Of Orpheus

Topic: Bats in the Belfry

 

 

     My power lies where? Anywhere I put it, right? I can give it to a man, a woman, to a job, to a god, to you...my power is mine to give and sometimes mine to take back. I lost my power once, to someone who took it when my eyes were closed, when I was dreaming of what could be, not what was. I didn't realize it was gone until it was too late, not until I shed tears easily, not until I thought I had gone mad.

     That kind of thing creeps up on you. You think you gave your will away because it makes sense. You love someone. You want them to be happy. You want to be happy with them. You give and give and there is enough happiness to make it seem right. Every so often there's a glitch and you hide behind the other happy, the good times that make this bad too little to worry about. You start painting the dark and bleak, to daring and bright. You don't see the in-between because you don't want to. You want the illusion, you want what you put so much time into. You have to because otherwise you'll go mad.

     Then the hiding becomes a way of life. The long wide roads leading to everywhere and anything you desire become narrow, twisted, looping about. You live in the crevices of black and white, in the once light gray, seeping into the darkest charcoal night. It's where you re-write your dreams, reshape the facade, where you place the blame on fate. It took you here, not you, not you, because who would choose a life like this? Not you, not you because that would be mad.

     The voices sound and echo through. You ignore them, blame them, scream at them, what they say is not true! I know my life! I know what love is! I accept the choices I made! You cry the words until they seep out of your pores, dripping from your eyes. You can taste the regret,but you call it sacrifice... You have to because you don't want to go mad.

     But the argument never ceases, you never stop the words, never stop the shapes flipping about. Truth is truth. You can make it what you want, kneed it into anything...make a wild dream, turn bitter to bliss...until it hits the fire...reality rages under raku heat, leaping in the orange haze...your far off gaze sees...and you should be mad, you should be, but you can't.

 

 

 

        This is a three way intersection. My topic is "The Dark Side" and my partners and I chose this image as the intersection point. My partners this week are  serpentpixie  and yachiru . No need to read them in any specific order this time, but please do. They are excellent writers and you'll have fun reading them.

Pass the Ammunition
No Man is a Hero to his Valet.


           Nights passed into days until the world was a tumbled gray. I was gray as well, with hints of blue floating around me. I was, perhaps, the only color left in my world and it all started in this room, this once plush and luscious room.

          The white walls were bare now. They were no longer colored by the bright paintings I'd put up there. You know the room seemed so much brighter than I remember it. You'd think in the midst of all this rubble it would seem dark. Maybe it was, and I just wanted to see something light?

          I'd taken the steps and entered trough the side door. The elevator no longer worked. It was normally how I had entered when this place was mine, but there was no electricity here now. The only light was the sunlight filtering through the windows and the holes in the ceilings. I walked to the desk, my desk. It had been pushed several feet from where it once sat. My desk chair was missing, but the chairs that had once been on the other side lay like a dead memory.

          All around me chairs were strewn about. My eye traveled along and then I saw the red chair, the one that Mark had hated so much. I smiled despite myself. I walked to it and stroked the fabric just as I would have stroked his cheek. I missed him so much. I could only hope that he had moved on, found a better life and forgotten me. I wish I could forget him.

          I sighed deeply and went to the scaffolding. It was true, someone was trying to fix the place back up. I wonder if...no, it was best for me not to know. I already had built a world of regret. I could never go back to what had been. My life was different now. Like this once beautiful room, I had been torn apart and like this room will be, I was put back together again, always running from darkness and being brought back.

          “Natasha, please.”

          I turned toward Martino. His light blue eyes contrasted against his black suit. His accent echoed in the room, reminding me of what lured me to him in the first place.

        “One moment.” I begged. He had not wanted me to come here.

          “Now.” He held out his hand, his long elegant figures splayed as if to grasp me.

           I closed my eyes at the pull of him. I felt my body tense with the need to follow his orders. “I just want another moment.” I closed my eyes as they filled with tears.

           “I told you this would not end well.” He came to me, quicker than a blink of an eye. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the door. “People are coming. We cannot be seen here.”

           “People?” My heart bounded, what if Mark...

           Martino read my thoughts, literally. “If he is with them. I will kill him. I tire of your obsession.”

          “He is not an obsession!”

          He stopped hard and I fell to my knees from the force.

         “If he feels any pain it is your fault. You're the one who insisted on playing human. Don't forget that he is better off thinking you dead.”

