I Met You Before Once

All this to end up in a cemetery for a chance at mourning for a parent he has never met though to those of the goers of the consecrated grounds she was more than a dead individual. Offerings were laid down to her and those of her kind here. She was the only link he had of his Creole beginnings.

If the grounds keepers knew who he was and who he could be to this society, he would surely be anointed with some moniker he did not want to be. Before he decides on his future and his past, he needed to know who he was related to. Why have all these dreams of a wonderful woman and not know who she was? All he knew was that she was taken too early in life, away from all of these superstitions and stripped off of him and his childhood arms. He was taken to fast and to soon for any memories to stick like the snowy ground where he grew up.  His kind was not tolerated anywhere. A group of his old friends had to fight just to remain seated at a restaurant. 

Why would a black man want to seek his roots? He dreamed of a time when they will all be freed from a lot of this animosity and hatred. He dreamed of a time where there is a child with a skin much fairer than his but had his mother's eyes. In his dream a beautiful woman spoke, called out his name. "Please find me!" She said if only softly just as she was being dragged by something dark away and yet the darkness did not seem sinister to him. His foster father could only remember where he was taken away from. So here he is in one of the most famed haunted cemetery, but oh no, the tours around the grounds were not what scared him in New Orleans. It was not uncovering the dead past of those on the grounds that would reach out and take him... Take him away from his own long gone mother and his uncertain past.

Butterfly Effect

She was there on the balcony wondering about life and death again. Grandma Arika of Korea never told this proper young lady as such. Living her life with her was wonderful but her parents are home and she has no one to confide in any more. Arika was everything she wanted to be like. She was free now. She was gone to the wind and, "The wind will speak back. So feel free." Sosa was tired of being the girl that hid the lepidopteran birthmark on her wrist. She was tired of people thinking who the person that was should be this and that and she wanted to be gone. 

Socza, this beauty of American and Korea combined, couldn't see the beauty that Licko saw. All she saw was the broken heart that Licko left. The grass was soft that night, the moon was the biggest he has ever seen... She saw her biggest pet fly off from the jar that he and Licko kept of a gorgeous Queen Alexandra fly away. She saw her soul just slip off as well when she hit the grass underneath her balcony. 

Licko was ready to repent of a past transgression, not to accidentally trip and let go of the jar before getting in the tall shrub that used to hide their relationship from those of the first floor parties of the boat. A servant boy should never try to cast her eyes on the lady of the house. Now he has lost everything when Socza tried to recapture the essence of their past love. Now the butterfly is gone. No one will have known that Socza carried Licko's child in a barely-there adoration, it was after all the 1940. The only reason Socza was ever born was because her American father was really big on trade scene so Socza's mother and Licko's ancestral ties had to be broken in order for Arika's husband to control the family. Arika repented the ways of her husband and his beatings by allowing Socza and Licko to meet, if only to keep Licko bound to the horses that Socza's father traded.

Licko had to act fast. Now that the butterfly is gone, as well as her love for him and their unborn child, as well as the un-redeemable chance of forgiveness for when Licko honestly told Socza that he will endure a beating. He will endure it just to keep Socza's wild Korean mare from being bred to American stallions. Licko took the mare, not knowing that war is upon their island of Tarawa seeking out males for a fight to the death of 6,400. He was, every so often, fleeing on broken wings.

The Duality of Barath

Barath knew nothing of good tidings, of love, of family. He lived the life one coin at a time, a pusher after the next on what feeds this talking ache. He had a way once, a life, a family, a provider for his ills. He never had to know such grievances. He never had to know such faults. He never had to suck in smoke from someone's old cigarettes. He never had such clothes. He never knew friends like the boned one in the black cloak. The man in the corner who had his last bonfire from the drum, he'll be the next. The child in that ladie's arms has been long dead but she just can't let her go. They are family, they are friends.

