humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
Guided by the lights
The smell of burning ambered cedar as I drive through castle mountain and Crowsnest Pass I roll down my window more and picture a campfire so pure so clean. The reds the blues and whites of the flame. The rite of passage at the peak takes me to the destination. Ahhhhh home at last, my heart releases a tension that has built up so high, the frustrations, the stress, they all escape the open window to the crisp cool air, so fresh, so new, so forgotten. My senses are overloaded by release of burdens that I carry. The fog setting in, closing the light of day. The blanket of clouds covering what I miss the most in the distance. Dawn has turned into dusk turned into dark with no warning. You find the key to an unknown place planned for weeks. The tree line invites you for a stroll; the smell of winter, but stopped by the wilderness night stalkers that pray. You venture into their trap; you have outsmarted them this time as they retreat into the darkness and you into the light. I can’t wait to explore, find the water flowing over the falls the steam from the hot springs the ice and snow twinkling in the day light. Over all the beauty and glory that awaits me. O how I’ve missed the mountains and green lush environment I used to call home. Guided by the lights of the pavement you slip in and out of the shadows of the night. Feeling welcomed by the darkness you find comfort in the deep calmness that asks you to come in. The tears that fill the iris, blinding your vision. Your screaming inside but nothing comes out no one can see you or hear you. Its like a tunnel that winds and winds with no end. Overhead lights, politics of the wrath bore you to no end. Sensations fading into feelings. Feelings fading into sadness for your hand can only go so far. You clear the iris and gaze into what appears to be a black book found on the pavement. Do I open it? Should I leave it? Is this it? You don’t want to but you should because there is emptiness in what you seek and darkness where you stay. Your independence is crippled by the thoughts and actions of what to do next. Becoming a race, will you ever see the finish line? What awaits in there? What is more important? Scolding waters of clarity? Disappointing evidence? The chilling of the thin air un-seeable by the naked eye your soulless entity flips open the book and finds a mysterious message that says “it’s your turn to thrive in this world. Choose wisely”. Behind the paper reads you are gifted $20,000. The message first stabs you in the heart of honesty then released by the truth. You repeat the message but in a question; is it my turn to thrive in this world? Is this treasure for me? That’s for you to decide. Angels come and angels go, this one makes you realize moments will never be the same. Not before not after. Tonight I exposed my mind trusted and allowed my inner-self to free the discipline I've trained to never give. Why now? Why this intellect? Is it because patience is a virtue? Have I trusted there is nothing more in return? Researching my senses, they are the givers you see in yourself the giver you've been longing for. They are blind by the tears they give you because you are heavily guarded, yet your strength grows with each sunrise. The thought of this never blossoming into something more sooner saddens your mind. you know why but there is a lesson to be learned here. Creativity is a learned obsession. You get better with the distance of this arrangement, you learn to accept it for what it is but your mind your emotion your vacant affectionate autonomic wants more then you can give. Next time you say next time.
By Shannell Weisgerber5 years ago in Humans
Prophesies of an Exiled Craft
Trollies passing down Front accompanied by the beat of hooves and wheels eventually became a synchronous symphony of cobble keeping time for the tools of workers hanging the walkside canopy for the Poli. And, boy, what a magnificence she was. Set to open in just a few months, it was the largest theatre for miles, and it would finally give Galleria something to do aside from their regular routine of passing each other by, day after day, avoiding the same slumming night after night, getting the same coffee, from the same corner, dropping a bit to the same bum, hounding a roll off the same bench, the same sunwashed scapes sporting shallow promises of what some try to call the next great renaissance… Perhaps a distraction from the spite spoon fed into their senses every day, masked by their own coined motto: “Galleria: Our Heart creates the Smile”.