          I stood with bits of plaster stuck in the fiber of my stockings. I brushed it away as I once again brushed this life away. Martino was right. I could never be with Mark. I belonged to Martino; I always had and always would.

          I nodded and left as told. At the door I turned back memorizing that ugly red chair. Soon it was all I would remember of love.

This week is another Intersection with the same topics as last week, "Playing the Odds" and an Open Topic. My partner this week is the extraordinarily talented basric  Check her piece out first, mine is part two.

 

          Angels and Demons, we're not so different, you know? We both have a job to do, a place on Earth with certain tasks. Mine was on the ninth floor. It was where I was given a choice. Move on or stay. I chose to stay because Harry was still here, still hooked up to machines, and I couldn't walk away.

           I'd wanted him to live. I was sure I could save him, but Angels and Demons aren't so very different, not to human eyes, and...it didn't work out and I found myself trapped on the ninth floor.

           Trapped? Cursed, maybe? Depends on how you look at it. After the first few years I decided to turn it into a mission. I spent my nights caring for those who would accept me, walking those whose time had come to their final destinations. Of course, I sent chills down many a spine. I turned corners only to disappear and reappear behind curious eyes. Yes, it was all beginner's tricks, but a poltergeist was something I was not. Had I learned those skills, I might not have so many regrets today.

          Mr. E came one night. I felt him enter the hospital. Floor after floor, he rose to mine, and every lost ounce of me feared him. I knew from the first moment that he was out of my league. I never knew such terror in life – or in this death.

         I left him alone. I stayed away from him, from that room, and I did my best to wait him out. I thought he'd get better and go home, but no. He died. He died in that room on my floor, and when they took his body to the basement he stayed behind. I tried to get rid of him. I tried, I really tried, but he mocked me with death.

         So many lives lost, just so he could watch me cry.

         “You're pathetic!” He wailed at me. “If you were alive I'd take your body and rip you apart!” He laughed at me, his voice cackling through the walls, sapping the heat from everything. “But no, no, this is more fun.” His eyes glowed red as he wiggled his claws at me.

          “You can't do this forever,” I said. I hoped.

          “Why not?” His voice was light, airy, like a happily defiant child. The contrast gripped me and I wanted to run...he laughed, sensing every bit of my discomfort.

         “They'll catch on and stop you...” I tried to project confidence, but it was hard under his glaring eyes.

         “These cunts? I doubt it. Women are still stupid, my dear, always will be. And you, with your self-loathing...” He winked at me. “It's so precious. Your husband died, in your ghostly arms, and you're stuck because...?”

         My eyes narrowed.

         “Because you are worthless snatch.”He finished.

           I stood and raged at him and he laughed at me. The sound rippled through the room. The lights flickered and machines began to beep. Every argument he and I had resulted in the electrical systems on the floor going haywire. I didn't like the tension it caused in the nurses on the floor, but I didn't know how to control it.

          “Mmmmm, do you feel it girl? Ahhhh.” His eyes closed as he reveled in the emotions floating from the nurses and patients. He ate it up, all the fear and pain. It disgusted me, but he ate that up as well. I decided to take a different approach.

 

          “You're just as worthless as I am. You're dead.” I turned my back to him, full of confidence.

 

           “Am I?” He came up behind me. My energy rippled; it felt like icy teeth biting into me.

           “You're not breathing.” I turned and his face was directly in front of me. I swore I smelled rotting meat from his “breath”, but it couldn't be.

           “I will be.” He grinned wickedly, taking in my uncertainty.

           “How?” I didn't need to hide the fact that I didn't understand. I didn't. I had wasted years not learning many skills and he knew it. Had I  more abilities, he couldn't run all over my territory like he was.

           His eyes gleamed. “Ah, clever. You want to know how to do it.”

           “Do what?” I watched him study me. His eyes went up and down my body. He'd done this before and it made my skin crawl, but not this time. He was actually assessing me.

           “You want to know how to find a body.” He walked through me.

           I froze, like liquid air freezing in the midst of him. I held back a scream and sucked in every vile emotion

            “Is it possible?” I dug for as much information as he'd give me.

 

           He laughed again. “Yes, stupid girl, it is.” His smile grew even bigger. “For the strong.”

            “I'll wager that I am as strong as you are.”

           “Accepted.” He grinned.

           “What?” I didn't...

 

           “I'll kill them until you can save them from me.”

           “No! I didn't agree to that.”

