The Greater Number part 3

  This smell was different.  I couldn't quite place it at first.
  "Skunk!  Hwuck, hwulck."  Desmond threw up.
  I turned around to witness the offending party.  Instead all I saw was the Dalai Lama or some hare krishna holding an empty bucket.  "Excuse me, your holiness.  What did you just do?"
  "Look out the window."
  "Well you see, that's not an answer.  That's a demand.  Why do we smell like skunk?"
  "Look out the window."  I finally took the time to turn around and look out the window.  At first I saw nothing.  And then, I realized that was a good thing.  A moment ago, we were being chased by several dead things and now I didn't see them anymore.  "Uh, okay.  I've looked out the window.  Now it's your turn.  Why did you dump this skunk stink on us?"
  "Fear."
  "Fear?  What, you're afraid of us?  And what, now you're not?  Why, cuz we smell like skunks?"
  "They know you by the smell of fear."
  "They who?  They, the dead things?  Fear, what?  What the hell does fear smell like?  I don't smell fear.  Do you smell fear?"  I looked around the room at my friends.  Mbu shook his head.  Desmond retched.
  "Most people do not have their senses acute enough to notice it, but they do."
  "Wha, what are you their public relations rep?"
  "Come.  Let's have tea.  I have much to tell you."
  "Look, your holiness.  I don't care if you have a dolly or a llama.  I'm not in the mood for tea.  I wanna know what the hell is going on!"
  "Come, come."  The mysterious monk lay down his bucket and beckoned us into the kitchen.  There was a table and the four of us sat at it.  Once the monk had poured some tea, he offered it again to us.  Only Desmond took some, perhaps to wash the taste of vomit out of his mouth.  The monk blew on his mug, took a sip, then turned to me.  "This has been going on for a few days now.  It seems the dead have been returning to life.  I don't know how, but I've learned a few things over the last three days."
  "You got anything to eat?" I asked.  The monk went to the cupboard and brought a loaf of bread.  He got some butter from the refrigerator and sat it down before us.  Mbu and I hastily partook, but Desmond had lost his appetite.
  "I was a part of the Tibetan temple in town for seven years.  Alas, I began to realize that I didn't dream in their language.  I left the temple and started a home here for the emotionally challenged.  That was my dream. No more endless days of scrubbing floors.  I was a glorified janitor, without the glorified part.  Not that there's anything wrong with janitors, but I wanted to help people more directly."
  "Great, so you're Mother Theresa.  What's the point?"
  "Oh, I'm getting to that.  You see, I sleep in a room upstairs.  The man who sleeps in the room under mine will sometimes bang on his ceiling if I'm being too loud.  Well, anyway, one day I had my headphones on and I was listening to some rock music."
  "Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Major hole in your story.  You were listening to rock music?"
  "I'm a monk, not a priest."
  I failed to see the difference, but I silently chewed on my bread and allowed him to continue his story, hoping that in all of it there was some sort of a point he was leading to.
  "I was listening to my music and I must have dozed off.  Suddenly I awakened to the sound of my downstairs neighbor banging on his ceiling.  There is no way he could have heard my music.  I figured I must have been snoring too loudly.  But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move.  When I turned I saw what looked like a walking corpse.  It paid no attention to me, but seemed to be looking for something.  I was trying to think of what to do about it when, suddenly there was a scream from downstairs."
  At the moment the monk mentioned the scream, Desmond let out a scream of his own.  We all turned to look in the direction he was facing.

The Greater Number part 2

  That got our attention.  We just stood there listening to the radio.  The message repeated itself.  We were beginning to get nervous.  That was when the stench of decay started to come seemingly from everywhere.  This wall of mephitic dismay hit us like a tsunami.  Why hadn't we noticed this before?  We ran deeper into town in hopes of finding somebody who could tell us what was going on.
  It was then that we got our first look at what it was that smelled so bad.  At first, it looked just like a person.  When I got closer, I noticed the lurching limp.  Even closer and I could see the color of the skin and the cloudiness of the eyes.  This thing was not exactly human, at least not anymore.
  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Hewlett.
  "We're screwed?" ventured Mbu.
  "This thing is a walking dead man!"
  "And somehow that negates my statement?"
  "Guys, there's more of them!" yelled Desmond.
  The three of us ran toward the park to warn the others of danger.  Strangely enough, none of them heeded our warning.  The young lady kept reading from the book, the boy kept running around and the old lady smiled at us.  We ran past them, but our pursuers ignored the three and kept coming after us.
  "Why did we lead those dead guys here?!" asked Mbu.
  "I was trying to warn them, but they just won't listen."
  "Look!  The dead things just wove their way around them and are still coming for us!" cried Desmond.
  "Maybe they know them," reasoned Mbu.
  "So you think we should introduce ourselves?  You that'll help?" I shouted incredulously.
  "We don't even know what they want," Desmond pointed out.
  "Look at their arms.  They're reaching out for us.  You think they want a hug?" I countered.
  "Let's make a big loop and head over to that building behind the Asian family.  Maybe we can barricade ourselves in there and be safe," suggested Mbu.  We all agreed and followed the only semblance of a plan that any of us had been able to come up with.
  Once we were inside the building, we shut the doors and shoved a nearby table in front of them to block entry by the seemingly mobile dead.  From behind us I heard a splashing sound.  Without warning I felt wetness cover my back.  With it came a terrible stench.

The Greater Number part 1

  This story started as a dream I had this morning.  I described the dream to you over at Zombie Evolution in my blog titled, "Chee Kon Yeh Mom Weh".  This story exists nowhere else but right here.  As a matter of fact, I'm making it up as I go.  I can't wait to see where it goes!

The Greater Number

  My friends and I lost all our money and our car in Vegas.  Getting back to Marble Cliffs has been a helluva journey.  Most people won't pick up three college boys.  I'm Hewlett Fen-Chang.  I would get us a rental car, but some asshole keeps pruning my money tree behind my back!  So, we've been walking most of this time.  We've slept in any rest areas we come upon along the way.
  My two buddies, Mbu Ng and Desmond Azabache had come along with me to Vegas to help me celebrate my 21st birthday.  We've all known each other since childhood.  My dad met Mbu's dad on a mission in South Africa.  They were both missionaries for the Marble Cliffs Chinese Baptist Church.  Father Ng had married one of the natives and had Mbu right before returning to the United States.  Me and Mbu met Desmond in kindergarten.  We've been best friends ever since.
  "So like where are we?"
  "I don't know, like somewhere between Las Vegas and Marble Cliffs.  What am a a tour guide?"
  "Dude, there hasn't been a car in hours."
  "You really think they'd pick us up anyway?  I mean, look at me.  I'm black."
  "You're half black.  And besides, it's 2011.  No one thinks like that any more."
  "Oh yeah, tell that to my boss.  Anyway, a Chinese guy and a white guy just look more trustable."
  "That's not even a word.  It's trustworthy, dumbass.  Look at the evidence before you.  We've been walking for three days and nobody has stopped to help us."
  "People always want to help a Chinese guy.  I mean, have you ever seen a homeless Chinese person?  Or any Asian wandering the streets for that matter?"
  "Well, I see two Asians wandering the streets right now, what's your point?'
  Just then, Desmond nudged us quarreling kinfolk to get our attention.  "Looks like a town up ahead."
  "Okay, so when we get there, we'll try to figure out how much farther we have to go."
  "Uh yeah, and some food, perhaps?'
  "I've only got twenty seven dollars left.  We'll know how much we can afford once we know how much longer we'll be on the road."
  "But I'm starving!'
  "Well then maybe you shouldn't have gambled away the title to your car.  I mean, I appreciate you providing the means to get us to Vegas, but did you have a plan to get us back?"
  "For the last time, I was feeling lucky!"
  Desmond shook his head and started jogging toward the town.  Me and Mbu kept a steady pace.  Once we reached the outskirts of the town, it lifted our spirits a little.  Desmond was walking toward a park where there was some grass.  "After days of dirt and cacti, this is awesome!"
  Mbu and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders.  There was a young Asian lady sitting at a park bench with a book in her lap.  A young boy, presumably her son, was running around the bench ignoring her pleas for him to sit.  "Aggie ya, come sit and listen to the story.  It's your favorite story."  The boy started jumping around without a care.
  I approached the woman.  "Excuse me, ma'am.  Is there anywhere around here we can get something to eat?"  I thought perhaps she was shy so I decided to start by breaking the ice.  "What book are you reading?" I asked.  She didn't answer, but kept calling for her son.
  On a bench across from them was an older Asian lady, possibly the boy's grandmother.  The old lady looked at us and said, "Chee kon yeh mom weh."  I figured it was some Asian language I am unfamiliar with, which is all of them except for Chinese and that definitely was not Chinese.
  The young lady said, "Don't mind her.  She doesn't speak English."  Encouraged by the fact that she had finally addressed us directly, I asked again if there was anywhere my friends and I would be able to get something to eat.  Again she acted as if she didn't hear me.
  My friends and I were about to go explore the town a bit more and see if we could find anyone else that might be a little more helpful.  As we turned to leave, the old lady stood up and said more forcefully, "Chee kon yeh mom weh!"  It was chilling, despite the heat of the desert.  Probably just a crazy old hag.
  Desmond had already lost interest in the park and had wandered down the road a bit to what looked like a restaurant of some sort.  The faded sign said, 'Steiner's Diner'.  It looked completely dark inside, but there was a radio sitting on a window sill out front.
  Mbu tried the door, but it was locked.  When he was close enough to the radio, he heard that it was on.  On it, we heard what seemed to be an emergency broadcast that kept repeating the same message.  The reception wasn't very good and it kept cutting in and out.  What we were able to hear was, "This is an emer....cy......we will con.....nue to broadcast..............outbreak that started ye.......day has spread.........We will come back mom.......tarily with more news........You must evacuate.  Head we......to our headquarters in.................."

