A thin thread of a small life
17 years 4 months
4 white feet
Faint tabby stripes
And a white blaze down his nose.
A miniature mountain lion
In peaches and cream
Sleeping on my bed
And begging for dairy treats.
A fierce hunter.
A good companion.
A vibrant spirit
A clever mind
And sheer determination.
Lucky,
Silently sleep
Quietly pass
Into the darkness of the night
And into the brightness of the day.
(In memory of my cat, Lucky, who I had to put down today.)
I’m not going to write another ghost story.
No matter what they say.
Not going to write about chains rattling
On a dark and stormy night.
I’m not going to write about
Ghosts who weep and wail
And bang on the walls
While everyone else tries to sleep.
I might write about vampires seeking blood
Or about werewolves seeking friends.
I might write about a bigfoot and a Chupacabra
Looking for a long lost fishing pole.
But I’m not going to write about ghosts.
Nor about any women in white.
Nor about any spiteful spirits out to write wrongs.
Because I don’t want to write another ghost story.
No, thank you.
Not tonight.
“The carpet…I remember the carpet.” Polly kept her eyes closed. “It surprised me. It was a shag carpet. I didn’t expect it to be a shag carpet. Seemed strange for it to be in such a place.”
“Tell me more about it.” Sergeant Reynolds said.
“It was the color of fresh cranberry juice. You know, that rich, really red color. Almost looks black until you spill it. Then, you see the red of it. All over.”
“What else do you remember?”
“The carpet was incongruous with the surroundings. The carpet was so…” She smiled. “…soft and friendly. Like you could just lie down on it and fall asleep.”
“And the surroundings? What of them?”
A frown creased her eyebrows. “A lot of sharp metal. Silver-like. Glinting. Hard. Unfriendly.”
“Were they weapons?”
She shook her head. “If they were, I didn’t recognize them as such. They were just…gizmos.”
“But they struck you as unfriendly.”
‘Yes.”
“Why?”
“Too many sharp edges.”
“What else do you remember about them?”
“I couldn’t make sense of them. What they were. How they were meant to be held. How they were meant to be used. None of it made sense to me.”
“Did you touch any of them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I had a strong feeling that it would be unwise to touch them. I don’t know why I had that feeling, but it was there.”
“Did they put that idea in your head?”
“I don’t know, sir. That thought, that feeling, seemed normal enough. Like something I would think. There was nothing foreign about it. Nothing that set my nerves on edge.”
“Would you be willing to go back for further investigations?”
Polly thought about her missing fingers, about the long wound still healing on her back. She opened her eyes and fixed a steady look on the man standing before her. His hair was trimmed in a tight buzz cut. A crisp military uniform covered his well-distributed 286 pounds. He carried his own world of scars on his body — some she had seen, others she had not.
“Well? Are you willing to go back once you’re fully healed?”
She considered the risks of returning to the alien spacecraft. There were many risks. She considered the benefits. There were just a few, but they were all well worth it.
Polly raised her head with pride and determination. “Yes. I will go back.”
I am Oliesh, a guardian.
A guardian of the Mushroom Forest.
It is my job to guard the forest and keep it safe.
I am Hramat, a guardian.
A guardian of the graveyard.
A graveyard so green.
A graveyard so serene.
It is my job to guard the graveyard and keep it safe.
I guard the Mushroom Forest for Wizard Hen.
This forest is important to him.
I don’t question why.
I am a guardian and I will do my job.
I guard the graveyard for Wizard Hen.
The graveyard is sacred to him.
It holds the bones of those he holds dear.
It is here that they were laid to rest.
And they rest breathless and well.
I am a guardian and I do my job.
I am Oliesh, a guardian of the Mushroom Forest.
I am Hramat, a guardian of the graveyard.
I guard the forest and keep it safe.
I guard the graveyard and keep it safe.
I keep it safe for Wizard Hen.
I keep it safe for Wizard Hen.
For it is my job.
It is my job.
And I do it well.
I do it very well.
The lollipop was too danged hot. No matter where he tried to lick it, it was too hot for his mouth to handle. But he kept trying.
He hoped that maybe his taste buds would be singed into submission.
He hoped that he would somehow grow to like the taste of cayenne, sriracha, and wasabi mixed into a lollipop.
But it burned. Burned so much. Burned so hot. Burned so bad.
Tears welled up in his eyes and fell. Fell down his face. Fell onto the wedding announcement in the newspaper.
And he kept trying. Kept trying to like the painfully hot lollipop. Kept trying to convince his taste buds that it tasted just fine.
But more tears fell.
No matter how hard he tried, more tears fell.
They fell onto her smiling face.
Every day is a little harder.
Every day is a little easier.
Every day is a little reminder.
Every day is a little forget.
And the ache is there.
In heart
Head.
Lungs.
Elbows.
Toes.
Hair
And the ache is there.
In bed.
Car.
Basement.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Family room.
It is there.
In minutes.
Moments.
Seconds.
Breaths.
Heartbeats.
Hours.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
But they say,
“The pain won’t last forever.”
“The ache will lessen.”
