferin' no more.  Lily understood right away when I told her mama loved her, but had to be free of her pain.  Lily didn't cry, she kissed my cheek with her plump scarlet lips and said sternly, "Daddy, we need to be happy that she's okay now."
Luckily she learned to speak proper b'fore Lucy passed.  See, she was an English major, and she was not lettin' her baby suffer with the way I speak.  I would smile, thank her, and kiss her.
She was twenty-eight when she died. Our little daughter turning five.
But something was naggin' me.
I would have nightmares about panic fillin' my chest.  Then I'd wake with a sweat drenched bed.  I'd fear for Lily.  I'd run into her room and cradle her into my arms, and I'd fall back asleep in her bed.
I never hit Lily.  If she done somethin' bad like runnin' out into the street full o' cars, I'd get upset.  I'd yell at her to tell her she'd hurt herself if she did that.  But I never hit her.  I guess that's a lie.  Sometimes, like with the car thing, if she kept doin' it, I had to spank her.  No whips, no belts, but I had to get across that it was unsafe.
And I hated myself for that every day after.
I realised that I had to see my pap.  I had to see where he was and know he wasn't comin' for me or Lily.
So I went to him.

I didn't mean to.  I swear to God I didn't mean to.
I found where he lived.  Some place in Oklahoma.  I drove for a few days.  I left Lily with a sitter.
I didn't want her to meet him.  I didn't want him to know she existed.  So I went up to the old, rotting door.  And this stern looking man with white hair and a wrinkled face opened the door.
     "I don't want the fucking paper, get the fuck outta here, boy."  He waved his cane at me, and I ducked out of the way.  Before I meant to I said,
     "Jacob Merth!  I'm Jacob Merth.  Your son."  He froze.  Then a sick grin spread on his lips as he gestured inside, pulling the door open.
     "Ahh.... I've been won'dren when your ass would show up."
     I don't know why I went in.  I shouldn't have.  I know that now.  But, it's too late.
     All the furniture was torn at corners, and seemed clumped in places.  The radio was on, but it was static, and the t.v was also on static.
     He sat me down at the old wooden table and said bluntly, "Come here to apol'gize?"  I felt shocked.  Twenty-three years, and that's what he asks.
     "What.. do you mean?"
     "Apol-o-gize."  His iron stare made me uneasy.  Why did I come here?  "For killin' my wife, and for getting me thrown in jail."
     "I didn't know you went to jail.  I was six and in pain.  I didn't mean to kill mum, she was pregnant and I was being bor---"
     His hands slammed on the table, "YOU KILLED MY FUCKING WIFE!"
     It happened so quickly, he pulled a large silver gun out from under the table, and cocked it back.  Suddenly I was scared for Lily.  Would she be adopted now, too?
     All the air breathed out of the house as we just stared at each other.  And before I decided to, I jumped up and smacked the gun out of his hand.  It went flying under the sofa, but as I lurched at it his cane came flying up and smacked the front of my head.  I hear a crack on my face, and with the blood pouring into my mouth I think he broke my nose.   He leaped onto me, grabbin' at my throat, but I stepped back against the wall, crushing him.  With him loose, I scrambled for th' gun, frantically searchin' under the couch.  My hand fell across the cool metal, and I pulled it out, aimed at him and shot without hesitation.  The ringing in my ears dazed me, and I found I wasn't holding onto the gun an'more.   I saw a thick red splatter on the wall, and his limp body crumpled by the table.
     I was breathing quite shallow, and suddenly it felt like I wasn't gettin' no air, which made me panic.  I got on my knees and felt vomit pour out of my mouth, onto his worn wooden floor.  The realization that Lily wasn't going to have a father any more hurt more than an'thin' I could imagine.  It hurt more than losin' Lucy.  But I was going to jail.  I couldn't cover this up, go home an' act like nothin' was wrong no more, because ev'ry thin' was wrong now.  My conscious was wrong now.
     I found the gun a few feet away, I think I tossed it out of my hands, makin' it seem like I ain't the one who shot him.  But it was me.
     I lifted the gun and opened my blood filled mouth, placing the hot end in between my teeth.  I love you, Lucy, Lily.  Please forgi------------------