           “I will kill them regardless. The one who doesn't die is the one I will take.” He slithered up to me and his dragged a claw against my cheek; I actually felt it. He chuckled evilly. “Be an angel and stop me.”

           He took his first victim within hours of that conversation. A forty year old man lost for what? A bet? Mr. E would like me to believe that, but he'd said it already, he'd kill them no matter what.

           I took to task and a demon became my teacher. While I tried to stop him, I watched him. I paid attention to what he did. It took me two more deaths before I really understood anything. I couldn't save the fourth victim, though. I couldn't save any of them. So, I took a different path.

           I made sure that the staff was afraid. I used my new found skills and turned the place upside down. I'm sure they blamed it on Mr. E, but that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted them to be afraid enough not to put another person in that room. I thought I succeeded. One of the nurses saved the young man. She moved him out of the room. But...

 

           It's hard to convince everyone. The assistant manager put another person in and we lost him. I hate to say it, but perhaps this was a good thing. They brought in a priest. If I couldn't do anything, maybe he could.

          The moment the priest entered the room Mr. E started to laugh. He laughed so hard that it made me deathly nervous. The priest began his blessing, chanting, flicking holy water all over the room.

           “Dear girl, should I kill him?” Mr. E looked over at me.

           “He's a man of God!”

           “Mortal enemies, dear. It's natural.” He winked at me then began dancing all around the man, laughing at the incantations. He acted as if nothing affected him, but there was the slightest change in his tone, the subtlest hint of fear in the undercurrent of his words. This made me smile. This gave me strength. Every bit of doubt Mr. E showed gave me hope.

 

           “Maybe you should kill him.” I said. I didn't believe he could do it.

           “Haha! You are the sweetest angel!” He floated over to the priest and reached out to touch him.

           “You can't.” I said adamantly.

           “You are right. But that's not what I intend to do.”

 

          My eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”

          “Watch and learn bitch. You can have the next one.”

 

         I was horrified. “No.”

         Mr. E tilted his head. “Do something.”

         Do something...

         Those two words echoed in the room. I screamed at the top of my lungs. The demon I knew as Mr. E moved effortlessly into the man. I panicked and chased him...into the body.

          One should always look before the leap. I didn't.

          At least, room 926 is safe now. At least, he stopped killing as promised. I stopped him. I continue to stop him. I know it is because Mr. E is always with me.

 

 

 

Topic (Intersection) Playing the Odds and an open topic. My partner i_17bingo took Playing the Odds. <---Read the fun part one first. :)

 

 

           David followed her scent as they both crept through the sleeping city. The night was quiet, cold and glistened with recent rain. A strong wind whipped through the streets, whistling past buildings. She stayed upwind of him and he luxuriated in it. Her perfume wrapped around him, stroked him. He couldn't wait to touch her skin and feel the heat...He stifled a snort. There would be no heat from her body unless she had freshly fed. It was that thought that made him question the intelligence of meeting with his longtime enemy.

 

           Ariana seemed to notice his change of heart. She suddenly stopped her steady pace and turned to him. She saw him several yards away, walking openly and unafraid while she slinked through shadows. The sight made her smile. David was pure alpha wolf, and a male she had wanted to taste for decades.

           Decades...she had been a vampire for a few of them. She knew that what she was about to do was against the rules, but then so did the alpha wolf who had continued his walk and stood only steps away from her.

           Ariana grinned at him, then turned, walking up the steps to a brownstone apartment. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. She left the door open and he followed her as she knew he would. She started stripping immediately. She heard his low growl behind her and it tingled against her skin.

          “Wait.”
 

          “What?” Ariana stopped with her top halfway over her head, leaving her breasts exposed.
 

          David didn't say a word. He came up to her, gliding his hands along her body from waist to shoulder. He gripped her hands, keeping her face covered in red silk. He leaned down and kissed her neck, nipped at it.

 

          “You want me to bite?” David smiled as he grazed his teeth along her skin, taking his time. He chuckled at her intake of breath.

 

           “I want to bite you,” Ariana said breathlessly.

 

           “Of course you do.” David picked his vampire lover up and slammed her against the wall, holding her hands above her head.

 

          “Oooo, puppy wants to be mean?”

 

          “Puppy's gonna tear you up, sweetheart.”

 

          With those words David kissed her cloth-covered mouth. He felt Ariana's fangs release as she met his fervor. He growled, feeling the tension of the wolf inside of him. He wanted to fuck his vampire princess. He had wanted it for so long, and now he was about to.