New Chinese Proverbs

  I wrote these in college when I thought about the fact that people are always quoting old Chinese proverbs and I figured it was about time for an update.  I googled the name Urban Confucius and it already exists somewhere out there or else I'd take it as my own.  A lot of these have ended up in my stories and songs.

New Chinese Proverbs

-Your happy days make you who you are when you're sad and your sad days make you who you are when you're happy.
-Two eggs fried in the same pan are hard to keep apart.
-Healing feels better than never hurting.
-Stars need not outshine the sun, they need only to outshine the night.
-A photograph does not fit neatly into a puzzle.
-Orange rhymes with orange.
-It takes a lot of darkness to blind you, but only a little light to help you see.
-How much sweeter the peak of a mountain when the journey began from the floor of a canyon.
-Living without love is like walking when you can fly.
-All the oceans on the planet are connected, but not all the continents are.
-A tree needs branches as well as roots or else it is just a stump.
-A puzzle piece which has been forced to fit into a different puzzle will no longer fit perfectly into its own.
-You cannot repeat a mistake.  You can either learn from it or not.  The opposite of lesson is moron.
-Some can speak much without meaning while others can mean much without speaking.
-Given half a chance, anyone could make a mistake.  Given a million chances, some people will never learn from their mistakes.
-Every second that goes by uncherished is a second lost.
-Why did God make stars that we can't see?
-Sometimes the tip of your tongue is as hard to reach as a rainbow.
-It is more important to learn from your mistakes than to not make them.
-Without light you would not know darkness, but with light you don't have to live in darkness.
-God never intended for us to go through life without the light of one another.
-I'd rather do something stupid than do nothing at all.
-One man fell into ten pits once each while another fell into one pit ten times.
-Human hands have destroyed much of what nature has created, but nature will destroy all that human hands have created.
-The cocoon is forgotten once the butterfly has left it behind.
-The oceans do not separate the land, they only make it harder to see where the land connects.
-Apples fall every day, but there is only one Sir Isaac Newton.
-If you find a path that does not lead home, perhaps it is not the fault of the path.
-Tears are the best medicine if you ever want to truly laugh again.
-The world may be a stage, but the stage can be many worlds.
-Even the tiniest scratch on a severed hand will never heal.
-The smallest squirrel can reach branches that the tallest giraffe cannot, but the smallest giraffe can reach branches that the tallest dog cannot.
-Try stabbing your food with a spoon or drinking soup with a fork and you may learn to appreciate your spoon and your fork.
-Light does not create shadows, it merely shows them to you.
-If actions speak louder than words, then why is the pen mightier than the sword?
-You will never talk to some of the most amazing people you will come across in life.
-Sometimes you don't notice the sand in your shoes until you feel a rock.
-The difference between the friend you meet just once and remember forever and the stranger you see a thousand times and forget is up to you.
-Dirt always washes off.
-A small hole can make the best cup worthless.
-For some people, the only time their name will be known is on their stone.
-The kid who jumped off the roof wearing a cape knew what it meant to believe and to act on a dream.  The kids who watched him fall were comfortable just to laugh at him.
-Two people bought a house.  One had dreamed about it, the other had wanted something better.  The house neither took credit for the one, nor was to blame for the other.
-Sometimes the cloud that seems to hang over your head is only the shadow of a helping hand.
-Ironically, the sense of fear is there to help keep you alive, but sometimes fear keeps people from really living.
-To admit fear is to begin to conquer it.
-A kind gesture in this hardened world is like the blade of grass which can break through the concrete of a sidewalk.
-The tree you used to climb in as a kid may now be just a stump, but it will always in your heart be the tree you used to climb in.  No one can chop that down.
-Without scars we would just keep bleeding and never heal.
-I would rather be scarred for life than bleed to death.
-Cracking open and discarding peanut shells says nothing about the shells themselves, but it says everything about peanuts.
-A plant in a small pot can still grow, but its roots get damaged.
-Your truest emotions are the ones you cannot find words for.
-Your mouth cannot limit your mind.
-Your reach is not limited by the length of your arms when it comes to helping those in need.
-Each reed which makes up a basket does not have to know how to be a basket, just how to be a reed.
-Silence can be the worst insult, the biggest lie and the harshest rebuke.
-The dead tree enriches the soil so that the sapling may thrive.
-With our minds we have been able to reach out to the heavens, but it is for our hearts that the heavens have reached back out to us.
-You can neither swim in a glass of water nor drink the ocean.
-There exists on this planet more poetry than poets can ever hope to write.
-Darkness cannot make light go away.
-Silence cannot destroy music.
-A cloud can be blown around by any wind, but a cloud can cover up the sun.
-When a deer sees an apple it does not wish instead to have a pear.
-Rain does not need plants, but freely does it fall.
-For words to be erased does not mean to be destroyed.
-Blank paper does not mean that there are no ideas, but only that there is no ink.
-To be weak and admit it takes more strength than to be strong.
-When a drawer is closed no one can tell if it is empty or full.
-When an egg is painted up for Easter, people tend to forget about the inside and it all ends up rotting and being thrown away.
-An entire wall does not have to be destroyed before it is no longer any good.
-It is not the door, but what is on the other side that matters.
-Compassion is not your friend if you cannot laugh at yourself.
-The moon was beautiful long before anyone ever saw it.
-Not all waves reach the shore, but the beach is never lacking.
-For every story of someone finding a dollar bill, there is another story of somebody losing one.
-Sometimes you just have to cry.
-Every layer of an onion tastes the same.
-Uncertainty about what tomorrow will bring is the thrill of living.
-Sometimes when you see an elephant, you think of peanuts.
-Only when a candle is lit can it light another.
-You do not think to clean what you do not know is dirty.
-The truth may hurt but lies can kill.
-You don't have to see the whole diamond to know that it is a diamond.
-Negativity is a river that flows beneath a bridge of positivity.

One and One

  Kayla really likes this poem.  She says she thinks it's about my mother.  I think it's about Kayla and me.

One and One

In some place outside my window
out my door and through these walls
someone else is sad as I am
silently she sits alone
I wish I could comfort her and
tell her someone cares for her
then both of us can cease our tears
and know we have someone to hold

Tears of An Angel

  This is the true story of a girl I went to school with when I was in the 6th grade in El Paso, TX.  She had some sort of medical condition that caused her to cry uncontrollably at certain times of the day.  The kids at school treated her cruelly for this.  I befriended her, but lost touch after I moved to a different school the next year.

Tears of An Angel

Long ago I found a package
with no bow or colored wrap
sitting all alone and lonely
so I went to look at it
Now I knew this box was fragile
so I handled it with care
No one else had seemed to want it
although, why I'm not aware
What I saw there was a package
not just wrapping and a box
It's what's inside that counts and
just for me it opened up
There within I saw an angel
beautiful in every way
The greatest gift I'd ever gotten
I remember to this day
I always wish the best for you
wherever you may be
Your tears should never be for pain
Let no one make them be

Ribbon

  I read this poem out loud to an audience in high school for the Talent Show.  I got absolute last place.

Ribbon

You know I can still smell you
on that ribbon from your hair
I keep it in my wallet
to remember you so fair
You dropped it on the floor one day
and left it as you drove
A car that took you straight to God
and left me all alone
I come to see you all the time
as you sleep beneath a stone
The tombs to a mosaic make
above a bed that's now your home

Childhood Fear

  This poem comes from flashes of images I've had in my head since pres-school.  I have no idea if these were dreams or if they are memories.

Childhood Fear

Maybe afraid
In the dark room alone
Waiting for he
Who said he would come
It's been so long
I'm a child no more
No longer know
What I'm here waiting for
Never seen him
Don't remember his face
Open the door
Can't get out of this place
Getting so dark
And yet I can see
Something is here
In the dark room with me

Doggone

  I think wrote this when I was seven years old when I heard that my aunt's dog died.  I sent it to her in a sympathy card to give her my support during a sad time.  I had known and loved that dog for years.  It still makes me cry just thinking about her (the dog, not my aunt).

Doggone

The dog outgrew its days of play
Had its share of happy days
So the dog spread its wings
and wagged its tail
An then she flew away

Yardsale

  I love going to yard sales.  One day I imagined what it would be like to have to sell the possessions of a deceased loved one.

