470. Into Port

Em looked at Trev as one looks at an old photograph, trying to match the image in hand with the image in mind. He sat next to her on the bed. She combed his hair with her fingers, her eyes tracing the details of his face. Her fingers moved slowly, massaging his scalp, her thumb making circles on his temple. He closed his eyes and breathed in as one stepping off a diving board, the fall in slow-motion, the water as open arms, warm, enveloping, motherly. Her strokes were tender, smooth, softly firm, endearing. No rush. A linger of heart directing fingers on a string.

We should really join the others he said. She kissed his ear. Our last chance at port for some time he added. Her tongue traced his lobe; and he felt her lissome leg press against his. He didn't move, his mind in his leg, in the warmth, a communication dreamt. Leaning into his shoulder, the softness of her chest against him, her arms noosed his neck, her hands rendezvousing on the far side of his head and as one cradles a baby, she pulled him toward. As leaves on a summer breeze, they fell upon the sheets, giggles replacing words, smiles in eyes, fingers urgent, lips tender.

"Anyone seen Em or Trev?" asked Kyra.

"Nope," said Rog.

"Should we--"

Yul shook her head, words in her eyes.

"Right." exhaled Kyra. "Everyone look at their chrons. We meet back in three hours. Snazzle?"

"Yes Captain."

"Take this pod into port."

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469. Perfectly Pristine

The Hood clicked his nails on the desk. Back and forth. His fingers moving like waves. "Are our men in position?"

"Yes."

"Rules of engagement clear?"

"Crystal."

"Humor me."

"Administer the vial."

"Yes."

"Just a touch. A bump. Skin on skin."

"Yes."

"She will need to use the services."

"And?"

"We follow. Thirty seconds beyond the void, she collapses."

"Maybe less."

"Yes, maybe less."

"I want her alive."

"Absolutely."

"Undamaged."

"Of course."

"Pristine."

"Perfectly."

"Yes. Perfectly pristine."

"As for the others?"

"Let history teach our children."

"Thank you."

"Bloody page after bloody page."

"Like the setting summer suns."

"Let them weep the moons into rust and upon that rust we shall nourish the iron will of our youth."

468. Into Her Eyes

I looked into her eyes and all the world slipped away
watching grass grow
or paint dry
or rain fall
or coffee poured
or teeth brushed
or buttons buttoned
or hair parted
or water drawn
or pencil held
or finger traced
or breath exchanged
of beaches walked
and flowers picked
of breezes sailed
and clouds raked
of fog worn
and sweat embraced
of seat shared
and sweater grey
as cups sit on wood
and fingers twirl
thoughts of moments
where trees extend
and birds perch
feathers rowed
with beaks polished
a shoulder leans
a curve revealed
of light and shadow
and into her eyes
I feel my world

"A penny for your thoughts," said Em.

Trev sighed. She could see again. So could he.

Emily Dickinson Lexicon

For lovers of Emily Dickinson and the words she deployed with sublime skill:

Emily Dickinson Lexicon

Enjoy.

467. Susan

She sat on a stout three-legged wooden stool, her legs, spread, supporting her elbows. Her rubber boots were splattered with mud still wet from the morning dew, her pant legs neatly tucked in as they always were. He saw the back of her shoulders, fit and petite, working. Lower, the soft curve of her mature wooled breasts nestled snugly in the slingshot of faded denim overalls. She wore a brown leather hat with a shaped brim, old, worn, smart (it was her husband's) and her hair flowed as wheat around her ears, as golden and rich as the yolk of twilight sun. He took a step in the soft mud, its failed suction squealing his arrival. Without turning her head or stopping her chore, she said, "Morning Roger."

The milked Kawai turned its massive indifferent head, nostrils glistening in the morning sun, and looked at Rog with the dull eyes of unembarrassed pleasure. The woman's hands moved in firm strokes, pulling on slick teats tender with nourishment. He watched. And listened. Milk shot into the pail, sometimes hitting the side like rain on tin, sometimes hitting the collected milk with a softer sound. He wondered if she alternated her aim to ward off boredom or whether the left hand pulled in one direction while the right in another. Either way, he didn't much care. Her back was toward him and he couldn't quite tell, but he sensed she knew her audience and the spell every massaged stroke cast. "Morning Susan," he said. She kept milking. He kept watching. And listening.

