A Story Sampler

524. Dans la ville

Rog and Yul attend a concert in the city. Yul's idea.

Rodrigo y Gabriela

523. Her Patroon

ed note: Kyra has returned and the crew has sought a reprieve on the Arc'teryxian world of Polaris. Trev and Em headed to a small seaside village, staying in a cottage just outside of town.


He slowed to match her pace, indulging the natural feel of cobbles worn in foot and aged buttery smooth in history, each stone perfectly imperfect in the charm of time when hand and hammer mattered. Her feet were smaller than his but smaller in proportion and they seemed to be just right, skin olive tanned, arches firm in curve. The breeze coming off the azure ocean was neither cool nor warm as much as clean and pure and her long dark hair fanned in the way young hair, rich and supple, dances in the wind, tickling his shoulder. He thought it was nice to walk so close, not by necessity but by choice, her fingers twined in his. She had chosen the lacing and chosen the closeness and she smelled of lilac with a hint of rosemary, part scent and part memory of sighs and caresses under the clear cascading flow of shower rain.

The village on the hill overlooking the sea curved and twisted to match the mountainside and where stone and mortar ended and rock and shale begin were as blended as the strokes of Rembrandt. Each hut and structure fit into the other, a family of russet roofs presiding over open doorways as brothers and sisters, bustling with goods and little feet. The sun, refulgent, shone but not too hot and the shingles of clay glittered as the sea that lay before. Smiles were as lanterns in the shadows and leathered hands placed the sacrifice of the soil alongside the bounty from the sea.

She held up a vine of purpure grapes, and to the eye they appeared as jewels glinting like amethyst and she as a princess worthy of oil and brush. He looked not at her but at the others and in the looking smiled, for they looked as he had once looked and as he would look again, the kind of looking that made one pinch perchance it all but a dream. They would dine for two in the coming dusk and she would cook as if it were their last meal and he would eat as if sitting on the edge of a cliff, not of clay, but of slippery time, falling and falling forever deeper.

Rendered coin traveled upon the counter patron scarred, their purchase satcheled in woven whey bags. They walked among the artisan wares, legs touching as if the slightest separation was a sin against love. As a plant takes energy from the sun, they fed off the light of each other, standing taller when together, smiling more often and laughing as children laugh for the prism of their day held neither grays nor blacks but the spectrum of joy and hope and love and an endless flow of endearments evidenced not in words but in touches and looks and nudges and of hands in the back jeans pocket of the other.

Her arm rode his waist as braided rope mooring her patroon. The shops were full as is wont on days of sun and skies of blue where the dulcet hymn of birds heralded church bells ringing the noon. Just in a nook, a small restaurant, outdoor seating facing the sea, appeared with the matador wave of the chef's hand, their path lighted by his warm smile. A table for lovers, linens white and utensils silver before goblets homed with red fruit. Somewhere the sounds of pots and pans clanked and latin voices susurrated forth on the aroma of dishes handed down from generation to generation, tongue to ear and hand to eye. They nooned without prink or preen, silver upon china clinking a cappella notes of murmured satisfaction.

Bellies repleat in comport of desserts not denied. Wine judged by tongues quite divine as fingers found their kin beneath the shade of tyne. Commerce exchanged and promises endeared, a return requested with a smile and a hug.Thus was the first day of Trev and Em in town.

522. Torrid Impalement

Yul, back curved with the grace of twin taut suspension cables, lips parted in glistening heat, head back and regal straight, her lioness mane a shimmering waterfall, her angled eyes silted gray, said: "Baby, bring your instrument of torrid impalement over here and impart within me the wisdom bestowed within your hewn oak. Wield me darling as a knight wields his lance, take me as a cowhand takes his calf, use me as a cobbler uses his hammer."

Rog didn't need to be asked twice.

521. Capiche?

"My father was a surgeon. When I was three, he left. Cut me and mom out of his life. Mom was brave, always held out hope he would return, kindled that belief in me. I grew to hate her for that. Then I grew to hate the lack of empathy and compassion in my own heart. I lost a father I never knew. She lost a soul-mate. I was not a help to her. When I told her I was going to med school she just started crying. Being young and stupid and selfish, I just walked away, as if I was the victim. The idea of her sitting in the house alone, abandoned by the two men in her life she loved is not a memory I like sitting in.

"So I grew up at the window, so to speak. I watched the drive. Watched every hopper pass by. My ears developed a sensitivity to the sound of a vehicle pulling in. I just knew, he would return. I just knew it. Even on the dock, I was looking for two, not one. Of course, as you know, neither showed. Those first few days after departure were, and this is saying a lot, perhaps the darkest of my life.