Yardsale

verse 1: Someone just bought a frame
which once held a picture of you
I'm lonely and miss you so tell me
now what should I do?
Gone are the slippers you bought
but not once did you wear
I reminisce in vain of all
the times that we once shared
I just sold the old toaster
which burned your bread day after day
These tangible memories of days of past
all flown away
Chorus: What should the price be for
taking a piece of my heart?
With things I shall never forget
I forever depart
These people know not of the pain
they cause me for a buck
To think of what's gone now would
utterly be far too much
verse 2: A book with a bookmark within
now you never will read
You got part way through and
lost patience on page 93
All the objects to which I've become
so emotionally attached
Are one by one leaving to never
return and come back
Repeat Chorus

Tea Party In Space

  The title came to me out of nowhere and this is a song about my thoughts on the subject.

Tea Party In Space

verse 1: This might be cool
if only I could breathe
This would be cool
but I don't even like tea
Chorus: Tea party in space
I know it sounds nice
But, now that I think about it,
it really sucks
verse 2: How can this be a party
when I'm all alone?
I'm surrounded by a vacuum
think I'm gonna explode
Repeat Chorus

The Irony Of Eating Worms

  This song was inspired both by the fact that I do enjoy the occasional meal worm or silkworm and by the book, "There's A Hair In My Dirt!" by Gary Larson.

The Irony Of Eating Worms

verse 1: Eating worms ironically will turn the
tables as you know descendants of
the worms you ate in days to
come will then eat you
verse 2: Bacteria will eat you just the same
if you were bad or good in life
because you taste the same in
death as any other guy
verse 3: Anthropomorphic shape is something
you should never take for granted
As your final human trait
is taken back from whence it came

Bedbugs Bite

  Here are the lyrics to another Rachel's Morbidity song.

Bedbugs Bite

verse 1: Underground revival
In the grave I turn
At least I'm down here in a coffin
and not up there in an urn
Chorus 1: Post-humous pain
worm food I ain't
Here I'll remain
cannot escape
verse 2: Eventually I just might die
In this airtight casket I'll lie
A premature burial site
but soon this will all be just right
Chorus 2: Buried alive
Don't you hate when that happens?
Buried alive
It really sucks!
Buried alive
Bedbugs bite

Hope

  I included this poem in my story 'Chaos Theory', but in case you didn't read that, here it is.

Hope

A tree
long thought gone
shoots
The sun
long thought lost
rises
Not forever really dead
Not to never rise again
I know
A rose
long thought gone
blooms
A love
long thought lost
is there
Not to ever wilt away
Not to see its dying day
I know

Piano Man

  No, this isn't a Barry Manilow song.  It just is what it is.

Piano Man

A warm hand
touches the keys
Tears, but just a few
tickle the ebonies
Soft sounds
from the heart
through the piano
as the deaf man
plays a melody
no one will ever hear

Rain

  I found a notebook full of poems I don't remember writing, but there is some genuine feeling in them.

Rain

He holds her picture
while the music plays
holding onto a dream
The possibility floats
away like mist
leaving one man alone
No one will know
how it could be
If they've never left
forks in the road
Droplets form
as thoughts condense

Your Inner Song

  I think this was written during my college years.

Your Inner Song

Sometimes
what does not seem to belong
is what you miss
most when it's gone
All those things
you think you want
Inside your mind
 seem poorly drawn
Then something
clearly starts to dawn
But far too soon
it must move on
To want to think of it
is not wrong
The heart, though blind,
is always strong
will give you peace
just like a swan
so never lose
your inner song

Who's On Foxtrot 1?

  I wrote this while deployed on board the USS Wyoming SSBN 742.  Being a Sonar Technician, I was always having to conduct watch turnovers.  We didn't talk about baseball, we talked about contacts, which are anything in the ocean that might be a threat.  Mostly we'd just hear whales and dolphins.  Watch any submarine movie and you'll see the sonar guy assigning a Sierra number to a contact and tracking him.  That's my job.

Who's On Foxtrot 1?

STS3 Loh: "Request turnover."
STS3 Abbot: "We have, uh, Who's on Foxtrot 1, What's on Foxtrot 2, I Don't Know's on Foxtrot 3."
STS3 Loh: "That's what I want to find out.  I want you to tell me the classifications of the contacts in ATF."
STS3 Abbot: "I'm telling you, Who's on Foxtrot 1, What's on Foxtrot 2, I Don't Know's on Foxtrot 3."
STS3 Loh: "You know the contact's classifications?"
STS3 Abbot: "Yes."
STS3 Loh: "Well then, who's on Foxtrot 1?"
STS3 Abbot: "Yes."
STS3 Loh: "I mean, the contact under Foxtrot 1."
STS3 Abbot: "Who."
STS3 Loh: "The contact in ATF under Foxtrot 1."
STS3 Abbot: "Who."
STS3 Loh: "The contact under Foxtrot 1."
STS3 Abbot: "Who's on Foxtrot 1!"
STS3 Loh: "All I'm trying to find out is, what's the classification of the contact under Foxtrot 1?"
STS3 Abbot: "No, what is on Foxtrot 2."
STS3 Loh: "I'm not asking you who's on Foxtrot 2!"
STS3 Abbot: "Who's on Foxtrot 1."
STS3 Loh: "I don't know."
STS3 Abbot: "He's on Foxtrot 3.  We're not talking about him."
STS3 Loh: "How did I get on Foxtrot 3?"
STS3 Abbot: "You mentioned his classification."
STS3 Loh: "What is the contact's classification on Foxtrot 3?"
STS3 Abbot: "What is the contact's classification on Foxtrot 2."
STS3 Loh: "I'm not asking you who's on Foxtrot 2!"
STS3 Abbot: "Who's on Foxtrot 1."
STS3 Loh: "I don't know."
STS3 Abbot and STS3 Loh together: "Foxtrot 3!"

Mayo Jar

  This really happened in my back yard in El Paso, Texas when I was in middle school.

Mayo Jar

The scorpion stung itself today
A small black ant crawled over its back
The scorpion lashed
and stung itself instead
It didn't move for a second or two
And then it just went crazy
It ran around in the mayo jar
then died
The ant never feared that guy again
He died all alone a happy man
And I threw away that mayo jar
today

Road's End

  Not much recollection of this poem, but there are some lines I like in it.

Road's End

On the road to nowhere
I heard the most amazing tune
And though I can't get it out of my head
I can't quite remember how it goes
So cold out here but
there is no cold
Only heat
and the lack thereof
My shadow behind me
slowly makes its way up front
til it slowly fades away
while I walk
I'll be your surrogate nothing
since nothing seems to elude you
I'll be there until I
get a visit from a
black-collar worker
I'll find a way
I'll wish away
Even if it's til my final day
It's worth it just to see your face
and with my dying breath
I'll call your name

My Better Half

  I have no recollection at all about this poem.  Not when I wrote it, what I was feeling or who it's about.

My Better Half

I used to think
you could do anything, but
Now I know
there are things you cannot do
That's OK
for we all have our weakness
Certain things
in the world that defeat us
Everyone
has a fear and it keeps us
far away
from perfection and greatness
Hear me out
for I just have to say this
I don't think
any less of you for this
I have found
someone else who can be strong
Someone else
to protect me and that is
Me

Porcelain

  I had never even been in a loving relationship before I wrote this, but I imagined what it would be like to lose the one you love because you take them for granted.

Porcelain

When I procured the doll I had
I put it on the highest shelf
A pretty thing, all frail and nice
'Twas left up there all by itself
For years and years it stayed aloft
And slowly did I cease to look
With other things upon my mind
My doll for granted had I took
One night I heard a horrid sound
My doll had gone over the edge
For in my absence did it find
the rest to end all restlessness
Instinct dictates that we try to repair
Attempts were in vain, not a wish, not a hope
And I knew that my dolly was hopelessly broke
With a tear in my eye and her head in my hand
Did I mourn for the loss of my beautiful doll
From years of neglect had she gone to the ledge
And I knew deep inside that it all was my fault
Sometimes you have things you love but forget
You never know til they're taken away
All that you had and the love hidden deep
And there's nothing on earth that can ever replace

Ambulance

  One day in college, I was walking home from the grocery store and I imagined what it would feel like to happen upon a dying person.

Ambulance

The other day I was walking home
A bag of groceries in each hand
I heard a muffled gag
and I turned around
There was a man there
lying face down in the grass
No one else was anywhere
so I went to help
He was an old man
and I don't know what made him fall
I put my bags of food down
and propped him up against a fence
That's when he told me he was dying
and nothing else could help him now
I used a payphone
An ambulance would soon arrive
I went back to the old man
and he asked for me to stay
He said I'd be the final human
 that he ever gets to see
As the truth of his words hit me
I felt a tear well up inside
He said that he was getting hungry
A bag of chips would do just fine
So we sat there eating corn chips
and that's when he closed his eyes
Then I started crying
The ambulance had come too late
I guess he knew that all along and
he just wanted a friend
And as I realized that
I never even knew his name
I knew that I'd do this again, but
with people I know and love
And though I didn't know him
I look back and I think
that when his eyes closed mine were opened
to just how sad death can be

Alone Now And Then

  This is about the difference between being lonely as a human and as a ghost.