Susan was twice his age, maybe older. Her husband had passed away a few years ago and although she was completely capable of taking care of herself, Rog's father sent his sons to check on her often. She never objected. Rog worked hard to convey a sense that he did. "How's your father?" she asked, not breaking stride.

Rog moved a step to the side, mud objecting like an irritated younger sibling, to improve his view. He stepped slowly as if to mask his intention, removing his hat under cover of politeness to a position more advantageous to his condition. The sight of those teats in her hands magnified. The sound of each wet stroke, of flesh manipulated with educated purpose was better than any concert he had attended. The Kawai looked disinterested. She had yet to look his way. He hadn't noticed. "He's doing just fine. Mom thinks he works too hard."

Susan smiled. "Too hard." She said. She said some other words too but Rog didn't hear them. There was a tone. He played the words over in his mind as a mint on the tongue, savoring each syllable, committing them to memory, recording the exact nuanced articulation. He would hear these words again later. Like a soundtrack. To his own private movie. "Rog?"

"Yes . . ."

"Rog, wake up," nudged Yul. We're coming to port. Our last stop before we get busy. Now wake up."

Rog rubbed his eyes.

"Baby?" said Yul.

"What?" yawned Rog.

Yul smiled.

466. Pounding

The headache returned. Pounding. Not that it ever left. Pounding. The ache felt as an alien hand. Pounding. Expanding within his skull. Pounding. Jagged nails puncturing grey flesh. Pounding. Knuckles cracking dry bone. Pounding. Pounding with the throb of distant drums not distant. An enemy suffered, not seen.

With effort, legs were tossed over the edge of the bed as one tosses an anchor to the sea, feet hitting floor with the same sense of dull remorselessness. His body shot upward as if limbs were yanked by chains, ache shooting in tendons jerked into the mother of the day. The floor felt cold as ocean depth and eyes struggled to focus on muted shades of blue and grey. Beard grew as garden untended, his face a tangle of wiry weeds black and grey. He thought of shaving, thought of it often. But thought was about as far as he got, about as far as he was going to get. A man with purpose shaved. A man with vision did not. He had neither. And the weight of lying pulled as a rough braided noose around his agents of creation.

Lifting one foot before the other as a mountain climber plowing an angry gale, he resisted the man waiting, the one he could neither recognize nor avoid, the one that would stare back with the emptiness of a starless night. The mirror hung before him as judge, condemning in silent gaze, a reflection stark like winter to the leafless tree. He knew the look. He knew the judgment. He knew it was true. He knew he was guilty. And if the lave were a cliff, he would toss himself to oblivion, his body to break on the rocks as his soul by fate.

To his left was shaving cream. To his right, his razor. With the tremble of an old man, he reached to turn the spigot, warm water mocking his cold heart. Steam rose before a weeping mirror. Water flowed, melodious, hypnotising, ignorant. Endless. Like an exam not studied. Like a tunnel dark. Like the pounding in the back of his head. Mornings were a private hell, the lava within a sleeping volcano.

He turned the water off, wiped the sweat from his unshaven face and prepared for the day. A child would dance on that volcano, with flowers and smiles, and he would smile back.

465. Smiling Like Bees

leather like snake skin on the floor
sheets like tissue paper on the bed
an exchange of looks
a parting of lips
of lids signaling evening
and hands that say "stay"
of legs that move
and glutes that tighten

and breath as an observer
divorce pouty lips,
glistening in anticipation, wet with invitation
tongues swollen like rivers
and ears alert as tents in the desert
hair swaying in the gentle breeze of imagination
catching light as smiles on a swing
fingers move with metronome calculation
sensitive as hoary frost before the morning sun
and nerves click and clack like western morse
silent communication urgent as pregnant clouds
while leather expands in aromatic saturation
and nary a bee could smile as wide as eyes were smiling

Commentary and Reading: DT - Smiling Like Bees

464. Walking Into History

John was gone, as gone as Papa, as gone as Kieran, as gone as everyone who thought she was the answer.

"Ms Kyra, Zoe is here," said Goldie.

"Send her in."

"Yes Ms Kyra."

