Lightening strikes. The clouds billow in, darkening the once bright sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The rain begins to fall. It's slow at first, just fat drops scattered over the landscape. They begin to fall faster, spreading thin as they fall, the ground begins to moisten. With one loud thunderclap, the heavens open. The downpour of water comes like a thief in the night. Unexpected, deadly, and leaving the earth below defenseless. Soon, puddles gather in the indents on the well worn roads and walkways. They begin to merge, join together and the rain seems to fall twice. Once as it hits the puddles and then again as the splash and ripples collide. The lightening is terrifying, and the illumination from the strikes makes the darkness look like dawn. The water rises and the rain continues to fall. It falls faster, as if seeing the flood rise fuels the clouds to pour down more. More vengeance, more anger, more pain. Eventually the rain begins to slow. It was inevitable that the precipitation in the air couldn't last forever. As the rain ceases, the clouds dissipate and the lightening and thunder roll on with the swiftly drifting clouds. The sky becomes clear once again.

But the ground? Oh, the ground.

It's destroyed. Wrecked, bruised, altered permanently--never to be returned to the state it was before the rain fell. The ground can try to fix itself but that is not in it's power. And the poor people can try to put the ground back in shape but their efforts are useless. There is no hope for the ground. It's ruined. And every time the rain falls, it will further be desecrated. It's a shame, it's a crime, but it's nature. It's life at it's finest. It's the name of the game.

Did you think I was talking about real rain and landscape? Oh no dear, this is what your presence did to my life.

As the words flew across the page, her mind became clear. The guilt left, the stress faded, the pain began to lessen. She unlocked those emotions she'd been holding in for months and they tore through her like a tidal wave, causing her fingers to fly across the keyboard. Relief flooded in as she understood that it was out of her hands. When she clicked the send button it was all over.

No matter what happens, it was her turn to talk. It was her time to say what needed to be said. And come hell or high water, she was going to do what she needed to do to sleep through the night. And sleep she would...just as the words filled the screen, her body began to relax again. She shut off her laptop, curled up in her bed, and sighed. Yet another productive day in the life of an enslaved mind, just aching to be released onto the page.

A touch of innocence

They stood at the edge of the field, staring at the vast open space before them. Holding hands, not yet reaching 5 feet tall, her dress swaying in the wind, his hair getting in his eyes. The sky was blue, the kind of blue that takes your breath away. Tiny pure white clouds dotted the sky, the sun shone brightly over the expanse before them. There were trees far in the distance, marking the edge of the forest they were never allowed to enter. But right in the middle, looming over the rest of the vegetation in the field, was a lone tree. It was old, curvy, and at the point of decay. But it was tall, majestic in appearance, aged by harsh winters and pelting rain, scorched by the hot summer sun. This tree was the guardian of the entire field.

She liked to think the other trees were watching it as it sang out it's wisdom and praise. He pretended that tree was leading the rest of the forest in battle. There was no one for miles, only their house behind them. No one but that tree. Without that tree, they would have gotten lost exploring the field many times. They always went back to the tree, seeking it out during their adventures. This place was their playground, their kingdom, their life.

Today was the first day of summer. School was over, life was about to begin. They breathed in the air around them, tasting the pollen and dust. With one glance back at the house, and one at each other, they began to ran. They ran as fast as they could, hands swinging in the wind. As they whipped past the wildflowers, the colors blurred together. Blues, violets, greens, yellows...they swirled together, almost indistinguishable in the rush a adrenaline. Their laughter broke through the wind and they collapsed at the base of the tree, breathing deeply. The air was so pure and clean, it filled their little lungs and brought more laughter to their faces.

The day, the summer, their lives had just begun and they would always look back to this day as the most innocent time in their lives.

The beginnings of a book/screenplay I'm working on (Haven't decided which route I'm going to take!)

The gaping hole in my heart is pounding again. It's ripping through my chest, no end in sight. I reached out, hoping his hand would be there, and realized that I'm all alone. Still alone. Still afraid I'll never see him again, yet knowing that one glance will reopen the fragile stitches on my heart. Even things so mundane as getting dressed in the morning brings the memories flooding back.

He would always sit and watch me as I did my hair and put on my makeup. He was fascinated by the process, never tiring of the routine. He would wake while I was in the shower, make his cup of coffee, setting mine down on my well worn vanity table, and take his place on the bed, sheets still torn apart from the night before. I would ignore him at first, putting product in my hair, blow drying it straight, or curling it, or throwing it up in some elaborate hairdo, as the day saw fit. I would be applying my makeup, seeing him staring at me intently in the mirror the entire time, and finally I would turn around and with a falsely indignant voice, say irritably, "Why do you always watch me get ready every day? Don't you have anything better to do?"
And he would say the same thing, those same words that filled my heart with such hope, such love, such pride that I couldn't contain my smile, much less my habit of asking him. He would look at me, with that crooked smile on his sleepy face and say, "I love watching you go from the girl I slept with last night, to the woman I'll get to sleep with tonight." And then he would kiss me and leave to get ready for his day while I would return to my routine.

It's this memory that haunts me. It's what's causing the hole to reopen, the pain to come back. I can make it through my day without it, and sometimes I can even sleep well at night now. But every morning as I get ready, I just want to hear his voice. I just want to know he's watching me.

Sometimes I forget he's gone. Sometimes I pretend he's still there. I turn around and ask him why he's watching me and sit in silence for minutes on end waiting. I wonder what he would do if he could see me now. If he knew then what I would be, would things be different? I so long for him it cuts me to the core. I pray for the numbness to return, and as I step out of my house, our house, it does. And I can breathe. Oh I just want to breathe.

What have I become?

To Begin:

This will be a place for just my stories. Nothing personal, nothing about me. Well, not exactly nothing about me, as my writings flow from experiences, emotions, and ideas of mine. But I will remain anonymous to most who read this without knowing me. For those who know me and are going to read this blog, you may understand things I will write about here...or maybe you won't.

I welcome comments and feedback, and I hope you enjoy what I write. For me, this is like therapy. It's cathartic. Peaceful. Promising.

Here we go.