          His hands ran along her body, feeling the desire between her legs and the stiffening of her nipples. He took one into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, biting gently at first, then threatening to sink his teeth in. At her hiss, he needed to feel her mouth on him; he pulled her blouse off and sucked in air when the full scent of her body collided with his senses. She smelled like sex and he wanted to be smothered in it.

 

           Ariana felt cool air on her arms as the top was pulled from her body. She gasped when she looked into her wolf's eyes. He was hungry, hungry for her, and she could do nothing but shiver. She flashed a wicked smile at him and ran her fingernails across his back when he leaned into her.

 

           For moments they were nothing but hot mouths and digging nails, sucking and scraping into flesh, vying for dominance. Each had waited for so long, each putting their lives on the line for this singular moment of passion and desire.

          Sex and fire heated the room, heated their skin and drove them to the floor, moaning, groaning and screaming for more. Ariana's mouth opened wide and she took his flesh into her mouth just as he slammed himself into her. Her cry was lost in his blood pouring into her mouth. She tasted the power of the wolf. It overwhelmed her, and she finally knew why she should fear him, but she couldn't. She couldn't turn from the pull of him. His dark gazed seared her just as his cock now sent her to climax.

 

          David lost himself in the sensation of the woman beneath him. Their past was forgotten as he pummeled into her body, feeling her muscles grasp him with a strength that weakened his bones. He could die now, right here. Let her drink him dry. He would pass away happy and satiated, finally knowing his equal as he released himself. He let go, feeling the arch of her back, the pull of her want as she cried out, calling to God and anyone else that would listen.

           He fell forward, barely able to breathe. She caught his breath with her mouth, and he let her. He couldn't fight her touch, didn't want to. They kissed hard, then softly falling back to the earth in each others' arms.

 

          “Oh God, David.”

 

          “Is that my new title?' He laughed.

 

         “You're such an ass.”

 

         “And you are a lovely woman.” He looked into her sea-green eyes.

 

          He meant it, and she knew it. If she had ever doubted him, she didn't now. She nuzzled his neck. “I mean, 'Oh God, David, we can't do this.'”

 

         “We just did.”

 

         “They'll kill us.”

 

         “We're going to die sooner or later.”

 

         “Maybe you are.” She tried to laugh, but found she couldn't.

 

         David brushed her hair from her eyes. “Don't worry about it, angel face. We'll work it out.”

 

         “Will we?”

 

        “Of course we will.” He tried to smile, but found that he couldn't.

 

        “Yeah.” She smiled for them both.

 

 

Whisper...

 

 

          “Shhh...”

 

          He stood next to me, brushing my bangs to the side of my face. I looked up at him, smiling through my half lidded eyes. I love you, I mouthed, keeping quiet. He leaned down and kissed me, kissed me hard, running his fingers through my hair and gripping tightly. I moaned beneath his lips and he took my mouth with more fervor. I began to writhe in my bonds, hands bound above my head. The struggle lured him into me, into the beauty of captivity...

           I knew what he saw. He saw white rope twisted around my honey milk wrists. He saw my legs splayed, pulled wide by the same flashing white fiber around my ankles. Did he see my wetness? Did he see the desire seeping out of me, quietly begging for steel, his steel? Did he see the sweet pout of my lips, hungered flesh starving for him? Or hear the whispered moans of my flesh struggling to touch him, to be touched by him?

          I closed my eyes as his fingers lay lightly over them. I felt the heat of his breath tickle my ear, whispering what he wanted to do to me, what I couldn't stop him from doing to me. I answered him with a flick of my tongue, nibbling on his ears.

          He chuckled, then growled. “Be careful, girl, of what you wish for.”

          I growled back and arched my body into his.

 

          “Conquer me.” I whispered softly.

 

           “I already have.”He whispered back.

 

          “Show me.”

 

           His teeth sank into my neck, soft, searing pain. He nibbled, tasted me. I gasped. His mouth moved down, along the curve of my bones, to my breast. He took my tender nipple into his mouth. He threatened to bite down. I dared him to do it. He pressed his teeth against the flesh. I pushed my body upward, forcing him to. He pulled back. He would do it by his will, not mine.

 

         “Now, now, little girl.”

