I’m Sorry- I Don’t Understand (prt 2)

I’m Sorry- I Don’t Understand (prt 2)
THIS PARTICULAR STORY SERIES HAS CONTENT THAT SOME MIGHT FIND TROUBLING

Chapter 1: The Perfect Family

Chapter 2: It’s Not Right

He taught me about the stars and how the waves move in the ocean, he taught me about flavor and how sound moves through the air, he taught me about the life of a bee and that of a frog and told me the rules of decency, politeness, and safety.

“What do you do if you see a hurt bird outside?”
“I bring it in so that we can make it better.” “Correct.”
“ What do you do if someone calls home or comes to visit?”
“I fetch you or Mother to help them.” “Very good.”
“What do you do if someone asks you something you don’t understand?”
“I say: I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Continue reading “I’m Sorry- I Don’t Understand (prt 2)”

I’M SORRY- I DON’T UNDERSTAND (pt 1)

I’M SORRY- I DON’T UNDERSTAND (pt 1)
This Particular Story Series May Include Content That Some Might Find Troubling

CHAPTER 1 : THE PERFECT FAMILY

I had managed to hurt myself last night in the room, a few cuts going across my wrist halfway down my arm, some deep, some not, some hurt, some didn’t, some burnt, some didn’t, some grew hard and stiff on the inside and the others were still a bit gooey. Father was very understanding and nice. He consoled me and told me that I going to be all right and even attended to my wounds, using his cream on them and wrapping them around in bandage cloth. He told me that my arm would be as good as new by the end of the week, which made me very happy, because this one was starting to hurt me. Father told me that I shouldn’t worry about the way I hurt myself and to forget about it. He told me it’s not right for good little nine-year-old girls to think about such stuff. Never bad, always good. Mother always taught me that. Continue reading “I’M SORRY- I DON’T UNDERSTAND (pt 1)”

THE MORE I THINK

THE MORE I THINK

The more I think
The more you dream
The more these ambitions
Seem less to be

Relentless they accused
Relentless we denied
The truth of the matter
Lay buried behind

Sinless he steals
And sinless she swindles
As the weight of sin
Does slowly dwindle

Adoption of anguish
Adoption of deceit
The structures of justice
Fall victims to conceit

Hollow they prayed
And hollow they forgave
To the unhindered kings
And shallowest of knaves

In the most muted of nights
In the most muted of hearts
These saints of misdeeds
Do vice impart

Waging war on the body of mind
Waging war on the foundation of ideals
We cheer not these barbaric acts
Our arms drop dead and heads kneel

My Heart and Soul in hope, unite
My Heart and Soul in doubt, segment
Two polar intuitions, in a vessel, bound
Only one, of which, was ever present

ITS BEEN A YEAR FOR ME AT THIS. AN INFORMATIVE, SLOW AND LONG YEAR. THANKS FOR BEING A PART OF IT.
(picture credit to owner)

A Candle’s Worth

A Candle’s Worth

A Candle’s Worth

A King lay sleeping in his kingdom fair
He awakens late in his castle spire
And jumps off his mattress lush
Walking about in a silken attire

Peeking out the window, glancing around
He saw none of the majesty assumed
Contrary to the vision of gleaming sights
Lay a town beneath in dark consumed

If all houses can’t bear a candlelight,
Then what is the point of gold this much?
His depressed mind inquired his heart
For what is the worth of a kingdom such?

An old beggar awoke on the kingdom floor
His mouth ran dry from frosty nights
As a little boy threw him corn
Staring at him through a lantern’s light

Diminished clothes on the beggar’s back
Nothing worth a second look
Cold on the street, scurrying around
Less he was, the more he took

A little dull man in a glimmering town
His repute was none, his worth mere
He stood pounding his head in rock
For what is the worth of a beggar here?

A bright kingdom engulfed in dark
Where a candle’s warmth had contrasting worth
Perceptive desire brought about by a value
Inherited and ordained, decreed at birth

The Trails Run Frail (Complete)

The Trails Run Frail (Complete)
The complete compilation of the 5 part short story series. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5)

Runner

Running, fast and far. I don’t have a destination in mind yet. Just run, its after me. Lightning. I see some distance ahead as the light breaks through the thick storm, but not enough. More trees, more mud, lightning. I look back but I don’t see it behind me, its there I know its there. No stopping, just run, fueled by adrenaline to overcome how tired I am. Thunder. No, gun shot? The ground shook under the weight of the sound, the entire forest seemed to have been rattled. I couldn’t fall, I wouldn’t, I have to keep running, around trees and over shrubs, tugging myself across the soaked mud. Again, thunder, closer this time, I felt it to my chest. Thunder? Something whistled past my arm, I felt it through the air. Insect? No, bullet. It nearly grazed my body. A few inches to the left and I would have been injured. A few feet to the left and I could have died.

BANG!! Continue reading “The Trails Run Frail (Complete)”

The Trails Run Frail (Part 5/5)

The Trails Run Frail (Part 5/5)
(All picture credits to their owners)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Part 5

 

Runner

How did I get here? It’s all happening too fast, too loud. I need some silence. I need to recollect. I’m here now, I know that, but I wasn’t always. No, I wasn’t, I remember being outside, in the rain, pouring down an ocean on me. They were after me back then, they didn’t get me. Now I’m here. I came here for the quiet, but it’s not. It’s too loud, too many people, and not any good people. No, wait, there was one. Continue reading “The Trails Run Frail (Part 5/5)”

The Trails Run Frail Part 4 Of 5

The Trails Run Frail Part 4 Of 5
(All picture credits to their respective owners)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

AGED

The bloke waving the rifle is on the floor now, grasping his bullet wounded leg and winching in pain, biting his lips to keep from crying. I may be old, but my aim is steady through experience, accurate through practice and precise through emotion, and I’m overflowing with it right now. I turn my sight towards the big fella now, and he’s still lying there on the floor, not even trying to get up, as he bloody well shouldn’t, blood seeping onto his chest from the deceased fella atop of him, shot straight in the neck, occasionally squirting some out onto the floor. The fella with the bruised face is now crouching in front of the window, and the little wuss is sitting to the right of my feet, next to the burnt closet, shivering and trying to cover his face and his ears, sobbing something to himself.

But I have no time for these monsters. One way or the other, they all are responsible for my daughter’s death. I’m trying to maintain myself, to keep my hands from quivering with regret and loss and my eyes from flooding, but I cannot. There’s too much rain out there, too much blow, and I cannot call anyone at this hour, no police, no rangers, no help. Yet, I will not let that stop me, my daughter will be avenged. I accidentally glance at her burnt remains and turn quickly towards the bloke with the bleeding leg. What have you done to my child? Wasn’t her mother enough? Wasn’t her life enough? Her own child? Wasn’t my weight on her enough? You… One of you took her from me. That chance to let her be more than what she got. By all that’s in my might, there shall be repercussions, she shall be avenged. Continue reading “The Trails Run Frail Part 4 Of 5”