Alone Now And Then

Conspiratorial whispers
of the winds and the rain
And you're alone again
None but the company of ghosts now
can share in your pain
Our time is past
and now we just pass time
We watch our friends
and family die
You can't see us
but we see you
We only wish to speak with you
Merely shadows
of what used to be
Mirror images
dark as peat
You think you're lonely now
trapped inside your cage of flesh/
Wait until you've spent a hundred years
inside the face of death
Please enjoy life while you have it

Rivulets

  This started out as a poem I wrote in college, but then I used it as the lyrics for a Rachel's Morbidity song.

Rivulets

Rivulets upon the glass
Little rivers twisting past
Dark and stormy out and out
Dark and stormy in the house
The world is held within your heart
You love thine enemy
Your lifeline is twisted and long
Lifelines can lie
Your lifeline goes far down your palm
Just say goodbye
Rivulets upon your palm
Little rivers not too long
River of life on lifeline twists
Dripping off your fingertips

Remembrance

  I wrote this poem in elementary school after my aunt's dog was attacked and killed by coyotes.

Remembrance

A stone next to a jar
buried in sand
A rose within the jar
is withering
A name upon the stone
written by hand
Your eye has something
stuck in it again

Two White Birds Flew Off Into The Sunset

  I wrote this in high school, yet it seems as if I could have written it yesterday.

Two White Birds Flew Off Into The Sunset

Not all scars bleed
though all do hurt
Scars will remind you
of how things were
Heartbreak is loss
loss of the right
Right to the freedom
to love who you like
Where is she now
where could she be
Why can't she be here
now right next to me?

Unforgettable

  This one dates back to my college years.  I can still relate with the way I was feeling when I wrote it.

Unforgettable

God touches your spirit
which moves your heart
which stirs your mind
which lights your eyes
which look into mine
which lights my mind
which stirs my heart
which moves my spirit
and touches God 

God moves around through us
moves into us
and out into a dark, dark world
providing light for all the lost
and going back to God as love

God put his light inside of you
O people
stay in him, be true
be unforgettable and through
his love the world will light up too

Oubliette

  In the year 1995, I was visiting my parents in Korea for the summer.  I had a summer job on the Yongsan Army Base.  On my way home from work one day, there was an unusual amount of traffic.  I got back a little later than usual, but didn't think much of it until we turned on the TV.  Every single channel had interrupted their regular broadcast to show the breaking news of the collapse of a department store building.  My parent's apartment was only a few blocks from the building.  If a fire truck drove by our apartment, it soon showed up on the TV screen, as with any medivac helicopters and ambulances.
  The news continued for days as emergency workers toiled night and day in search of survivors.  After the fifth day, there were no new survivors found until a miracle on the twelfth day when a young lady was found.  There were over fifty people whose bodies were never properly identified.  The news of this disaster was eclipsed here in America by the bombing of a building in Oklahoma City, so most of you may not remember the incident.  I wrote this story as a tribute to the survivors, the deceased and their families.

Oubliette

  So, this is oblivion?  Talk about sensory deprivation.  The only thing I can feel is my thumb, which I know isn't there anymore because it's been cut off.  How ironic that phantom feelings are the only feelings I have left. It hasn't hurt for a while now.  I have also become numb to the water that drips on my head from above.  I can't see an inch in front of me and the only sounds I hear are muffled thuds from above.  All I smell is dust and all I taste is my own bad breath.
  My wife hasn't moved her hand in over a day now.  I'm still holding it, but it's just not the same anymore.  I remember when we first met five years ago.  She was working at a Chinese restaurant and I was just a rude customer.  Why was I so rude to her?  Maybe if I had been nicer. . .but that was years ago.  And now she's gone.  If I had the tears to, I would mourn her loss in more than just my mind.  It seems my mind is all I have left.
  I can drink this water that drips constantly on my head, but it never fills me and it is the only nutrition I have.  About once every time I awaken, I have certain micturatory necessities.  There is no way to rid myself of it except to just let it go.  The urine makes the cuts on my legs sting anew every time.  I haven't had any solid waste since yesterday.  I still feel it pushing against my pants.  It has hardened and rubs me uncomfortably any time I make even the slightest movement.  What a pain in the ass.
  A few new smells have introduced themselves to me.  I can now smell my own urine as the puddles begin to spoil.  I can smell something that might be my wife.
  I hope our dog is OK at home all alone.  My co-workers must be wondering where I am.  My boss is going to kill me.  Some coffee would be great right about now.  I could use a good shower and a banquet or two.  A feast of roast beef and baked potatoes.  Some apple pie with whipped cream on top.  A banana split.
  Pedestrians.  Now there's a nice word.  It just rolls off your tongue.  The word itself seems too dignified for the definition which we have attached to it.  People walking around.  What makes them so special?
  I tasted something different today.  It was bile from my stomach as I heaved a couple times due to the now horrible stench of urine and decay which now pervades everything.  Great, now my spilled bile will stink as well.
  Mom?  Oh, it's just a cockroach.  That's something new.  The coming days will bring more, I'm sure.  If I'm lucky, I might be able to catch one in my mouth for sustenance.
  What I really want is a soda.  No ice.  The entire ice making industry is a sham.  How can humanity stand for such a coldly controlling substance?  Ice in itself is so unfeelingly influential on any drink in which it is placed except, perhaps, water.  It tries to make everything it touches taste more like it.  It invades their space and says, "Hey, I know you were created specifically to taste good, but I'm going to melt now and water you down.  You will become a shadow of yourself and taste terrible as a result."  I shall boycott ice until I die.
  Any sentimentality I may have previously felt over the loss of my wife has now been taken over by the incredibly fetid odor which she now emits.  Our dog is now dead for sure.  The water has taken on a sour flavor which is no longer pleasant to drink.  I have to force myself just to gain the necessary liquid.  I don't even know anymore why I want to live.  Maybe it's because I feel too alive to think that dying would be anything but a strenuous task.  The scars on my legs don't hurt anymore when I pee.  I swear I feel some dirt under my thumbnail.
  I wonder if little Fifi smells as bad yet at home as my wife does here.  I have tried to let go of her hand, but it is so tight in its death grip that all I can do is wiggle my fingers.  There are cockroaches munching on my hand where my thumb used to be.  I can move my hand and scare them away, but I don't even care anymore.  It pinches a bit, but it doesn't hurt.  They must not be very big roaches.  I can't even feel my legs anymore.
  Sidewalks are not cool.  They're so flat and predictable.  Even when they're cracked, it's no big whoop.  Pedestrians traverse them, but that's their only saving grace.  I managed to catch a cockroach an eat it today.  It was bigger than I thought it would be.  It was so good to taste something other than this sour water which I have been drinking.  Kind of nutty and slightly salty.  I still have a bit of its leg stuck between my teeth.  The thumping sounds above have gotten increasingly louder since I woke up.
  Here's something new--light.  I wonder if that's a good thing.
  "We have a live on here.  I repeat, we have a live one here.  Hang in there, buddy.  We'll get you out.  I need some help over here!"
  Can't this guy see that we're busy?
  "Don't move.  Everything will be OK.  My name is Steve.  What's yours?"
  Blah blah blah.  I wonder if he has any cockroaches.
  "I've located a survivor.  Repeat, this man is alive.  Help is on it's way.  Are you hurt?"
  Leave us alone and turn that light off!
  "We haven't found any new survivors since Tuesday and this bullshit started last Friday.  We've had rescuers working day and night looking for survivors.  You've been here for seven days.  Are you hurt anywhere?"
  Hey buddy, get a clue.  My wife and I are trying to sleep here.  Look at that.  You made that water stop dripping.  Now what am I supposed to drink?  Unless you have some cockroaches, I'd say you'd better just leave before I get really upset.
  "It's amazing that you're still alive after so long.  The whole world has gone to shit.  No one knows what's going on.  They say it's the end of the world."
  Alright!  Now I'm mad.  You're lucky I can't move my arms or legs because I'd knock your block off, chuck.
  "I'm glad to see that you are OK.  It must have been horrible to be stuck like that."
  What is this lunacy?  Get out of here!  Look, my dog is probably dead, my boss has probably fired me by now and I don't want whatever it is you're selling.  I'm not listening anymore.  La la la la. . .

The Walker of Camper High

  This one dates back to high school.  A friend of mine named, Jason Hashimura, gave me the idea for the backpack.  I created the characters, situations and storyline.  I've known Jason since I was three years old.  I've submitted a friend request to him on Facebook, but as of this blog, he hasn't responded yet.