Zoe walked into Kyra's quarters as one walks into history. She stood as two, locks golden, belly glowing, a Silus dusted package, worn with love, in her hands. Across the room, which seemed as if the view was across a lake of time, stood the melanic one, lithe, firm, tight, larger than life yet smaller than imagined.

"Join me," said Kyra without turning, her view, as often, upon the wonder of a deceiving universe. "I suppose over the last two years you've seen sights more glorious than this one."

"We saw our share."

"Never ceases to amaze does it?"

Zoe didn't answer.

463. If Your Horses Could Talk

Von swirled his snoot, vapors rising, rattling ice like dice. Looking at Rog with hooded eyes, he spoke over the rim of his crystal. "If your horses could talk, I wonder if they'd complain."

"Frail no," said Yul.

Von smiled. Rog didn't.

462. Quiddity

John stood in Kyra's quarters, hands behind his back, facing the casket black infinite.

"What are you not telling me?" asked Kyra.

John breathed through his nose, his pulley nostrils flaring. "I have no choice. You do."

"Talk to me."

John turned. His face deflated. With frogish midnight eyes he said, "Imagine the unimaginable. Taste the untastable. Breath in a vacuum."

"Don't underestimate me John."

"Does the virgin know the fuck?"

461. Glyph

The Hood manipulated the rune globe suspended between his nailed fingers. To no one he said, "The frailing bitch will suffer pleasure unknown."

460. Yeah

Em's hand transversed Zoe's rotund belly like a large globe, mind spinning with hand, heart dead as stone, falling.

"Amazing, isn't it," said Zoe.

"Yeah," said Em.

459. The Same

Quiet reigned within Bravo as the quiet without. Footsteps in heartbeats, anticipation in breath shallow. Rog moved. Kyra shook her head. With the sudden flourish of cape rouge, the main door parted. Von stood sun black, an eclipse of flesh, corona dancing as medusa from his silhouette. Faces hung as wood, still; eyes as owls in the pitch, wide.

“I’ve come for John,” said Von, words knocked into existence, tongue as gavel.

Nobody said anything. John unhooked the strap covering the grip of his las. Von lifted his cloak, and with hand slow and steady drew his twin las. Kyra started. Von raised his hand.

“Before this court,” said Von, voice ocean deep, “I have a few questions. If you don't mind?"

John looked into the twin cylinders, black as the eyes of field mice but about ten times the size. "Speak your peace."

"Did you know the Dyad would be attacked?”

John tightened his grip, stroking the serrated handle, his unblinking eyes narrowed on Von, his stance jaguar wound. As if the word were three syllables, he rolled his answer as one might unroll carpet: “Yes.”

Like a boxer absorbing a body blow, Von winced. Taking breath, he continued. “Could you have prevented the attack?”

John stood as one stands on a bridge, looking over the edge at the river below. He chose his answer as one chooses a rock and dropped it into the cavernous bridge as one drops a pebble in a pond, ripples from his lips into the shore of a crew as helpless before the wave as land. "Yes."

“I admire your direct and honest guts. But there is more to your answers than just yes. Is that correct?”

John rolled his lips and nodded.

“If you had prevented the attack on the Dyad,” Von continued, with the patience of a country lawyer, “what price would you have paid?”

“I think you know the answer.”

“I want to hear it from your lips. The rest of the crew deserves to hear it from you, in your words.”

“I would have lost Cait and Ariel.”

“Explain lost?”

“Is this really necessary?”

“You are asking much of us, are you not?”

John conceded. “What happened to Cait would have happened sooner, in public, broadcast. Ariel would have had unspeakable acts performed upon her and I would have been forced to witness it.”

“And after you witnessed the debauchery of wife and child, what then?”

“The pizzle, without matutinal mercy.”

“Authorized by who?”

“The Hood. It is the way.”

With a slight pause and a tone soft, Von said, “Two more questions. Did you know my son was aboard the Dyad?”

“No.”

“Would it have made any difference in your actions?”

John took the pause of sun between clouds. “None.”

Von measured his response as one father to another. “I would have done the same.”

458. Close the Circle

“Rog, have you seen Von?” asked Kyra, standing before the forward viewing area of the bridge, her lithe frame in remark against the vast coldness before them.

“Can’t say I have.”

“Yul?”

“Nope.”

“John?”

“Negative.”

“Where is Zoe?”

“Resting,” said Trev.

