47 in 46: Wild World

Jumping back one year to 1971, we are joined by Cat Stevens, speaking more fluently in just over 3 minutes time of his heartbreak than I ever could, even if I’d seventy-times seven times as long to do so.

Now if “Spinning Wheel” was a song that caused my mind to stumble over it’s meaning, Mr. Stevens “Wild World” left me little doubt as to what was to come once “love” bloomed. Sadly, many more times than I would have anticipated.

To follow is what bubbled up while using this track as my prompt, and as always, I hope you enjoy…

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She’s gone.

She meant everything to me, and now she’s gone.

I can’t.

I just can’t. I can’t even go on. I can’t because of all the people in my life; she’s the one I thought would be mine forever.

Mine…

MINE!!!

Why can’t she be mine?

Why can’t she just still be mine?

I love her. I love her as I love the sound of the springtime birdsong on a late winter’s day. I love her like I love the taste of hose water in the dead raunch-heat of summer. I love her as I love the smell of warm pumpkin pie slathered in whipped cream during the crisp fall, with air chill just enough as to beckon forth fair warning of the dead season to come. I loved like this, and in ways indescribable. I loved her in a fashion that mere language fails to comprehend, let alone express.

And now…

Now…?

Now she’s gone. She’s gone after another, or after no one. She’s gone and moved on to whatever adventure she felt I could not be a part of, and my heart is suffocating at the thought of it. My mind reels over the impossibility. My soul moans over both her not being here with me, and in her being happy wherever it is that she is now.

Please, don’t misunderstand. I want her to be happy.

I do, really.

I just wish, I wish… Well, I wish that she could be happy with me. She was my everything; my life and my love. I just can’t imagine being alive anymore without her presence and her scent to comfort me, her smile and laugh to warm me, her strength and her bravado to shoulder me, and her innocence and grace to inspire me.

Damn it, she meant everything to me, and now she’s gone!

And I am so alone.

So terribly, frighteningly alone.

Of course, there’s also the family and friends to contend with. What do I tell them about us? How do I ever break it to everyone that she’s gone? How could I possibly explain in a way that would make even a fraction of sense out of this senselessness? I’ll let them blame me of course, for even in her deserting me, I couldn’t stomach to see her slandered. No, I just couldn’t.

I love her that much.

I wish her well, truly I do. And I mean her no harm. Not even after how deeply she hurt me; scarred me. No, not even after all that. Not even though as a result of her treachery I will never love again…

I just don’t know what I’ll tell everyone yet though, to break this news disastrous. But I do know that I need to get out from under this funk just long enough as to come up with some sort of story. I mean after all, the school year IS almost upon us, and of course last anyone knew, we were joyfully together as a happy couple when second grade came to a close.

I just can’t even imagine having to start third grade without her…

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A Similar Morning Routine

Breakfast nook painted[1]

As always, it started with a smile.

The sort of broad and surprised smile that created ever-so slight crease lines around her mouth and under her eyes. The sort of lines that alerted you gently to the fact that this was a woman who knew joy. Or at least knew what it was supposed to be.

And she smiled it demurely, for me. Sure, the world out there might have thought that her contentment came from, and/or was intended for them. I mean, the world out there always does. But I knew different. I knew that that smile, those lines, and the peace that I saw glowing within her eyes – in that moment – was intended solely for me alone.

I knew, because I was lucky enough to share a life with her. I knew, because this morning, as always, she followed a similar routine. A routine I liked to call “Bliss.”

As with most mornings, she started by first filling me with her desire, holding me both lovingly and gingerly, in her hands. She then brought my face close to hers, touching the center of my labret delicately with just the very tip of her tongue, before pressing her lip firmly against mine in a lovers embrace. Draining me of my love dry, she filled herself with my heat as I willingly emptied myself at the same time.

She stroked my lip greedily with her tongue again. Leaving me shivering, cold, and somehow still full though empty, as she turned my world upside down, pulling into her very soul, my last drop and trace of sweetness.