 

          I whimpered. He smiled. He continued downward, tracing a path down, down, down. I wriggled beneath him, trying to quicken his pace. He slowed, took his time, teased me until I struggled out of frustration. He laughed again, enjoying himself.

 

           “Please.” I said, maybe too quickly. I had no patience tonight. I wanted him, all of him in every part of me.

 

           “Such a pretty word.” He said.

 

           “Master...please.”

 

           “Ah, even better.”

 

           He stopped at the part of my lips, tickling my thighs with his fingers. I tried to spread wide, but couldn't. The ropes kept me in place. I pushed my hips higher. He raised his mouth higher. I lifted. He lifted. I whined, then grunted.

 

           “Please!”

 

           He smiled, then touched my lips with his, just barely, just a hint of touch. I whimpered again, frustration kicking in. I felt his amusement, felt him smile against my skin.

 

           “I don't know, slave. Maybe I'm done for the night.” He looked up at me, eyes twinkling.

 

           “No! Please, Master, please!”

 

           “Please what?”

 

           “Please....” I didn't know. I just wanted........“Fuck me.”

 

           “Is that what you want?” He slid his tongue into the soft folds of my pussy.

 

          I arched hard.

 

         He pulled back again.

 

          “I don't know, slave. You're confusing me.”

 

           “Master!!!”

 

          “You know I did order you to keep quiet.” He arched a brow.

 

          My mouth fell open. No, no, no! I kept my mouth shut, but my eyes said it all. Please, Master forgive me!

 

           “Hmmm.” His brow raised; He got a wicked gleam in his eyes.

 

           I'm sorry. I implored.

 

           He leaned back, licked me, softly, gently. He spread my lips apart, the cool air contrasting against the warmth. He flicked his tongue across my clit. I moaned, as quietly as I could. He flicked it again, watching the reaction of my body. Then he twirled around me, licking, sucking, bringing me slowly to orgasm. My body moved in time with him, swayed to the rhythm of him, reached out, climbed higher and higher. Sounds fell from my mouth. I bit my lip, moaned, groaned and tried to reach for him, press him into me. I was ready, I was there. I needed only a second more, one second-

 

          Then he pulled away, smiling triumphantly as my moan dared to grow loud in protest.

 

           “Shhh.” He reminded me.

 

          I swallowed my frustration, pulled it back into me. He gave me a lopsided grin and started at me again, clit in mouth, pushing me, pressing me and pulling away just as I needed more. He left me wanting, needing, begging in soft whispers, please, Master, please...

 

           “I'll think about it.” He answered my pleas and I spent the night hoping, begging for Master's mercy.

 

 

 

Mirage...

           I can't fully recall the first time I saw her. I can't remember if her eyes had been steeped with horror or wonder. If I could, I can't imagine that my memory would be correct. I imagine that I would cast a different light on that moment, refract it a thousand times until we were surrounded by the spectrum of light, from red to orange, to blue to green, to the moment when light is all or nothing and is colorless in black or white...

           Hmmm, black or white...

           She was food. I remember that. I saw her across a crowded mall, alone and tragic covered in shopping bags. Her dark brown hair glistened and almost seemed black, but my unnatural eyes saw the depth in her ebony locks, browns, reds, lustre of gold fringed in copper. It was her eyes that caught my attention, though. It was her eyes I had to see up close.

          Violet....

           I strode up to her and she caught my scent. I smiled when I noticed it. She felt me, saw me, glanced in my direction with a second of terror...?...wonder...?...just before her human mind painted sunny realities over me, hiding the darkness and dread that overlaid me. I was profoundly astonished by her sensitivity, her natural empathy. I smiled white at her, hiding the urgency of red. Could she see the colors of my desires?

           Red...

           She wore a red coat over a black skirt. I could smell rain in the fibers. I could smell wind and the humidity of her car when she had cranked up the heat. It reminded me of home, of earth, of dark brown in layers of dirt and soil. I carried my homeland with me, not because I had to, but because I had read it in a book and it seemed a romantic idea.

           Brown...

           The color brought me back to her hair, to the dark fringe of her lashes set against her vibrant eyes. I stood in front of her, smiling, flashing teeth and she smiled back despite herself. She had tried to stop it, but the instinct to meet a smile with a smile was too great. She hid her eyes then, ducked them away toward a Pottery Barn display. I followed her gaze and saw us reflected in the glass. We were beautiful together, my tall, sturdy frame against her fragile strength. We were shades of each other, two hues, different in tone, but meant to blend into each others' lives...what color were we? I couldn't see. I could not see past the lust of my veins and the ramping up of her beating heart.