“Snazzle, can you locate Von?”

“Yes Ms Kyra.”

“Snazzle. I’d like you to do it now.”

“Von’s location identified.”

“Where?”

“On Bravo.”

“Snazzle, do you like your circuits?”

“He is in the third quadrant, lower level.”

“Snazzle!”

“The log room.”

“Janus! Pull up a visual. Now!”

“Yes Captain.”

Before the crew, amphitheater spread, a life-sized hologram glowed in the center of the bridge. Von, cropped white hair, whey robe, piercing blue eyes, sat, headphones on, slate before his undivided attention. Images of the Dyad flickered. Flashes of red and blue las fire punctuated the pitch of endless endlessness. The Dyad bobbed, bloodied, defenseless as a child before sharks. Von played it again, slower. Panning the capture, he zoomed in on a small object, pushed a few buttons to manipulate the image.

“Get me a line in,” barked Kyra.

“All lines are disabled.”

“Override.”

“Negative.”

“Bypass.”

“Negative.”

“Rog, get down there.”

“Corridor is sealed,” replied Snazzle.

“What do you mean sealed?” asked Kyra.

“Von has disabled all access to the lower level.”

“How?”

No answer.

“Snazzle. How is that possible?”

“It can be done.”

“I know that. I want to know how.”

“Technically, it is rather complex.”

“I am aware of that. How did Von do it.”

“He asked.”

"He what?”

“He asked.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

Kyra drew a breath as one draws water from a deep well, the sound of her nails tapping the railing like the clacking of a wooden bucket against wet stone.

“Unseal the corridor.”

“I can’t.”

“Won’t?”

“Can’t?

“Snazzle, unseal the corridor.”

“I gave Von the codes. He changed them.”

“Emergency override, by my authority.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Kyra charged her las and lifted it to the panel.

“Captain, that won’t be necessary either.”

Kyra’s finger tightened.

“Von is coming out. See for yourself.”

Kyra turned back to the hologram. Von was moving deliberately, solemn as a monk at vespers, expressionless as their statues of adulation, his face hued marble. “John, where are your men?”

“The bar.”

“Have them secure the area.”

“I don’t think--”

“I’m not asking you to think.”

“Kyra,” interjected Snazzle.

“What!”

“Von is not heading to the bar.”

“Where is he heading?”

“Here.”

------------

Von placed one foot before the other, peace stamped upon the universe as effort honored mind and heart held soul in arms wide and large as those one grey and rainy day. Honor the son as the son honors the father, the world entire in the circle. A step for a letter. Honor. Love. Step. Honor. Love. Step. Rain upon eyes urgent. Honor. Love. Step. Arms open. Arms open. Embrace the Love. Arms open. Honor, Love. Step. Leave your mark. Do your duty. The name, father. I will honor the name and where there is need I will be there, in your name. Arms open. Arms close. Hearts together. We are brothers, you and I.

----------

“Roger, Roger, do you read?”

Static.

“Von, do you read, over.”

Static.

“Raptors 10 o’clock. Multiple bogies. Bearing south by southeast, forty-five degrees.”

Static.

“Von, we are under attack. Do you read? Over.”

Static.

Thunder on the plain. Skies above blue as china. Water churning red, screams as prayer unanswered. Air heavy, eyes limpid as dolls. Silence as verdict.

“Von, this is Zeke. Do you read?”

“Zeke, I read. Over.”

“Come home Von.”

----------------

“What's he doing?” asked John.

“Don’t know,” answered Kyra.

457. A Pearl to Twirl

Yul pushed her head into the pillow, impaled into a sea of silk clad down by the urgent tumidity of her laboring cowhand. As shell into smooth-bore, wall gloving swell, warmth engulfing taut, tight, turgid heat, rotation pulled and thrust replied. "Baby," exhaled Yul, between lips (Taylor Swiftish) parted and head turned as swimmer in mid-stroke, "see what you'd be missing if I didn't come."

Rog grunted, hands on her curved rotation. Yul dipped her shoulder in reach, a pearl to twirl.

"Baby, bless my hide."