"Can you understand? I'd like to tell you how great I am. But this is me. I have a lot of growing up to do. I'm not there. Yet. I know I should be happy for Kyra. I know I should be standing with open arms to greet her. But logic and emotion are two different things. Emotion, for me, is the stronger. There are times I'm overwhelmed. Times I'm just an observer in my life, as if I'm riding rapids and hanging on for dear life. No control. None. I just try to hang on. I don't try to win. I just try to do as little harm as possible and often that means a monumental effort just to keep my mouth shut. Sometimes that means leaving. Just walking away. And when I do, for self-perservation I wonder, is this how dad felt? Did he have to leave? Was he tormented by the same demons? Did he gift those demons to me--are they in my genes? Did he leave because of me? Think about that. Your mom and dad loved you. But think of growing up wondering if your dad hated you, hated you so much he left. Not just left, but left and never returned. Gone like the light before dusk, only this sun would never rise again. Imagine living in that darkness. Eternal, only you wake up every morning and run to the window thinking this is the day, the day the sun will rise, the day I will see the light again, and day after day you are greeted with nothing but interminal darkness."

Trev paused as if remembering he should breathe. Then he continued.

"As soon as the door shut, I lost control. Imagine needing to vomit, and as the urge hits you run for the bathroom, and somehow you are able to hold it within until you see the throne, and with that sight, you lose all control and make a mess of everything. As soon as the door closed, I lost it, consumed, the air sucked from my gut and out my lungs. The pain so great within my skull that banging my head to release the demons, to release the pressure, seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. The blood actually tasted good, the way familar ground under foot feels good. You know you are frailed up when pain is the best thing in your life.

"Want to hear more?"

Em searched his face, her eyes as lasers, trying to beam into his soul a light mere words could not. "Baby, I told you before and I'll say it again and I want you to hear me and hear me clearly. I want all of you. Do you understand?"

Trev bowed his head.

"Look at me. Wherever you go, there you are. There is no escape from yourself. So stop running. Or," she smiled, "if you must run, run to me, run to my open arms. Capiche?"

"You know, you're not really a callow limpet."

"A what?"

Giggles replaced words and arms and legs as rope twinning. Holding his face close to hers, his eyes looking like a frog, she said, "Let's go greet Kyra."

"Okay."

520. Leaf and Tree

The door closed and upon the closing the world within and the world without seemed as distant as a leaf falling from a tree. Like the tree, she wondered if the parting was not as natural and the separation as permanent; that what only a moment ago was living, was now without life; and she wondered how just a few seconds ago could seem as far away as Hyneria; and how her feet now, felt as the roots of the tree and Trev seemed as the leaf, blown apart by some emotional wind she never saw coming, sudden as lightning in a blue sky.

A few moments later . . .

As a race car late from the pit, Em shot for the door. In the hallway stood Trev, his hands holding up the wall, a small trickle of blood running down his nose; his bloodshot eyes staring at the floor between his feet, gasping for air or dry heaving could not be ascertained. As quickly as she had flown into the hall, she froze, mind shuffling the images before her, searching for a pattern, something, anything to make the scene comprehensible. Returning quickly with a wet towel, she approached Trev with eyes to match. Taking his head in her hands, he looked without speaking and she looked without judging.

With her hand gloved around his, Em turned, her arm a tether, her hug a vest, her spirit a buoy of hope in his wan sea. Together, one heart towed the other back to safer ground. Wasn't the first time. Wouldn't be the last. This, she told him, was love. He looked upon her visage with glassy eyes as child to teacher, ears wide in the wonders of an undiscovered world.

They sat, knee to knee and forehead to forehead, the warmth of the one flowing like current into the other and where one soul gave, the two, together, grew stronger. Lips gazed as ambassadors of breath, a mingling of essence, magic of the ninth order and what was sour became sweet and what was hurt became healed. Whispers laced lobes flush as the cheeks that touched and where there had been two beats, evidence suggested just one.

Soundtrack: Priscilla Ahn's Masters in China

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519. Cold as Cloudless Night

"Kyra's back," said Em.

"I know," replied Trev.

"Baby, you don't look too excited. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"No, that face ain't nothing. Talk to me."

Trev sighed. Right arm cummerbunding his ribs, hand balled fist white. (Upon which) Left elbow found perch, the branch of thumb braced under left cheek, head cocked down, index and middle finger holding court on forehead before bowed ring and pinkie fingers.

"Trev," added Em, her hands rubbing his shoulders, "we don't have to go. We can stay right here if you like."

"No, we need to go. I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"No."

"Then let's stay."

"You know, there was a time I would have thought staying was a good idea. Fear is like that. It lies. Lies like a hot poker about to . . . . Look, I'm sorry."

"For what baby?"

"For ever thinking this would work."

"Baby, what are you saying?"

Trev turned.

"Don't go."

He kept walking.

"Trev. You walk out that door, you walk out on me now, don't come back."

He turned. Eyes cold as cloudless night. The moment hung. Breath watched. Hearts bass heavy.

(to be continued or rewritten or forgotten or deleted)

518. Pellucid Hearts

ed note: I'm always looking for new ways to express an idea within The Story. Today, another first. This chapter has no words written by me. Instead, watch the video and listen to the song. And let your imagination take you into a conversation between Zoe and Von. She is telling him of the last days on Hyneria amidst the rain, working beside his son, Ceru, their hearts reaching out, fulfilling the promise made a few years hence, penned in a letter, given in the rain of eyes reflecting the rain of the heavens above.