By Tehn Dencies 5 years ago in Humans
The Tyler Reese Story
For Reese, things were different. He didn’t quite fit into the community that he was brought up in. His skin tone tended to throw people for a loop because he and his mother didn't necessarily look African-American, even though they were. His plan began when he was 8 years old when his mother was killed. She wanted to leave the environment they were in, but the people she “worked for” didn’t agree with this. Her leaving meant she knew all their secrets, like their operations, their specific routes, their general schedule, the members of their crew and they couldn’t have that. This gang was different from most, they focused on educating their children and then passing on the gang to the most qualified child no matter who the child belonged to. They deeply believed that every generation was different from the last and that no one should be condemned for their parents’ mistakes and short cummings. The last leader of the gang fully took over when he was 17, but he won the challenge when he was 11 and Reese was determined to be one of the two left to do this sacred challenge.
By Hidden Creativity5 years ago in Humans
Dictum
Peter was sure he’d cleaned out the secondhand desk quite thoroughly when he’d brought it home a week ago, but there was definitely something foreign at the bottom of the drawer. He’d been rifling through to grab one of the new pens he’d bought along with pencils, printer paper, paper clips, highlighters, and even a new pair of scissors. He’d carefully wiped out the drawer before placing each neatly inside, awash in the secret unspoken pleasure that springs from the promise of a newly organized desk, almost as if it were a fresh start at life.
By Tina Winchester5 years ago in Humans
The Old Woman, Estelle
The limp, damp bills rose in a flurry from the frostbitten pavement just outside the old woman’s favored grocery. The bags draped from her arms held weekly treasures including eggs, milk, sugar, and cheese. The last little bit of change from the trip swam around at the bottom of her purse.
By Svea Goertzen5 years ago in Humans
Decisions
Twenty thousand dollars, she thought to herself, as she sat in her car, one of the only ones left in the damp parking lot, lit up by a lone streetlight closer to the road. It rained earlier in the day, which left everything, even the light, heavy and wet.
By Meghan Lucas5 years ago in Humans
Mysterious Ways
She watched the miniature cloud of her breath slowly float into grey oblivion as she sighed dramatically at the bus stop. The snowstorm last night had provided perfectly questionable road conditions, and as she checked her watch to confirm the bus was running behind, she cringed at the realization that she was definitely going to be late for work. Again.
By Michelle Huggins5 years ago in Humans
The Sleuthing
Mariah sighed, thinking about all there was to accomplish today. While something lingered in the air; an instinctive uncomfortable feeling overcame her. Now fidgeting, waiting in line at her favorite coffee shop. Beginning to look around the room, nothing seemed unusual. The chatty upbeat couple in the corner having breakfast, the older man by himself seemingly absorbed in the daily newspaper, and the table full of what appeared to be young executive types, having an informal meeting; where the tension could be felt on the surface of forced laughter and frivolity.
By The Ghost Writer5 years ago in Humans
Under Audit
Twenty-seven-year-old Kayla Zak was in this very same room, three months, two days ago to be exact, sitting at the same table. She stared nervously at the clock mounted high to her left, waiting for her appointment with Special Agent William Gaskons, Field Office Supervisor for the Eastern District of the Internal Revenue Service.
By steve novak5 years ago in Humans
Adventures of A Six Year Old
When I was a child, my best friend Monica and I used to have our adventures mostly on the way home from school. I think back to when I was around five or six years old and realize I had way more freedom than my grandchildren do now. I used to ride public transit to my grade one class with my friends, and I don't ever remember being afraid. I also remember giving Monica's brother the slip after school many times, so that we could walk home at our leisure; or we'd take the bus halfway home then get off and walk the rest of the way.
By Yvette McDermott5 years ago in Humans
The Drifter and the Dreamer
The countertop is sticky again. Why is the countertop always sticky? She keeps her hand flat against the sponge so her home-manicured fingernails don’t chip on the laminated surface. Specks like confetti shine under the glossy bar from the pendant lights above; when the nights are slow and the highway just beyond the parking lot is quiet, she’ll connect the little flecks with a dainty finger, imagining constellations or bus routes-the big dipper or the 8:00am greyhound from Boise to LA. Though it doesn’t really matter what she draws, both are equally out of her reach.
By Maija Stevenson5 years ago in Humans