----------

ed note: If Yul had sung on karaoke night, this is what she would have sung to Rog:

Sugarland's Stay

456. Cruel as Night

Dr X removed the bandages with the care of a grandmother unwrapping a gift. Em blinked, her lids moving in morse. "I can't see," she said, the words as cannon shot, the standing, floored, shock echoing in ringing ears, limbs frozen by minds in retreat. "I can't see," she repeated, as if in the repeating someone would say something in debate. Silence alone, however, minded the gap between thought and word, cruel as night upon the cold.

"Look straight ahead Em," said Dr X, holding a canary finger, honeysuckle sweet, before her pugish nose. "What do you see?"

"Shapes. Colors. Everything is blurry."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"How many fingers do you see?"

"None."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, I need a minute. Trev, can you excuse us?"

455. A Magic Bracelet

Inhaling the sweet aroma of buttery brandonian glazing cream, John polished his old armor, a massive ceramic suit, with strokes quick and sharp, metal as mirror, a mediation in the movement. Plot, he pondered, was always something added, something extra. Greatness knew neither plot nor plan, transcending mind and eye alike as ethereal doves escaping the bounds of the profane. Whipping cloth faster and faster, gleam met nitided gleam and what was dull shone clear. Memory of armor danced with memory of mind and confidence grew neither in past nor future, impostures the pair, but in the eternal fount of this exact moment.

"Daddy," asked Ariel, standing behind him, "what are you doing?"

John smiled. He knew of no armor to protect the soul from the heart of a little girl whose words could harm or heal as sharply as any scalpel his surgeon's hands had held. "I'm trying to think of a way to say how much I love you." John spoke, as he always did, as if speaking to an adult, not a child.

"You're leaving aren't you?"

"My heart isn't going anywhere and my body will be back before you know it."

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Hug me."

John wrapped his arms around her shoulders as a mature tree might embrace a sapling, his arms as branches, his hands as leaves, his torso as warm and solid as a southern oak in the afternoon sun. Ariel closed her eyes and whispered, "I made something for you. Emy helped me."

John pulled his head back, his eyes looking soft as down. Ariel beamed more than smiled as her hands reached into her pocket. "Close your eyes." He did. "Now hold your hands out." As if about to receive communion, John extended his hands with elbows bent, fingers curled as cup. Gently, she placed her creation upon his leathery pad as one would lay a ribbon across a rare parchment. "Okay. Open your eyes."

With eyes wide, John held the bracelet to the light as if a prized catch before the camera. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful."

"You know what it is?"

"The most gorgeous bracelet I've ever received."

"Close. Guess again."

"Mmmm, I'd say it's a magical bracelet."

With an indignant look and her hands on her hips, she shouted, "Who told you?"

"A whisper in my ear and a look in your eye. Now tell me about this magical bracelet."

For the next hour Ariel weaved a tale of magic and wonder with no detail not embellished. The bracelet would be his shield. A shield made from love and that love would protect him no matter where he went. When she finished John looked with glassy eyes, put the bracelet on his wrist and said the three words she was longing to hear from her father. "I love you."

454. All I Need

Em sat quietly in the stiff chair waiting for Dr X. In a matter of minutes the bandages would come off and she would either see again or not. The door opened and from across the floor she heard steps. Sitting upright, her hands grasped the sides of the cold metal chair as if on a circus ride. A warm hand slid on top of hers.

"Dr?"

"It's me."

"Trev?"

"Yeah."

"What do you want?"

Trev took a deep breath as one about to dive into a deep pool. "The other night, I wanted to sing you a song."

"And?"

"Well, I'm not perfect. Sometimes I do things I don't understand. Sometimes I'm just an idiot."

"I'm not disagreeing."

"If you want me to turn around and walk out that door right now, I'll understand."

Em sighed. "What's the song?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?'

"The song. You said you had a song you were going to sing to me the other night."

"Oh. Just something I thought, I thought could say, what I wanted, to say. But--

"But what?"

"I lost my nerve." Trev looked down into an awkward silence.

"I see. Well, I don't really see, but you know what I mean."

Trev squeezed her hand.

"Well? Are you gonna sing me that song?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, now."

As two birds on a branch, one looking to the other and the other drinking in each word, Trev began to sing.