Song: Rain (Priscilla Ahn)

517. Theandric

"Grand, what is papa doing?" asked Kyra, her wide eyes locked on the ocean-facing deck.

Grand looked out the window and smiled. The hynerian she had fallen in love with many years ago still had it. His movements flowed as an easy breeze; a grace typically unknown in the male; a strength hidden in seamless elegance.

"Grand? Is he dancing?"

Reaching down, grand picked Kyra up and placed her on the counter. Placing her chin on Kyra's shoulder, together they looked. "I believe he is," she whispered.

"Why is he dancing all alone? Is papa okay?" Kyra whispered back.

"Oh, I think he is more than okay. Look just to his left. Above. Watch those birds."

A few feet above papa's head she spied a bevy of white birds, wings extended, appearing to float with the gentle undulations of a boat on the ocean. One by one they dipped, rolled and circled around, weaving in choreographed unison to the magnificent twirling figure below in the pristine white tunic. His hands seemed to have no beginning or end, a movement both circular and elliptical without being either, neither fast nor slow, splendidly hypnotic. Kyra watched, her tongue captive, her lips forming the shape of an un-uttered wow.

Papa moved from toe to finger as the wave unrolls upon the beach, a singular movement of flow more similar to melody than dance. The birds, evenly spaced, silent as the wind, formed a circle above his silver mane. Reaching upward, body and tunic a font of translucent morning light, finger tips blinding with the brilliance of ten discrete sunrises, diamond hair coruscating. Trees hushed and shrubbery kneeled; stones solemn spoke not in a breeze twirling as ribbons upon the banner of the day.

"Would you like to join him?"

Kyra nodded.

"Go."

Kyra ran. Papa turned and with a serpentine twisting of arms he leveraged her momentum and without flesh touching, catapulted her small frame into the air above his head. The snowy birds haloed her black tresses. Papa lowered his arms. Kyra, held aloft as if in flight reached out and upon each palm a golden egg of energy appeared and the eyes of the birds shone from a source unknown. With a nod of his head, the birds circled downward and Kyra, in suite, glided back to the deck. "Papa, how did you do that?"

"I didn't. We did."

"How?"

"You believed. And when you believe, when your heart is but a vessel for the greater Love, unfiltered in the dross of life, then, my dear, you and I, we, together, can do magnificent things. Now hug me."

Grand watched. Her eyes as a lake after a hard rain, brimming with love, reflective of the love before her eyes, the love of a grandfather for his granddaughter.

516. On the Nonce

It arrived, the ship, on time. John stood on the forward observation deck, his hands at his sides, Ariel, on his left, beside him. His warm kite hand gently wrapped around the string of her finger. Together they watched the return of Kyra. As the vessel silently pulled into dock, a tear rolled down John's face. Ariel craned her neck, her eyes turning as pools. He bent. She crawled onto his knee.

"I'm ready now," said Ariel. "Are you ready?"

John held her head in his hands and their eyes studied each other not as eyes looking to see but as souls needing to know. "I'm ready," he said.

"Are you fired up?" she said.

John laughed. "I'm fired up."

"Good. Let's go change the world."

515. Aotistic

It lifted. Not all at once. Nor quickly. I would like to say I had some role in the lifting. That I was a prime mover, seed bearer of light, a light that would peek and grow. I wasn't. I stood in abject terror. Terror that what was coming, the light, would not stay. I wanted that light so bad. And I knew I had no control of it. And I had no frailing idea of what to do. Until a child showed me the way.


Song John cannot get out of his head:

Priscilla Ahn Dream

514. Aborted: John and Ariel in the Pod

ed note: New chapter type introduced: Aborted. An aborted chapter was written but not posted, not for reasons of content like an Outtake Chapter, but for reasons of style and/or writing. For example, the chapter below did take place, but the writing is lackluster at best and its content really adds very little to the story. An aborted chapter is one that could be posted, and did happen, but would need to be rewritten but since the action is so insignificant stands little chance of getting that time. So, without further ado, I present the first, of hopefully not too many, Aborted Chapters.


"Who's with him in the pod," asked Trev.

"Ariel," said Von.

"What are they doing?"

"Don't know. He has all communication shut off. Nothing getting in. Nothing getting out."

"Is something wrong with the pod?"

"Nope. Seems they are just sitting there. All systems are green, so your guess is as good as mine."

"So, do we just sit here?"

"For now."

"What if--"

"What if he needed some space. What if he needed some time. Do you want to rob him of the very thing he is seeking?"

"I'm just saying."

"If he wanted to do harm, he has had plenty of time. And if he does intend harm, he will have plenty of time before we could get there."

"What if they are in trouble? Need our help?"

Von turned to Trev. His look didn't require words.

"Okay, we sit. I got it."