The Walker of Camper High

  Paul Stone never knew where he got his backpack.  All he knew was that he's had it all his life.  It was a pretty non-descript backpack, but it was special.  For some reason, anything he put into it disappeared.  That was his secret and the backpack went wherever he went.  Paul was a cop.  He was on the trail of a serial killer.
  The victims of the killer were always mutilated beyond belief and parts were always missing.  One day, Paul got the idea that maybe someone else had a backpack like his.  Then one night, he pulled out a bloody arm from his backpack.  He knew it was one of the missing parts.
  He wanted to see if he could find the killer through his backpack.  He reached his arm into the opening and climbed into the hole.  Suddenly, he found himself falling through space.  He landed with a splash into a body of water, causing him to become unconscious.
  When Paul woke up, he noticed he wasn't in his apartment.  Then he remembered the backpack.
  "Where am I?"
  "Relax now, you had a nasty fall."
  "Who are you?"
  "I'm Jane Dopplehoffen.  This is my home.  I was fishing when I saw you fall from the sky.  I've been taking care of you for the past couple of days."
  "Days?  My watch says it's only Thursday.  I remember it was Wednesday when I last checked."
  "Those words mean nothing to me.  I studied your watch device.  Do you go on a twelve hour day?"
  "Twelve-hour day?  No, the days are twenty-four hours."
  "You're not from Cyril then?"
  "Cyril?  I'm from Tucson, Arizona."
  "Is that a planet?"
  "No, it's a city!"
  "Please calm down.  I must tell you something.  You're not on Tucson anymore.  This is planet Cyril.  You must have found a portal into my world and come through it."
  "The backpack."
  "What?"
  "My backpack.  I can put stuff in it and it disappears."
  "Do you recognize this?"
  "That's my 11th grade report card.  I remember that.  See, it says my name.  I never showed that to my mom.  I put it in my backpack."
  "You've put many other things in your backpack too, haven't you?"
  "Yeah, anything I don't like."
  "One of the things we do here on Cyril is collect alien artifacts.  Everybody has his or her own collection of stuff that fell from the sky.  Do you want to see my broccoli garden?"
  "I hate broccoli."
  "You've made quite a name for yourself here on Cyril.  I can't believe I'm actually talking to the Paul Stone."
  "Please, just call me Paul."
  "Well Paul, it's getting late. We should get some rest. We can't talk all night, the volcano has hushed to sleep."
  "What does that mean?"
  "On planet Cyril, we have eight-hour days.  For four hours, the volcano glows and lights the entire planet.  Then it calms and it becomes dark for four hours.  The volcano is on an island.  It's a nice vacation spot, but I haven't had a chance to go there yet."
  "Well, maybe some day.  Good night."
  "We can talk tomorrow.  Good night."
  The next day, Paul slept through the light hours and woke up the next night.  "I have to get used to this eight-hour day.  This is the strangest case of jet lag I've ever gotten."
  "In two hours, the volcano will be glowing again.  I need to get some sleep."
  Paul sat and thought for those 2 hours. He thought of questions he wanted to ask about Cyril and his situation.
  "Good morning, Jane."
  "Hello, how long have you been up?"
  "Around two hours, I think."
  "You must be bored."
  "Well, on Earth, we have days that are three times the length of a Cyrilian day so we also usually have longer attention spans, but yeah, I'm bored."
  "How many days are there in an Earth year?"
  "There's 365."
  "That would be what, like 12 months, right?  We have 122 days and that's four months."
  "You must have a different kind of lifespan.  Mind if I ask how old you are?"
  "No, I'm 90 since last week."
  "You see, I'm only 30.  That means we're the same age."
  The next day, Paul and Jane went to visit her parents' home.  "Everyone, this is Paul Stone.  Paul, this is my mother, this is my father, Professor Dopplehoffen and this is my little sister, Krystl Rose."
  "Nice to meet you."
  "Well, Paul, it's nice to meet you."
  "I think Professor Dopplehoffen can help you get back to your world and time."
  "Well actually, I was trying to catch a serial killer from where I live.  The newspapers have dubbed him the Walker of Camper High.  I have reason to believe that he has an inter-dimensional portal like the one I came through, that he uses to go to different times and places."
  "The stars?"
  "That's right, Krystl Rose."
  "What about the stars?"
  "Well you see, there are thousands of those stars up there.  Each one is an inter-dimensional portal to a different time and/or place.  I figure Paul must have come out of one of them, but which, I don't know."
  "Is there any way to get up to those stars?"
  "The only way is up Star Mountain."
  "Star Mountain?"
  "Yes, it's not too far from here.  Only one person has ever gone up there successfully.  He was an explorer named Jack Slopplegoffen.  He never came back down."
  "Jack Slopplegoffen?  That was my father's name!"
  "Let's go to the library.  They might have old newspapers about that event.  It took place only a couple years ago.  It was quite a big thing."
  "Paul, do you think Jack was your father?"
  "If he was, that would mean that I'm half Cyrilian."
  Paul and Professor Dopplehoffen went to the Cyrilian Library.  "Here's an article about Jack's expedition, but the picture's not very clear."
  "What's this book right here in the glass case?"
  "That is the Great Dictionary.  Most of us on planet Cyril speak English.  We all learned it from this book."
  "I remember that.  My mom gave it to me for my 15th birthday."
  "You've really had a great influence on Cyrilian culture and customs.  But anyway, about your father.  I know where his family lives.  Both his parents are dead, but his sisters, Esper and Nessa still live around here."
  "This isn't a very big planet is it?"
  "Well, we figure it's about the size of your moon, perhaps slightly larger.  The entire population is only a few million people.  There's a main continent and some smaller islands.  About 40% to 60% land to water ratio."
  The next day, Paul and Professor Dopplehoffen went to the house of Esper and Nessa Slopplegoffen.
  "Who is it?"
  "It's Professor Dopplehoffen."
  "You wanna flunk me in Biology again?"
  "Esper, you're suck a joker.  You used to be the class comedian."
  "Yeah, well I haven't seen you since graduation.  May I help you?  Is something wrong?"
  "Well, this is Paul Stone."
  "Nice to meet you."
  "Pleasure to meet you too."
  "Paul has come down from Earth and he might be the son of your brother, Jack."
  "I have a nephew?"
  "I guess I would be your nephew.  I never thought of that.  Is aunt Nessa around?"
  "She's in the other room reading."
  "Well, we'll only be a minute.  We just need to know if you might have a picture of Jack."
  "Oh, of course we do.  One moment."  Just then, Nessa came into the room.
  "Hi, Professor Dopplehoffen.  Who's your friend?"
  "Hello, Nessa.  This is Paul Stone."
  "The Paul Stone?"
  "Yes, I am.  And if I'm correct with my theory, I may be your nephew."
  "Woah.  I have a scarf and mittens set that I found near the sea.  It's one of the prize pieces in my extensive collection of alien artifacts."
  "Oh those?  My mother gave them to me one Christmas.  All I had wanted was toys."
  "Here's a picture of Jack.  Do you think he might still be alive?"
  "Wow, he looks just like me."
  "We're pretty sure that he is in fact alive, but he. . .It's a long story.  Can we keep this picture?"
  "Sure, go ahead."
  Paul and Professor Dopplehoffen went back to the professor's house and planned an outing to Star Mountain.  They'd have to go at night so they wouldn't attract any attention and so they'd be able to see the stars.
  "Well, it looks like we're about halfway up the mountain.  I recognize some of this junk laying around.  That's my broken calculator.  That's my old pair of shoes."
  "Well, let's keep on going."
  When they reached the top, Paul saw a red flag hanging on one of the portals.  The portals looked a lot smaller when seen at ground level.  The flag had the initials J.S. on it.
  "This must have been where my father went."
  "Well, I guess this is goodbye then."
  "I'll miss you all.  Please tell everyone I said goodbye."  Paul went into the portal and found himself in the dark.  He was in a closet.  The portal was in a cloth draw-string bag.  He climbed out and stepped out of the closet.  He was in his old house.
  "Jack, is that you?"
  "Mom, it's me, Paul."
  "I don't know anybody named Paul."
  "Mom, I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm your unborn son, Paul Stone."
  "You know what?  I believe you.  I was kind of expecting you."
  "What?"
  "Here, let me explain.  You see this picture?  It says Tanya and Jack at the beach.  Jack is your father."
  "I know that, but why were you expecting me?"
  "He left on business and I sort of peeked into his journal.  It's some weird stuff in there.  He explains that he is from another planet.  I thought it was just a bunch of crap."
  "Go on."
  "Well anyway, I'm pregnant with his baby.  He said in his journal that he didn't want Cyrilians to mix with humans.  Whatever Cyrilians are."
  "He's from planet Cyril."
  "Oh.  Well anyway, he says that he'll go into the future and kill you as an adult.  He wanted to go into his unborn child's future and kill it."
  "He must have come into my time and tried to kill me.  All those innocent people are dying because of me.  Jack is now known as the Walker of Camper High.  He's a serial killer in my time.  I'm his main target.  Jack might come back here to kill you because doing that will also eliminate me.  I suggest you get away from here."
  "Hey, Tanya, who's your friend?"  Tanya's sister, Dara came into the room.
  "Dara, this is my son, Paul Stone."
  "He's your son?"
  "It's a long story."
  "I've come from the future.  I'm Tanya's unborn son."
  "Well, whatever you say, Tanya."
  "Aunt Dara.  You used to be my favorite aunt."
  "What do you mean used to be?"
  "I don't know how to break it to you, but you died when I was eleven years old."
  "I died when?  You're from when?"
  "I'm from the year 2010.  Look at my ID card.  Birth date: October 12th, 1980.  I'm right there in this time."  He pointed to Tanya's stomach.  "But in the future, I live in Tucson as a cop.  We moved from Sierra Vista to Tucson when I was 16.  Mom, did Jack leave anything other than his journal?"
  "Yes, he left a cloth, draw-string bag.  He told me never to touch it.  It's in the closet if you wanna see it."
  "I know.  I just came out of it.  I'll tell you what.  As I said earlier, Jack might come back here to kill you. I have to go back now.  As soon as I go into the bag, put it in a safe or something.  He won't be able to come back.  And aunt Dara, in eleven years, you're going to win a trip to Hawaii.  Please, don't go."
  "Whatever you say."
  "I love you both very much.  As long as you do what I instructed, you should be OK.  And mom, take good care of you son, especially at the Grand Canyon."
  "Sure thing."  Paul went into the bag.  As soon as he was safely back, Tanya and Dara buried the bag and planted a tree over it.  Paul went back to Professor Dopplehoffen's house.
  "I had a sneaking suspicion you'd be back.  Wrong time, right?"
  "Yeah, I should have guessed.  He went to my past."
  "I was crossing my fingers, but it looks like my gut was right.  It'll be a challenge to find your present."  They went back up Star Mountain.
  "It could be any of these."
  "Except that one."  The professor pointed to the red flag.
  "I'll just have to check each one until I find it."  He stuck his head into one and found himself under water.  "OK, it's not that one."  They marked it off with a felt-tipped marker.
  He stuck his head into another one.  Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.  "Not that one.  Can't even breathe.  Geez, this could be dangerous.  Uh, yeah, mark that one off."  A few tries later, Paul was in a place where he could see cloth.  It was his backpack.
  "Professor, this is the one.  Put the blue ribbon on it."
  "OK.  Be careful.  Your father could already be in there."
  "I will be, thank you.  Don't forget the plan."
  "I won't.  Good luck."  Paul went in and he was back in his apartment.  Just then, there was a knock on the door.  Paul quickly got a rope and dropped one end of it into the backpack, leaving one end out.  He then got his service revolver and hid in the bedroom.  Jack broke down the door and entered Paul's apartment.
  "I know you're in here.  I have a knife.  Come out and. . ."  Jack saw the backpack.  "Oh, is this how you want to play it?  Well, I'm game if you are."  He climbed into the backpack in pursuit of Paul.  Instead, he found himself stuck in a cage that Professor Dopplehoffen had put beneath the portal.
  At that moment, in the apartment, Paul zipped up the backpack and popped it into the microwave oven.  He set it to cook for two minutes then called the police.  He described Jack to them and they were on their way.  Just then, he heard an explosion in the kitchen.  Jack had tried to come back through the backpack and the microwave had cooked his head.
  When the police arrived, Paul looked outside his window.  They saw his face and it matched the description of the Walker of Camper High.  Firearms were raised and Paul quickly closed the curtain and ducked.  He crawled into the kitchen, opened the microwave and pulled out the backpack.  It was bloody but intact.  He climbed in and landed on top of his father's headless, bloody corpse.
  Quickly, he shoved the body into the portal.  He climbed back up into his apartment and positioned the body in a sitting position against the front door.  After climbing back into the backpack, he shot off one round of his service revolver and shattered his front window.
  In self-defense, the police open fired into the apartment in to incapacitate the perpetrator.  When they entered the apartment, they found Jack's body.  There were no other ways out of the apartment so they assumed they had finally brought down the Walker of Camper High.
    Paul let himself drop to the top of the mountain on Rosa.  The professor had removed the cage.  Paul never returned to Earth and that was alright with him.