All I Need (Mat Kearney)

Here it comes it's all blowing in tonight
I woke up this morning to a blood red sky
They're burning on the bridge turning off the lights
We're on the run I can see it in your eyes
If nothing is safe then I don't understand
You call me your boy but I'm trying to be the man
One more day and it's all slipping with the sand
You touch my lips and grab the back of my hand
The back of my hand

[chorus]
Guess we both know we're in over our heads
We got nowhere to go and no home that's left
The water is rising on a river turning red
It all might be OK or we might be dead
If everything we've got is slipping away
I meant what I said when I said until my dying day
I'm holding on to you, holding on to me
Maybe it's all gone black but you're all I see
You're all I see

The walls are shaking, I hear them sound the alarm
Glass is breaking so don't let go of my arm
Grab your bags and a picture of where we met
All that we'll leave behind and all that's left
If everything we've got is blowing away
We've got a rock and a rock till our dying day
I'm holding on to you, holding on to me
Maybe it's all we got but it's all I need
You're all I need

And if all we've got, is what no one can break,
I know I love you, if that's all we can take,
the tears are coming down, they're mixing with the rain,
I know I love you, if that's all we can take.

A pool is running for miles on the concrete ground
We're eight feet deep and the rain is still coming down
The TV's playing it all out of town
We're grabbing at the fray for something that won't drown


"Em?"

"Yeah?"

"You're hurting my hand."

"Oh."

Releasing his hand, one smile melted into the other and where cheeks were dry, a glistening river marked a touching of hearts.

"You ready to get these bandages off?"

"Absolutely."

Trev nodded to Dr X. "And Em."

"Yes."

"I'm not going anywhere."

453. You

Kyra looked at John then to Arn and back to John. "Okay, what's the plan?"

"Plan? Arn, you want to answer that?"

"Well, we were hoping you had a plan."

Kyra smiled. "You know boys, you've got to do better than that, cause I'm not much interested in this mission."

"Okay," said Arn, "here's the deal. We don't have a rat's chance of doing nothing but getting ourselves killed."

"Well, I suppose that's something. Good luck with the martyrdom thing. Not quite my cup of snizzle."

John cleared his throat. "We think we have a chance."

"What chance might that be?" asked Kyra.

"You."

452. Inside Out

"Em, it's time," said Mairi. No response. "Are you there? Em?"

"I'm here."

"You don't sound excited. What's wrong?" Silence on the other end of the comm. "Em, talk to me, what's wrong?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Okay. Let's do this. Imagine you are going to make a journal entry and you can only write one sentence. What would you write?"

"Confused."

More static.

"I said one sentence, not one word." Em didn't respond. "I'm kidding. Please, continue."

Her voice straining not to crack, Em added, "Consumed with a nauseous fear. I can't shake it. I feel it growing, eating me from the inside out as if there is something not of me, inside of me. I can't touch it, I can't reach it, I can't run it off and it is inside me, growing."

Mairi sighed. "Keep going. I'm listening."

"I thought when I lost my sight, I had lost my world. I thought that if I could only get my sight back, then everything would be as it should, that life would be good again. And now, now that I might very well have that sight . . .

The sound of static and breathing sweated the comm. Em continued. "I've learned to see without my eyes. When you see without eyes you see what you never knew was there all along. You see in ways that few with eyes can see. You see with your heart. You see without all the images of vision that mislead and divert. And now, as I stand at that door again, I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"That I'm trading one sight for another. That I'll be poorer in the bargain."

Mairi started talking when she realized the line was dead.

451. Something

The Hood entered the sweating dank cell, alone. Huddled in the far corner was Calfuray.

"I understand you know something of the female hynerian."

450. The Frail I'm Not

Rog: What are you doing?

Yul: Packing.

Rog: For what?

Yul: For the mission. Remember. You told me to, how'd you say it, "secure my shiott." So, I'm securing my frailing shiott.

Rog: Well, just start unpacking, cause you ain't going.

Yul: (looks at Rog with eyes like burning daggers) The frail I'm not.

----------

Outtake #1: (picks up from above)

Rog: The frail you are.

Yul: Look you lubricious bastard--

Rog: What? Lu--

Yul: I'm frailing going.

Rog: No you're not.

Yul: Why?

Rog: Because, well, frail, Yul, look--

Yul: I see.

Rog: (waits for more) Now what?

Yul: Nothing.

Rog: Don't nothing me. What?

Yul: Nothing really. Go on your silly mission. Just--

Rog: Just what?