           Colorless...?...

           I needed to know her, the shade of her, the taste of her. I needed to blend us, mix us, to become one in a way no human bond could create. My need took over everything, it took over her. Then she...took over me.

          I should have seen it. I should have sensed it. I should have known that she would wash over me, sapping everything I am, was, could be. But I couldn't see it, she was too refracted in the light, too pretty for my heart to stand, too shiny for me not to touch.

          I shouldn't be surprised by my own creations. I shouldn't be shocked by the crafting of my hands. It shouldn't be a wonder that when I took the choice from her that she would someday take the choice from me and I lay here, in the darkness, so alone, almost afraid, unable to see a shade of anything, but my own existence....

          How many feet under? How far from the breath of other life? All for what? For eyes of violet and the illusions of refracted light.

Week 18-Jetsam


I have to write on this topic one more time...don't worry, it's quick.


           It was a dark and stormy night. No, really it was. It was rainy, windy, and cold. I lay on the bed waiting for the night to move on. I was tired, unable to sleep then....my water broke.
           The breaking of water is truly a strange sensation. I read later that most women don't experience it “in the wild”, but in the doctor's office after their contractions start. Oh no, not me. Mine broke on a dark and stormy night while I watched Kitchen Nightmares. I felt this outward punching sensation. It wasn't painful, just odd. So, a punch then a gush. Then another punch and another gush. I have to say it felt....good, like a relief of pressure. You know those moments. You can apply anything to it whether it be physical, emotional or what not. It felt right, it felt needed and it felt comforting to finally have it happen.
          Unfortunately, this was one of those messy reliefs. So, I took a shower. I guess I should have been a little more freaked, but I wasn't. Neither was Daddy. We mosied until...until the first contraction. Until, the second one was three minutes later and the intervals never stopped being three minutes apart. So, a quick packing of stuffs and off to the car, out into that dark and stormy night I keep mentioning. We headed to the emergency room then off into the labor and delivery suite.
          Wow, I was about to have a baby.
           Um, the breaking of the water was this super cool thing. Contractions are another thing. To get them three minutes apart from the get go sucks like you cannot believe. Having to live through three hours of it before I got my epidural sucked too. But I had my support and Mr. Soon-to-be-Daddy-for-the-third-time was calm and cool and offered his fingers for the breaking every time I needed to squeeze his hands to get through my contractions. What a nice guy.
          I finally got that epidural and then spent the next 12 or so hours trying to sleep. I was told I would need the energy. Okay, sounds reasonable. It sounds reasonable, but it's hard to truly understand something you've never experienced before. But the time came and the baby came. It took 40 minutes of pushing and zoom, zoom on Persian New Year's Day, a day before the Spring Equinox, one day earlier than my personal birth plan I became a mother. That's pretty amazing. I'm pretty amazed and I think I'd be willing to do it again assuming it's all as easy as “it was a dark and stormy night”.

Open Topic.....39 Weeks.

           There's a casual rain outside, slowly drumming up for something more. I can hear it on the wind, feel the intensity of electricity in the air. Something's coming and it's bigger than life. The thought turns my mouth. The ends of my lips tip upward and I allow myself to smile. Something big is coming and it's you.
           It's been 39 weeks since the concept of you entered my life. It has been full of fear, rage, worry, happiness, uncertainty, happiness and so many emotions that I can't begin to list them. If I did, I'd spend the rest of my night doing that.
           So, 39 weeks....such a short time in the span of a life. Yet, it seems the longest chunk of mine. I have done so many things, learned so many lessons, avoided and collided with life in so many ways I wonder how that will play into yours.

           What kind of mother will I be?
           What kind of little girl will you be?
           How many times will I run through the emotions that I've already listed?
           How many times will you?

           I fight my thoughts day after day. I want to paint your steps while I'm painting your room. As I wash away the dirt in the rug, I want to wash away all of my mistakes. I want you to start clear, free, clean of everything that I have done wrong. But I want you to live. I want you to dream. I want you to learn all the things you need to have a better life and sometimes...that means pain.