Chaos Theory

  Here's another one from college.  The inspiration for this came when I was passing by a grave yard and I saw that every gravestone had a flower on it.  I wondered what kind of a life one would have to have had for there to be no one to lay a flower on their grave.

Chaos Theory

  "If the only home I hope for is the grave, if I spread out my bed in darkness, where then is my hope?  Who can see any hope for me?" --Job 17: 13+15

  Brian Bexton rode his bike around and around in an empty parking lot watching a summer sunset.  He sometimes went there after work to think in solitude.  Seeing the sun go down triggered the familiar sharp stings on the sides of his nose which he knew were the birth pains of tears.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt twin streaks upon his cheeks which were cooled by a coming breeze.
  His chin quivered as he wondered why it's so hard to find friends.  Though no one could hear him he said, "It's so easy to just pretend that you like someone when all you really want is to not be alone."
  After it became dark, Brian biked home.  When he arrived at his apartment, he found some pizza coupons in his mailbox and the red light on his phone machine was not blinking.
  "Woohoo.  Medium pizza blab de blah de blah. . .trash."  He threw the coupons away in the plastic grocery bag he used as a garbage can and grabbed a soda from his unlit and barren refrigerator.  The light bulb in his desk lamp didn't work so he lit some candles and put on some classical music.
  Brian had an itch to write so he sat down and flipped to a fresh page in his notebook.  After half an hour of staring at the blank page, he decided to look at some of his older writing.  He read an old poem of his.

One And One
In some place outside my window
out my door and through these walls
Someone else is sad as I am
silently she sits alone
I wish I could comfort her and
tell her someone cares for her
Then both of us can cease our tears
and know we have someone to hold

  Brian was amazed at how long ago he had written that poem, as well as at how little things had changed since then.  A mosquito buzzed in his ear so he quickly sought refuge in the bathroom.  He soon sat down on the toilet seat and fell asleep.
  The next morning, he woke up with at least twelve mosquito bites.  The candles on his desk had burned out.  He finished the soda from the night before, which had gone flat.  Then he prepared and ate a cup of noodles.  It was time to bike to the hospital where he worked managing data.
  His boss came into his work place to speak with him.  "Good morning, Brian.  I know that, despite your best efforts here, work has been piling up for you ever since your last co-worker quit.  So, I've hired someone to help you with your data management.  I'll leave you in charge of helping her along today.  She'll be coming at ten so just get her started on something simple."
  "Simple.  Alright, sir."
  Durova Wallace came in precisely at ten, which impressed Brian.  "Hello, I'm Brian Bexton.  I guess I'm in charge of showing you around."
  "Durova.  Nice to meet you."
  "Likewise.  Um, basically we're in charge of keeping track of sick people."
  "Sick people."
  "Yeah, there's a lot of sick people out there.  It's our job to organize the records of bad things that happen to them.  For today, I'll start you on some filing.  Do you go to the university?"
  "Yes, I'm studying Astronomy."
  "I'll bet you can't wait for summer to end so you can get back to your small angle calculations and spectroscopy. Me, I'm an English major."
  "So you write?"
  "I try.  Have you had much chance to travel this summer?"
  "Actually, I just moved back here after having spent a year studying in Okinawa.  I went as a foreign exchange student and I just got back a couple weeks ago.  I was lucky enough to get a job fairly quickly."
  "Well, we're glad to have you on board.  How was Japan?  I hear they have some beautiful blossoms in spring."
  "Yeah.  I like the food and stuff, but it's good to be back in the States where cars are bigger than a breadbox."
  The next day, Brian was glad to see Durova was already there when he went into work.  "You're pretty good at keeping time, I've noticed."
  "Thanks.  They're pretty strict about stuff like that in Japan.  I guess it's a habit I picked up over there."
  Brian tried to come in a little earlier the next day, but still she was already there.  "One of these days I'm going to come into the office before you do."
  "Well, I hope you aren't allergic to silver."
  "What does that mean?"
  "When it comes to punctuality, I always get the gold."
  "We'll just have to see about that."
  Over the next several days, Brian and Durova enjoyed teasing each other about who didn't come to work first.  By the time a few weeks had gone by, they had become quite well acquainted.  They had come to appreciate one another's company.  One day, though, she came in late.
  "Uh oh, I smell silver."
  "Whatever."
  "I'm just messing around.  Is there uh, is there something bothering you?"
  "No, it's nothing."
  "Wait, I think it's not nothing.  Is something wrong?"
  "Well, it's this place."
  "The office?"
  "No, no.  It's everything."  Durova blew some hair out of her eyes.  "I used to consider this place to be my home, you know?  But everything's different now.  Being here is just not the same any more since I've been back."
  "How do you mean?"
  "I don't know.  I guess there's no more meaning for me here.  I used to enjoy it here, but it was never because of the place.  It was the people and my interactions with people.  But I've lost contact with my old friends and now it's just dead here.  All I have are memories.  There's no sense of being home."
  "Well. . ."
  "There's nothing to say.  It's just empty here for me.  There's nothing left of my old life anymore.  The people are gone.  Everything's gone.  It scares me."
  "It's OK to feel afraid.  But don't let it get you down.  It's not a bad thing to be scared.  Most people aren't even honest enough to admit that they are.  Just don't let your fears control you.  You know, someone once said, 'Your happy days make you who you are when you're sad, and your sad days make you who you are when you're happy.'"
  "Did this 'someone' happen to have a point?"
  "Well, what he meant by that was that the things you learn when all's well will help you to better deal with life when times are bad.  And the times when things are bad will help you to better appreciate life when all's well."
  "I guess.  Thanks, Brian."
  "No problem.  Besides, school's almost here again.  You'll have plenty of things to keep you busy."
  "Yeah, you're right."
  Less than a week later, school started again and Brian found that their class schedules gave them different hours at work.  They hardly saw each other anymore.  Brian noticed that the quality of Durova's work began to slip.  He didn't know how he could help her.  He wanted at least to lift her spirits or encourage her in some way because he knew she was going through rough times.
  One Friday night, he decided he wanted to write a poem to give her.  The next morning, he biked to one of his favorite thinking spots so that he could set to writing.  There was an old cemetery nearby in which he could get some privacy.  The atmosphere of the place had helped him to write many a time in the past so he returned.
  No dice.  Brian could not think of one thing to write.  He started to look around for anything that might stir something within him.  He noticed that every grave had a bouquet of some sort that had been placed on it.  His eye stopped on one of the headstones.  He stood up and walked over to it.  This grave had no flowers.