Yul: Just don't expect me to be the frail here when you get back!

-----------

Outtake #2: (picks up after Yul calls him lubricious)

Rog: Look--

Yul: Look! Look! Look here.

Rog: Yul--

Yul: Yul what?

Rog: (no response)

Yul: I said, Yul what?

Rog: If I didn't--

Yul: Holy shiott. You've got to be frailing kidding me.

Rog: Damn it, will you--

Yul: No! Damn you. You ain't leaving again, without me.

Rog: It's not--

Yul: Is Kyra going?

Rog: You know she is.

Yul: So you and Kyra are going save the universe. And you want me to stay here. Wait for you. I got the FRAILING t-shirt. (Yul throws a shirt at Rog) Remember.

449. Dear Canopy

Ariel pulled the sheet up to her chin, her fingers bent like bat feet in the dark. "Canopy," she whispered, "play me the song of the Dinkleberries. And keep it quiet." As if by magic, the canopy above her bed started to glow in teals and purples, and with music melodious sang a song that made a little girl smile and delight in dreams of hope and possibility.

448. Rattling the Cage (1)

ed note: The Story has one rule: No rules. Tonight, the introduction of a new type of chapter-- Rattling the Cage --a preview of things to come or not. Each idea below may or may not become a chapter. Some are more likely than others, such as the gift that Zoe has for Kyra and the confrontation between Rog and Yul (if I could drive and write we would have this one tonight--wow is all I'm going to say). As for the others, stay tuned. ;-)

(1) Zoe has a gift for Kyra. Think Papa here. Very emotional and tear inducing.

(2) Trev stands outside the lab when Em has her bandages taken off. Key here is "outside." Emotional and dramatic scene as Em confronts Trev. Confront may not be the right word here.

(3) Rog and Yul fight over her coming along on "the mission." Verbal turns to physical, blood is spilt. Expect to see the past rear its ugly head and neither pull any punches, literally and figuratively.

(4) The crew learns what happened to the Dyad. Last days and impetus for "the mission." John gets very nervous when Zoe tells of the last days and what happened. Von is visibly shaken.

(5) Von tells Zoe of Ceru's mother.

(6) Ariel confronts Trev over Em. Ariel at her "Arielest" best. She shows the strength of her mother, Cait.

(7) Von (after learning the fate of the Dyad) has words for John. Potential to go either way here--could get very ugly.

(8) John explains the history of Kulmyk and the ascension of The Hood.

(9) Von shows Zoe The Book of Letters.

(10) Zoe continues her telling of Ceru's last two years. The legend continues. :-D

447. As If Janus

On the day prior to Karaoke, Von and Zoe spend the entire day together. Below is the first of what I hope are many snippets of that conversation:

Von: Tell me how you met my son?

Zoe: (with a tear filled smile she searched Von's face as if to judge his capacity for what she was about to say) I was walking one rainy morning to the center. The streets were crowded, gray with mindlessness. I watched an old female hynerian slip and fall. I started to move toward her when the utter heartlessness of the crowd, like a river flowing pass a boulder, bypassed her. She looked up, rain in her face, hair white, wet, sticking to her languid cheeks. I watched her hand rise, fingers outstretched; and I watched in shock as leg after leg brushed her hand aside. I was too far to see the look on her face. I was too frozen to move, my mind racing, wondering, is this what we have come to. (Zoe paused)

Von: (sitting patiently, his eyes nova intense, his mind Tao focused) Please continue.

Zoe: She was dressed in a gray overcoat and wore a black cap. Then as if the sea swallowed her whole, she disappeared within the calloused wave of indifference. I dropped my bags and started running, bouncing off of irritated faces as if spume off implacable breakers. When I reached the spot where she had fallen, she was gone.

Von: (lifts chin, eyes rolling along the bottom of his quivering rims)

Zoe: I looked left and right. Nothing. Then I heard a voice, his voice. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable and I watched in awe as the sea of grey parted before his words as if he were Janus himself, and the faces of indifference stood stuck like broken clocks. And from that parting I saw him, jaw set, arms held as a lift, and cradled to his chest was that old hynerian, her arms wrapped around his neck, her eyes looking up in supplication, apparently as in shock as I was. I knew right then, in that dying world, there was hope. And, as strange as this is going to sound, I knew, there walked the father of my child.