          How strange that thought twists about. How strange to want to protect you from everything, but know that I can't and that I shouldn't. How strange to seek balance. You are a child, but you will not always be. One day you must be strong enough to stand on your own, make your own decisions, perhaps paint away the pain of your life to give your own daughter her new beginning.
          I want to ask your Grandmother how she did it. How did she create me? How did she know when to push and when to stand back? How many tears did she shed knowing that the only way I would listen was to fail on my own? How many times did she hold her tongue and what did it take for her not to? Oh my Mother, the strong, the wise, the beautiful...the kindest soul my soul has ever known.
          Will you reflect her, my love? Will you smile her smile or mine? Will you walk her walk or mine? Or will you be pieces of us, dancing wild in the night, slinking through shadow and smiling like you own the world? Right now, I can only dream. I can only imagine the sparkle of your eyes and the curve of your lips. I can only pretend what life will be like with you, what I'll be like with you. Oh, it's coming, something big, something bigger than life.

          It's 39 weeks...not too long to go. I hear the drumming of the rain. It pitter-patters on the concrete. It kicks in time with you, left, right, up, down., You are alive in me. I am alive in you, and soon I will get to know you, my angel sweet.

Open Topic...In honor of Yum Yum, my loving friend,may he rest in peace.



           I sneak a peek around the corner. I see her tail flinch just a tad. She thinks I don't know that she saw me, but I see her eyes drift slyly to my direction then back again. Ooooh, so quick she is! I barely saw it. But I know her ways. I have been studying her since the day I was brought here. I crouch low and get my tail in the air.

          Ooop! Too high. The reflection of my twisty tipped tail is bouncing in her yellow pinpoint eyes. She smirks at me and dips her head to daintily sip water. I have to start all over again. The illusion is completely broken -- or is it? I take the chance as riplets of water wet her whiskers. I pounce upon her and she is beneath me. She wails her big cat wail and I grace her with my kitten purr. I nip her ear and she twists. For a moment, I am flattened against the floor with a black and white paw against my chest. Not for long, for I am a lion and she nothing but a lioness. I turn about and am on all fours again. She crouches at me and her shriek meow is nothing but a whinny to me.

          I will not be daunted by mere sound. I jump at her again and she catches me mid-air. My pastel orange stripes are all that I see. She thinks she has me pinned. Her yellow dot eyes are looking into mine. She shows me teeth and I show her claw. She places her weight on me. She has sunk to low tactics, but I am quick and squiggle my way out. I run to my corner and take a moment to calculate. She sits arrogant, cleaning her paw. She has not won. This is merely an interlude. The day is drifting slowly and night has yet begun. I have hours to conquer.

           She watches me as she prances past me and hops into a ray of sun. She stretches out on the bookcase and cuddles between Shakespeare and King. She will know misery soon enough. Right now I see her point, there is much ado about nothing. I take her cue. and curl up next to her. She left me just a pinch of ray. I yawn big and settle next to her. She scoots slightly and the sun touches my whiskers. I am home here cuddled in books, sun and fur. I look at my bowl, but I can't help but yawn again as I purr into my afternoon. She thinks I have drifted off to sleep, but I am plotting. I think perhaps after I have dined, had my chin rasklies and chased a ratatat, I will commence with my plans.

Inside Baseball...

 

 

            I hit my first baseball when I was five years old. I remember it was on a stick thingy and I was told to swing at it and I did. The ball flew and I ran around the bases for a homerun. I hit home run after home run when I played Tee-Ball. My Dad was so proud.

 

            We moved. We always moved. Dad was in the military and that’s what military people do, move. I didn’t play baseball in the next town, but I did swing a bat.

            Dad tells this story about me coming in the house and looking around for something. He says I left with a spatula and came back about 10 minutes later. I did another search and left with the broom then came back about 10 minutes later. The third time I came back I traded in for a baseball bat. I didn’t come back for a long time. When I did, I walked in plopped down and watched cartoons.

            An hour later my Dad answered the door. There was an angry father on the other side. He was screaming at my Dad about how horrible my Dad’s kid was for hitting his kid. My Dad asked to see that kid, it was a ten year old boy. My Dad asked me to come to the door. I was a tiny five year old at the time. The other man’s 10 year old towered over me. So my Dad says “You really want to tell your CO that your 10 year old son picked on my 5 year old daughter and got his ass kicked?” That was the end of the conversation. I wasn’t allowed to take baseball bats out of the house without permission.