Alayna McKay
1976-1996

  Embossed upon the headstone was a picture of a young lady.  Seeing it, he recognized her as someone who had gone to his high school.  He recalled that she had been a cheerleader.  She'd had long red hair and green eyes, but the girl in the photograph had short black hair.  His eyes lingered on the picture.  She had a more dark and delicate grace about her which he found to be quite unlike the girl he remembered.  He shrugged it off and went to sit under one of the large oak trees.
  Lying back to look at clouds, Brian fell asleep.  In his dreams he saw a female figure dressed in black, weeping in a corner.  He cautiously approached and gently put his hand on her shoulder.  She looked him in the eyes and said nothing.
  "Alayna?"
  "Why do you call me that?"
  "Isn't that your name?"
  "That's what my parents called me.  Everyone else called me Bae."
  "Bae?"
  "Yes, that's a nickname my older sister gave me when I was young.  I guess it was short for 'baby' or something."
  "That's right.  You were Mirabel's younger sister.  She and I had a class together before she graduated.  I never got a chance to meet you, but I saw you around.  You hung out with a different crowd than I did.  I think you may have known my brother.  Kinda tall. . .football player. . ."
  "You mean Chargood?"
  "Yeah.  My mom wanted to give me that name, but my dad had always wanted to name his first son after himself so I became Brian Bexton Jr.  My mom got to name the next one so the poor kid got stuck being called Chargood Bexton." Alayna stopped sobbing, which eased Brian's concern.
  "Are you alright?" he asked.  Without answering, she just buried her head in his shoulder and he held her like that in his arms.  "Shh, it's OK."  He tried to sound comforting, but for the longest time, she just sat there sighing raggedly before anything else was said.
  "It's so cold down here.  All I see is blackness."  This caught Brian off guard.
  "Here. . .where?"
  "Here, in the grave."
  "But. . .how. . ."
  "How did I die?  I killed myself."  Brian suddenly felt the coldness she'd spoken of.  Again she started crying.
  "Alayna.  Bae.  What happened?  In high school you always seemed so happy.  I thought you had it all."
  "I had nothing.  None of that meant anything to me.  All anyone cared about was my looks and all I wanted was to feel important."
  "So what happened?"
  "After graduation, everyone moved away, promising to be 'friends forever'.  Everything seemed perfect.  I thought it would stay that way, but I was wrong.  Nobody ever wrote to me or even bothered to drop a line.  Even Mirabel moved away to pursue her education.  She was always the smart one.  I was the pretty one.  All my old friends were too busy with their new lives.  I stayed here and tried modeling, but I was always too short or too this or too that.  That didn't work out."
  "What did you do?"
  "I started hanging out with some artsy, depressed, coffee-drinking poetry people.  I thought I could relate better with them.  I cut my hair, dyed it black and started wearing lots of black.  Turns out, all those people ever cared about was themselves if anything at all."
  "I know the type."
  "Yeah, well, I found that all I wanted to do was sleep.  Whenever I was awake, I was depressed so I started to take sleeping pills.  I ate very little and lost a lot of weight.  I got so addicted to those pills that I ate more of them than I did food.  One night, I decided to take a week's worth.  I knew what it would do to me, I just didn't care anymore."
  "You must have felt so alone.  I know how it feels like to be alone.  I hate it.  I must be the loneliest person that I know."
  "It's easy to be the loneliest person you know when you only know yourself."
  "What do you mean?"
  "I mean, you're only a hypochondriac if you think you are.  Do you ever leave your house?  Do you ever interact with other people in a social setting?"
  "I go to work."
  "I'm not talking about work or even school.  What do you do for fun?"
  "I write."
  "Oh yeah?  What's the last thing you wrote?"
  "Um.  It was, uh."
  "You don't remember.  You can't write about anything if you never do anything.  You have writer's block because you're in a bubble that doesn't include other people.  I bet every day's the same old routine for you isn't it?"
  "Well.  Yeah."
  "I used to think the way you do.  I thought I was the loneliest person alive.  I found out that death is far worse.  Life for me was empty so I took the easy way out.  What I didn't know was that in the grave, there's nothing to look forward to."
  "I don't have much to look forward to."
  "You have the rest of your life."
  "But so much is uncertain."
  "Of course it is.  In life everything is uncertain.  That's the thrill of living.  You never know what will happen next.  Here, in the grave, nothing ever changes.  There's no hope for love.  There's no hope for anything."
  "I don't have anyone to love."
  "But you could, that's the point.  I can't."
  "I feel sorry for you.  I wish there was something I could do for you.  You seem so sad."
  "I'm sad because there is not hope for me.  You have hope."
  "No, I don't."
  "Sure you do, Brian.  You just said you'd like to do something for me.  No one has ever cared before about whether or not I was happy."  Brian's eyes welled up.
  "You see?  Your hope lies in the fact that you can make a difference in someone else's life."
  "I've never had hope before."
  "It has always been hiding behind your fears.  You will make someone very happy one of these days."
  "How?  I don't even know how to cheer you up."
  "Well, you see my headstone?"
  "The unflowered grave?"
  "I would be forever grateful if you would put some flowers there for me."
  "Flowers?  Sure.  What kind?"
  "I've always liked yellow lilies."
  "You got it."
  "You know, you've given me something to look forward to.  I've never had that before.  No one ever really cared about me like that before."
  "I guess there's hope for me after all."
  Brian finally knew what he wanted to write about.  With a tear in his eye, he hugged Alayna goodbye and then he woke up.  It was early in the morning and the sun was just beginning to rise.  It was the most wonderful sight he had ever seen.  Feeling inspired, he wrote in his notebook.
  After writing down his thoughts, Brian got up and went to buy some flowers to lay on Alayna's grave.  The following Monday, he went to the hospital after class to see if Durova might be working.  She was there, and quite surprised to see him.
  "You know, it's funny, Brian.  You're the second person I've bumped into today that I haven't seen in a while.  Earlier today, I ran into an old friend of mine and we ended up having lunch together.  She talked about something called the chaos theory.  She told me that a butterfly in Japan could start a hurricane here.  Isn't that weird?"
  "Did you do anything different today?"
  "Why do you ask?"
  "Well, all you have to do is deviate slightly from your normal routine and you'll see people you don't usually see.  Did you change anything today?"
  "I didn't go my usual route to the Astro lab.  I cut through the Science building.  That's when I saw her."
  "That's all it takes.  You see, as we move along in life, we lose touch with old friends because our circles revolve around the accumulation of choices we've made.  Our choices dictate our spheres, but sometimes we just get into a rut in which it seems there is no hope for change.  All we need to do is change one small thing.  Even that can give us something to look forward to.  I mean, usually I go straight home after class, but today, I came here instead because I wanted to see you and give you this."  Brian showed Durova the poem he had written."

Hope

A tree
long thought gone
shoots
The sun
long thought lost
rises
Not forever really dead
Not to never rise again
I know
A flower
long thought gone
blooms
A love
long thought lost
is there
Not to ever wilt away
Not to see its dying day
I know

  When she had read it, a tear came to her eye.  "That's some rut I've been in."
  "Yes, but that can change.  It's not impossible for a butterfly from Japan to cause a hurricane here."  As he said this, he put his hand over his heart to make a point.  Durova just sat there thinking about what Brian had said.  She smile despite her watery eyes.
  "That was really corny," she said, still smiling.
  "Well, it worked."  Brian offered her a shoulder to cry on, which she gladly took.  They embraced for several seconds.  "You know, I was thinking you and I should go have a nice sushi dinner some time.  That is, of course, if you like sushi."
  Durova couldn't help but laugh through her tears.  "I love it."
  Brian smiled.  "Somehow I thought you might.  I do too, very much."