He was a child once, and like a child he didn't have to cling to life. Life just opened up to him. But that faithful accident one night by the river. He first found out how to fly. He was washed away clean of his thoughts. He was washed clean of everything. His prized possession long gone. He only knew he was Barath. The last few letters stitched on his shirt as a teen. If only something could jolt his memory. If only he knew what he did. He wouldn't question what he sees everyday. He wouldn't have to be where he is.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is no dark or no light path. There is the void, there is the calmness and if you listen closely you can hear them like he does. No amount of the past of what he knew of the future would dim them out. You only have to pretend they aren't there. He learned well. He learned really well. People are living ghosts to him everyday.

Reem the Dream Walker

Walking past the parting of the snakes

 Onto the tomb of the Father

 She read the teachings of the stones

The lessons etched on her heart

When she turned away from the stones

The snakes beseech her not to leave them be

She walked the earth a living lesson

The stones behind her crumbled

Reem woke up sweaty in the hospital. She felt oddly calm and collected. She couldn't understand it. The same dream of the poem that she once sang to herself as a child came back to haunt her. It must be silly to be here with all these people in this building. She wanted to be isolated with just a few. She was just given this bed before they gave her a personal room in the nearest psyc ward. 

How precious was she? Cancer perks were given to her as easy as pie. Close to the ward but not in the ward. It must be hard being and seeing this all. She was failing miserably until she had these dreams. She got better and better until she was on remission. Remission mission is what she used to call it. She was never afraid of death. She was though, afraid of insanity. That is what brought her today. She was afraid of mirrors all the time and she was left with all this to ponder when she was on remission. What is a reflection but a conduit to another place. They really should take down that stupid Taoist thing there, but that was neither here or there. She just had to break down in China of all places, she really had to go back to Ireland to her doctor and figure out what is wrong.

Mrs. Cherry the Talker

She crossed at the light while admiring the sweet powder blue Mini Cooper Clubman S and it's cheery driver. Jeanavive spent the last 48 running a few errands, in 68 years she was always fond of things that go bump in the night, never thought she'd be the next to go bumping... What the heck, it's just incurable towards-the-end-but-tube cancer which is funny because she started sewing tons of flower pattern stitches on her quilts since she was fourteen. She was too late to know that flowery polyps growing down her ex-food tubes creating a garden that is the sole reason of her demise despite her fabulous food choices... She'd rather die her way. Now she had a garden of those weeds killing her better than poppies in China putting thousand back in the day. It's not like her docile  great grand daughter Remmie will ever know that the flowers she carries off to her were reminiscent of death rather than the fight she needs to survive. Where were the keys to her college fund? What use is a beautiful way to haunt future grand babies than to make sure her death insurance's purpose ensues a bright future for those "of" the future. Maybe I should also write down my last few paragraphs for a possible part in Rick Warren's future writings, maybe a snippet on his new bestseller book called a "Purpose Driven Death." Ha! Ahhh... There she is, the man to finalize the deal: Marttihew Azriella. 

"You are not supposed to be travelling about, Jena, if the other patients could talk, they'd talk of the cryptic old lady spinning her notes of her 'life' after death."

Life is for the living, everybody knows I'm not fit to be called the latter any more until Remmie is sure I've had it done. She's driving in, Mart, I can't lose her like my almost after life before the revive, I can't. My soul is too weak to drop in, I might be a sad character in the next if I... I see forever silent silver lightning bolts only jolt hard, it means I'm really close Mart. No one must know until you read the will... You fixed it right?

"What are you sure of then Jeana? The full monetary to Remmie and none to Chad? Or the "none" to Remmie and the monetary to Chad?

I can only leave him with the future he keeps on choosing for himself so I'll let him decide on this one, he either fails himself again or not. Either way, the start up I'll leave him will be equal if not more in the numbers than what I send over to my darling. Time to put into place the hardest unbreakable clause known to man.... At least to this woman.

"So what will it be Miss Sherry.... Amour? Any autumn death day now."

Yes, this one will do nicely.