 

            We moved again and this time no baseball for me. I played normal games with the kids and started hanging out with the older kids. I always did. I was seven hanging out with junior high kids. I was some kind of prodigy mascot. My baseball time was just Dad and his baseball cards. He had this game him made up that involved statistics. I’d look at his notebooks and compare them to the cards he collected. It was then I realized that baseball was more than just hitting a ball around a diamond. It took some kind of skill. I hadn’t realized because to me it’d been so easy.

 

            The next town was supposed to be our last town, but that never really happens. We spent time there though and I found myself enrolled in little league. I played hardball. I wouldn’t play softball because that was for the girls and not for me. I was a hard core tomboy and didn’t want anything to do with girls. Ick.

             Plus, I never understood why they gave the bigger ball to the girls; their hands were smaller than the boys. It made it hard to throw and what’s up with a underhand pitch? There’s no power in that…

            I was always chosen last because no one wanted the girl. However,  I was always the star pitcher. I was always the secret weapon. I had a mean fast ball. I could catch anything. I knew exactly where to throw the ball and I hit so hard and far that I was a clean-up batter, number four in line. I might have been on a great team, but …I was moved to a new league the following year.

            The same thing happened there, I was on the worst team because I was the only girl. I had no idea that back then it was unusual. I had no idea that this women’s lib thing had taken into effect and the only reason I was playing was because the law said I could. I had no clue that when I was stepping on the mound and playing with the boys that it was something really special. I had no clue because it was too easy.

            My coach that year measured my fast ball. I was throwing at 72 miles per hour from a professional size diamond. I wasn’t even 12 years old yet. I remember him telling me that he wanted me to go to the senior league the next year. He said I could be a star. But things happen, people move and things like baseball get forgotten. I forgot about it because I was tired of so much else happening in our lives.

            Mom and Dad were divorced that year. We moved again. I lost hold of anything stable one more time. My Dad’s promise that we wouldn’t move again was a lie to me. I understand now that there was no choice, but back then I couldn’t tell the difference.

            Baseball became a thing of the past. It’d become too hard.  I was tired of it. I didn’t care. I didn’t need it. I decided I wanted to be a different kind of girl and all that women’s lib stuff meant nothing because in the end I wanted to be what I wanted to be. Later, I understood that was the point, choice. I could choose what I wanted my life to be.

            I dropped sports all together and put my mind into art and writing. I had always done these things, but now they had become a necessity. My mind needed to be exercised more than my body and that’s what I did.

            Time went on. Dad wasn’t around much because he was military and he was often in other countries. Most of my connection with him was through his family. I saw them every summer and spent time being a surrogate piece of him.

            The next time baseball came up between Dad and I was in my later teens. We went on a family visit together and Dad told me his story about his baseball cards. He told me how he used to own Mickey Mantle, Babe Ruth and some other great, great cards. I remembered the story. I recalled how he’d gotten into trouble and Grandma burned those cards as punishment. Dad would always bring it up, resenting that Grandma had burned away a fortune. That year I got tired of hearing that story. I was tired of baseball and what it meant. Baseball was Dad and both were too far away for me to really connect.

 

            “Dad, get over it and stop bitching over spilled milk.”

 

            He didn’t like that comment. He hated it. He told me to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the day. Yep, that was me and my Dad. I never held my tongue with him. We fought like cats and dogs. I was in ways, too much like him, too strong, too mouthy, too opinionated, too easily annoyed with others frustration.

            That conversation ended and we went to visit my Uncle. I still hadn’t spoken accept to say hello and good bye. I remember Dad and me getting into the car and watching the mirror as we backed up. I saw that he was about to hit my Uncle’s car. I didn’t say a word because Dad had told me to shut up.

            When the cars collided he slammed on the brakes and his first words were “You knew I was going to hit that car and you didn’t say a word!!!!” I just looked at him. He looked at me and smirked. “God damn it, I don’t know why I raised such a smart ass.” I smiled back as my Uncle came running out of the house. Dad told the story from Mickey Mantle on to the head on collision. My Uncle laughed and said not to worry about it.

            I still hadn’t said a word as I waved goodbye to my Uncle. Dad finally gave in and told me that I could talk. I laughed because now I had nothing to say. I just nodded and drifted off into memories of my first home run which I made not two blocks away.

            Life circles, I saw that there in that moment. I saw that you can’t really run away from who you are. You can hide it, you can hide from it, but it finds its way into you. That first home run taught me I could do something. I had control over something outside of me and I was good at it. That first swing of that bat, that first run around the diamond in triumph, that will always be with me. That will always be a part of me. Dad will always be a part of me…