The Dance of the Paper Cranes

  This is one I wrote while I was in college.  The idea came to me when I found out that cranes like to be around bodies of water.

The Dance Of The Paper Cranes

  In the small rural town of Houterray, John Garischen dreamed of the day he would see a crane up close.  Every year when the days began to get shorter, he would look to the sky to see the passing of the migrating cranes.
  At the outskirts of the town lived a young lady by the name of Sierra Dophlet who stayed by herself in a little cabin by the barren Field of Treachery.  She never left her house and the townsfolk left her alone.  Each week, John put a basket of food on her front porch because he had known her father before he had died.
  One afternoon, as he went to make the drop off, he saw that her door was open.  He heard a voice whisper, "Please don't leave me."
  "Sierra?"
  "I don't want to be alone."
  "I brought you some. . ."
  "I know.  Please come and sit for a while."
  "I haven't been in here since before your father. . ."
  "Since he died.  You knew my father?"
  "Farmer Dophlet is what I used to call him.  I used to help him reap during the harvest season."
  "He loved that field of his.  That's why my mother left him.  When I was only five, she took me to live in Tucson."  I always resented being taken away from my dad."
  "He was a good man."
  "He used to read me a bedtime story called, 'With What Shall Orange Rhyme?' I don't remember how it went."
  "'Once there was an orange.  It was nice and round like an orange should be.'"
  Sierra's eyes lit up.  "You've heard it?"
  "Oh yeah, it used to be my favorite," John grinned.
  "Mine too.  The orange was looking for something to rhyme with orange."
  "'Well, it doesn't rhyme with me,' said the tree quite rudely," John quoted from memory.
  Sierra laughed.  "Oh, then he talks to that cat who starts bragging about all the things with which cat rhymes."
  John couldn't help but to laugh himself.  "I could just see a cat doing that, you know?"
  Sierra's face became serious as she remembered the next part of the story.  "The rock says, 'Don't you know that nothing rhymes with orange?'"
  "I usually fell asleep by that point," John lied.
  "Sometimes I feel just like that orange.  I had always wished that the migrating cranes would stop to rest here, but no one else I know seems to care."
  "Every year, when the leaves start to change color, I watch for the cranes.  All my life I've wanted to see one up close.  No one in this town seems to believe that it can ever happen.  They used to, but for the longest time, I thought I was the only one who still believed."
  "My dad used to promise me that one day they would come, but when I moved to the city, I lost all hope."
  "Is that why you moved back here?"
  "When my dad died, he left the field and the cabin to me.  I was never happy in the city so I moved here, hoping to start fresh, but something was wrong.  I was no longer a country girl.  The townspeople shunned me as an outsider.  All I have is this cabin and that stupid Field of Treachery."
  "That field used to thrive with vegetation.  When some droughts came, the soil dried up and hardened, becoming infertile and barren."
  "You know, when I was in the city, a guy taught me how to make cranes out of paper."  Sierra took out a square sheet of paper and folded a paper crane.  She handed it to John.
  "Can you show me how to do that?"
  "Of course."  She got another sheet and helped him to make a crane.  When he was done, he gave it to her.
  "Well, it's not as good as the one you made, but. . ."
  "I love it.  I used to make them all the time.  I perfected it after a while."
  "But you can't make a perfect crane out of paper.  There's no such thing as perfect paper cranes, only perfect cranes."
  Sierra nodded.  "You know, if you gently pull on the head and the tail, you can make the wings flap up and down." She demonstrated to the amusement of her new companion.
  "It looks like it's dancing."  John made his paper crane dance along with hers.
  She smiled and looked at the crane she had made.  "With what I have, this is the best I can do."
  "Believe me, Sierra, it's not."
  She noticed a ring on John's thumb.  "What's that ring you're wearing?"  She pointed at his hand.
  "Oh, this is a friendship ring my mom gave me.  My grandpa gave it to my grandma, who gave it to my mother."
  "My mother never gave me anything."
  John took the ring off his thumb and put it in her palm.  "I want you to have it."
  "Are you trying to make me cry?  Is that what you want?"
  "Sometimes it's best to.  I'd rather you cry just once while we're together than laugh a million times alone."
  "This is the best gift that anyone has ever given to me."  She tried it on each of her fingers, but it was too big for her.  A tear rolled down her chin.
  "Don't worry, Cloudy Eyes.  I have a chain at home that I can give you so you can wear it as a necklace."
  "Thank you, John.  I will never take it off."
  "I should get going or I'll be late for work."
  "Before you go, I want to give you something from by rose garden."  She plucked an unopened rosebud from her rosebush and handed it to John.
  "What's this for?"
  "You'll see."
  That night, John put the crane she had made on his desk.  He grabbed the chain and decided to surprise her by bringing it over.  When John got to the cabin, he knocked on the door.  There was only silence.  He turned the doorknob and opened the door only to see that she was gone.  He went into the forest, knowing that it would be almost impossible to find her in the dark.
  "God, please let her be okay."  He looked up at the sky.
  "Lord, as I stand here, under your sky, looking for a lucky star to guide me, I see just how big the universe really is."  He put the rosebud in his breast pocket and the chain around his neck to free his hands so that he could search through the dense foliage.
  "Father, I am going to wear this chain around my neck until I see her again and I have faith that I will not be wearing it for the rest of my life."
  He went back to her cabin in hopes that she would return.  Putting the rosebud in a vase on her window sill, he prayed, "Please give me a sign that she's alright."  He fell asleep there in her chair.
  The next morning, he got up and saw that the rosebud had bloomed over night.  "Thank you, God.  I know you have given me a sign that I will find her."  He left the cabin and went to the field.  That's when he saw her.
  Out on the other side of the field he saw her body lying on the ground.  He ran up to her and saw that she was next to a puddle of water.  In her hand was a bucket.
  "Sierra!"  He sat next to her and pulled her hand into his.  It was warm.  She was bleeding badly from a wound on the back of her head.  He let a tear fall and then her eyes opened.
  "Hey there, Cloudy Eyes," she whispered.
  "Don't move too much, Sierra.  You've lost a lot of blood.  You can make it, but we have to. . ."
  "Every second that goes by uncherished is a second lost.  I've lost no time with you.  I remember the rest of that bedtime story.  One day another orange comes by.  'What does orange rhyme with?'  'Why, of course, it rhymes with orange.'  The orange was overwhelmed with joy and the two looked quite nice while sitting together.  It seems the only thing to rhyme with orange is another orange."
  John wiped the tears from his eyes.  "I have that chain to give you."  He took it off his neck.  She handed him the ring which he slipped onto the chain to attach around her neck.
  She smiled.  "You were right.  Making paper cranes is not the best I can do.  I've decided to flood this field and soften the soil.  I couldn't wait until morning so I went out in the dark with my bucket.  I didn't get much done before I slipped and hit my head on a rock."
  "Believe me, you've done much more than you know."
  Sierra smiled weakly and never took her next breath.  John held her lifeless body in his arms and wept.
  Later he went into a busy part of town.  "I need to tell you that Sierra Dophlet is dead.  She died while trying to water her field.  I want to continue the job she could not finish."  The townsfolk murmured amongst themselves.
  One of them turned to John.  "What good will that do?  The soil is too hard to grow anything."
  John shook his head.  "That field could be fertile again.  I'm not going to let her death be for nothing."
  One of the young men in the crowd said, "I'll help you."  One by one, many volunteered their services.  That day the town went to work on the field.  Bucket by bucket, they watered it until that night when it was done.  Sierra's body was cremated and it was decided that her ashes would be spread on the field in the morning.
  The next morning, John got up in front of the gathering at the field to eulogize Sierra.
  "I only knew Sierra Dophlet for a few short hours, but in that time, I learned that it is easy to laugh and to cry, but to find someone with whom you can laugh and for whom you would cry is rare."
  John then opened the urn and poured its contents onto the flooded field which was a mirror for the sunrise.  As the ripples from the fallen ashes spread across the surface of the water, they disturbed a crane which had been resting.  It took flight.  Before the eyes of the entire town, John's dream came true.  John finally realized the meaning behind the giving of the unopened rosebud.
  The field was sewn with crops and had a plentiful harvest the year later.  The flooding of the field became a yearly ritual in preparation for the next planting season.  Each year, more and more cranes came to stop and rest in the waters of what became known as Sierra Haven.

Across the Mud

  Read into this what you will.  It doesn't even sound complete to me.  There's no conclusion or story that it's telling.  It does paint one hell of a dreary picture, though.  I don't know, maybe that was my whole point I wanted to get across at the time.

Across the Mud

The iron maiden
turns into the iron slut
as the torture chamber
den of hate
is filled with guts
You've got a
masterpiece of massacre
amassed with blood
As the screams of pain
are echoing
across the mud