Von: (looked down as if her words were a sacred blessings)

Zoe: So I followed him and I watched from a distance. As he succored the one in his arms, my heart beat as such to ache, as if the vision was but a dream and I felt a fear, a fear that if I blinked, all before me would disappear. And then--

Von: What?

Zoe: And then he turned, saw me standing as if my feet were nailed to the floor and called out. You know what he said?

Von: (shook head)

Zoe: He said, "Hey, I could use some help over here." And you know what, he was looking right at me. I'll never forgot that look of love in his eyes as he knelt over the one before him. And you know what else?

Von: Tell me.

Zoe: (with tears in her eyes) I see that same look right now.

446. Unacceptable

The Hood powered down his slate, took a slow steady controlled breath and released it with these words: "Frailing unacceptable."

445. As Long As One and One is Two

From across the room John had watched. He saw not a little girl, nor her mother and his wife waring Kyra. Instead, as if the scene entire moved the clouds from his mind and heart and soul, and for the first time saw a sun shinning bright, and as one is thunderstruck with the realization of a truth that has always been front and center but never awared (my coined word--a play on "waring" taken from the root "awareness"), John saw purpose and meaning upon the stage that had not existed in the mirror since the passing of Cait.

He moved toward the stage, not of mind but of heart; and his step was not as steps, of lifting and falling, of foot and floor, but of a gravitational pull, a pull a thousand Johns, with all their muscle and sinew, with all their sweat and labor, could not have resisted. Upon that stage stood his world spinning him toward her as surely as the earth spins the moon. As he walked across the stage from left to right, Ariel turned toward his large puppy dog eyes. As Rog, before, John knelt and the crew watched a private moment on a public stage as words were whispered and the anxious mien of a diminutive angel transformed into a smile.

Taking the mic from his daughter, John, on bended knee with Ariel perched upon, said, "I've asked Ariel to join me in this next song." John paused as if to find composure as he felt what was behind him and what was before was as the dusk to dawn; and in the morning stillness, where the sun silently kisses the morning dew (aloetic meadows of shinning green swords), his palm sweaty and his knee lightbulb warm, began to sing.




Father and Daughter
(song and lyrics by Paul Simon)

If you leap awake
In the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second
You can't remember where you are
Just open your window
And follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain
Where we counted every falling star

I believe the light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee
There's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I’m gonna stand guard
Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your head

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

Trust your intuition
It's just like going fishing
You cast your line
And hope you'll get a bite
But you don't need to waste your time
Worrying about the market place
Try to help the human race
Struggling to survive its harshest night

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you


When the last note settled upon the liquid eyes sitting still like frogs in a predawn lake, Ariel leaned over and whispered in her daddy's ear, "I wanna hold your hand."

444. To My Mother

Rog walked off stage and into Yul's arms as the sun into a cat's belly. "Baby, I love you," she purred, her puccoon manicured nails marking his back, her eburnean polished teeth teasing his pink lobe.

"Talk don't cook rice," he breathed, popping her tight leathered arse with a Cheshire inducing smile, his hand large and warm and soft like an old baseball mitt left on a summer porch. "Did you like the song?"

"Baby, if I could frail you right here, right now, on this stage--" Yul sighed across his ear, her lips slightly parted and lightly touching his skin as if playing a delicate piccolo.

"Hold that thought, there's a little girl coming our way."

"Mr. Rog, can I sing a song?" asked Ariel, standing soldier straight.

Rog knelt, eye to eye with the little dynamo. Yul stood behind him, her arms on his shoulders, her eyes beaming like ten thousand suns. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want to sing a song to my mother."

Rog looked at Yul. She shrugged her shoulders. "Do you know the words?" he asked.

"Does a pampus chase its tail?" she shot back.

"Right."

Ariel took the stage. Rog nodded toward Von and from the mouth of a little girl, a room fell silent. Kyra felt a whisper in her ear and she knew. And she cried the tears only a mother could shed as a little primrosed angel spoke a language only mothers can hear. Ariel's eyes never left Kyra's, and for a moment, Kyra felt a warmth she had not felt since Kieran pulled her into the next realm. Involuntarily, her lips mouthed the words, "I love you baby."




Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?
Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?