“The ache will one day cease to be.”
And they say,
“Start dating again.”
“Keep your heart open to love.”
“Let me give your name and number to this great guy I know.”
But you’re afraid.
To say yes.
To give love another chance.
To open your heart to that final hurt again.
For the ache is there.
It is always there.
Every day, it is there.
Until one day
You meet him.
Not your husband.
Not even close.
Someone different.
Someone new.
And you give him a chance.
You unlock your heart.
You open your soul.
To this someone else.
To this someone different.
To this someone new.
The ache is still there.
But it is quiet.
It sits in the dark
On a wooden stool.
In an empty room.
Every day, the ache is less.
Less present.
Less real.
More a dream.
Though the ache won’t ever fully leave,
It is alleviated.
Margaret at weirdzeal.com recently did a post about her 59 thoughts I had while rereading the Graceling books. Her thoughts about the books hooked me. It sounded a lot like something I would enjoy.
So, I went to the nearby Barnes and Noble. They had Fire and Winterkeep, but not Graceling. I was like *shrugs* “Okay. I’ll get these two and order Graceling.” That was all the way back on February 3rd.
I’ve been watching my e-mail, stalking the progress of the book’s arrival. The estimated date was February 10, but! It actually came today!
And ooo! Graceling is one shiny paperback. So shiny! I tried to take a picture of it, but I couldn’t do the shininess proper justice.
I have it sitting next to me as I’m typing this up. I’m so looking forward to reading it. I’ll start reading it while I’m eating supper tonight.
I will do a follow up post about my thoughts about this book as I’m reading it.
See you all then!
59 thoughts I had while rereading the Graceling books – Weird Zeal
If I were the wind,
I would be a calm, balmy
breeze.
I would feel like a caress.
I would feel like a friendly hand.
If I were the wind,
My breath would never be full
Of rain.
My touch would hold no thunder
Or lightning bolts.
If I were the wind,
I would be a friendly
Breeze.
I would play with kites and keep them
From tangling in trees.
I would keep them
Airborne in straight lines.
If I were the wind,
I would never carry
Tornadoes.
I would carry
Birdsong and laughter and joy
In my air
In my breeze
If I were the wind.
Ambrose padded across the footbridge. His bare feet slapped against the bridge’s well-worn stone walkway. If he had really wanted to, he could have walked with a little more care and refinement. But he didn’t really care about that. He wasn’t coming out here to impress anyone, hence the bare feet.
He stopped at the midpoint of the bridge and elbow-propped on the broad stone rail. He looked out into the darkened forest.
It’s all demented craziness. he thought. And I’m the demented crazy one. I don’t know why I let Anna talk me into these schemes of hers.
He reached into his bedrobe’s pocket and pulled out a small silver-painted box. He opened it.
A scarab beetle pin lay on a blue velvet cushion. The enameled carapace was an oil-slick combination of dark blue and yellow-green. Its jointed legs were silver and gold.
I’m not even sure why she wants this thing. It’s ugly.
“Oh! There you are!” Anna called out.
Ambrose startled and almost dropped the box. He turned to face her as she walked onto the bridge. “Just so you know, this is the last time I’m doing your bidding.”
She stopped in front of him. “You always say that.”
“This time I mean it.”
“Whatever.” She held out her hand.
He sighed and put the box in her hand.
Anna smiled brightly. “Thanks!” She opened the box and admired the pin. “Oh, it’s so pretty!”
“It’s a pin shaped like a bug.”
She shook her head. “You boys just don’t understand fine things.”
“It’s shaped like a bug.”
“Noooo, it’s shaped like an Egyptian scarab.”
“So?”
“It’s exotic!”
“It’s also something I’m going to get in trouble for when it comes up missing.”
She clicked her tongue at him. “I’m not going to keep it. I just want to borrow it.”
“Yeah, you’re borrowing it. Then, you’re going to lose it and I will get blamed for its disappearance. You know, if you wanted to borrow it all that much, you could have asked my mother for her permission instead of forcing me to do all of this annoying subterfuge.”
“That’s true, but it makes it soo much more exciting this way.”
He shook his head. “If you don’t wind up imprisoned for wanton robbery by the time you’re twenty years old—”
“That will never happen and you know it.”
Ambrose frowned at her. “This is the last time I’m running shenanigans for you. I mean it.”
“Actually, you’re right. Tomorrow, my parents are going to ship me off to ‘self-improvement school’ or whatever it is they call it. ‘Finishing’ school? Whatever. I’m going to learn how to be a well-behaved and respected member of society.”
Ambrose burst out laughing, which earned him one annoyed Anna look.
“Gee, thanks for your vote of confidence.”
“No, it’s just…” He calmed down. “They are going to have their work well cut out for them. You will try to stay out of trouble, won’t you?”
“Of course!” She admired the pin one more time before handing the box to him. “Keep this safe for me. I want to wear it when they throw my ‘Welcome Home’ party.”
“I’m going to put this back where it belongs. If you want to wear it, you’ll have to ask my mother if you can.”
That earned him one more annoyed look. “Fine.”