Caressing me warmly just once more, she uttered something to the effect of “boy, now that was exactly what I needed,” before placing me delicately into the sink, my handle just touching the side of the glass tumbler that had held her Captain Morgan & Coke captive the night previous.

Both tumbler and I stared belligerently at each other for a moment. Knowing in our hearts that as we’d each fulfilled our purpose, we’d then been summarily dismissed. Knowing that neither of us would ever do so well as him. He who was able to drink her as she drank him. He, who was able to inebriate her, at the same time that she was energizing him. And knowing this, both tumbler and I wished that for even just one moment we could swap places with him. Wishing that just for once, that broad and surprised smile would truly be ours alone – mine alone – for all moments, and for always.

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The Letter

When someone as gifted as Ela asks you to write with her, you do NOT say no. In fact, if you’re anything like me, you jump at the chance. And, since I am almost exactly like me, that is exactly what I did.

Now, I think we’ve all come to grips with the fact that I don’t really “do” prose well, whereas Ela is really quite gifted at it. As a result, she and I decided to be creative in working our way around this slight issue, and in the tale we crafted, I hope you’ll be as pleased with the results as we are…

theletter-copyDeath sat at the edge of the bed, slack-jawed and stone-faced. Well, more stone-faced than usual; as the crumpled piece of paper formed an impenetrable barrier between It and Its intended cache for this night.

Why had It done it? Why had It read that infernal letter in the first? An effortless matter, this should have been. Just one more soul, ready to be extracted. One more life, simply at its wick’s end.

And yet, this time was different. This time, as Death glowered over this weak and puny, yet oddly contented man, a strange new feeling came. A crawling, warming sensation previously unknown to It. Looking at this creature – this sheet-white man-ape of no previous regard – It felt something akin to what It imagined affection might be described as.

Utterly ridiculous!

Shivering, It dismissed the thought altogether and slowly rose from the bed, in order to do what It should have done in the first. But right before doing so, It once again did what It shouldn’t have done in the first, and glanced at the letter once more.

That damned letter. With its presence, Death knew that this man-ape with the childish grin, would live on. Well, at least until it was her time to be taken too. Sighing resignedly, It stalked forth from the room, forever more trying to forget the words that It had read:

“My Love,

You have waited for me an eternity
Trying to see me in a million faces
Yet you never could, for it was not the time for us.
Tonight sleep peacefully knowing that the nightmare is over
And that I am on my way to you.
Tomorrow, when you will open your eyes
You will see my eyes mirroring you.
No pain, no chain, not even Death
Will stop me this time.
I thought I saw you millions of times
In millions of lives, my Love.
But every time I lost the illusion
Like a smoke scattered above the frozen waters of my broken heart.
For you were nowhere else but here all the time, waiting for me.
Tomorrow, when you will open your eyes
We will finally start to live.
Let the past die and rise from this tomb of agony
For Tomorrow is here
And I am coming.”

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Ela&Troy, 2013
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Please follow Ela at MeMyselfAndEla, a wonderful and gifted poet-writer who speaks eloquently from her heart.

Beyond The Sea

You know what I said last week about finding inspiration for these pictures? Yeah, well this week none of that happened, as the very second the prompt picture popped open, I shouted excitedly – and to no one in particular – “PEN PALS!!!”

That’s right, this week’s Friday Fictioneers immediately made me think of the pen pals bit I wrote a little while back for the 100 Word Song challenge, and I thought we’d revisit these kids now to see how they’re doing, cool?

Hope you enjoy!

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Copyright – Sarah Ann Hall

Wanting to touch her cheek, he reached out slowly, till his fingertips softly tickled the image on the screen before him.

They were so much alike, yet different. They were so very connected, yet far apart, each firmly entrenched to their own place.

He longed to traverse those few thousand miles, but was unable to break himself free. So instead, he continued sending pictures and words across the ocean, hoping that she would see in them, his love for her.

Sighing, he wondered what she was doing at that moment.

Wanting to touch his constantly tossled hair, her fingertips softly brushed the image on the screen before her…

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