The Challenge

Since last Sunday, my mother has been on a roll, blasting out (as of this writing) 43 pages of story!!! I am quite proud of her, breaking new ground for herself like this. I don't know where it will ultimately lead her, but she is immersing herself in it. I don't mean to insinuate a negative connotation or anything by saying this, but in its way it feels like a miracle. To see anybody so inspired is a happening to behold, I think.

Here is my own submission. As you may know, as evidenced by my Vocal catalog (which will become 185 with this entry), I am no stranger to extensive writing. So putting out a five page, five chapter story was hardly the exercise in achievement to shift my entire life. Of course, that is not to say that miracles cannot happen. Like I said, she hit the ground running, churning out far more than at least a guideline deemed adequate. And I am so proud of her for unleashing her all, and unchaining herself in her way.

\m/. I love you, Mom .\m/

~

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CHAPTER 1: A Space To Work Things Out

The mug had cooled to a considerable degree by the time she got started. The Sun burned and fizzled in the growing evening, leaves cast here and there in the bluster. For the seclusion the cabin had to offer, it edged on disheartening to be chained to such an unwieldy distraction.

Still, it was quite beautiful, all things considered. Maybe that was what she told herself, anyway. Anything to get this damn thing going already.

The yearning had grown on her for longer than she could remember: by the hurt; the gall; the very prison of her nature. Even as what had sought to push her, once upon another lifetime, it felt, had burst toward some un-grasped crescendo and petered out, little more than a ghost had been left in its wake; left as that which had seized her—that welcome companion through the darkness of youth and epiphany—remained a promise of nothing.

She reached out, anchored to dejection’s embrace—took another fulfilling sip. She set the mug down gently, admiring the single teardrop at rest below the rim, an imagined testament of magnanimous concept, awaiting ignition; here; on this page. The one, she hoped; the one which had finally arrived.

*

CHAPTER 2: The Green Mask Bleeds

November: the end?

Or the beginning?

Where does the mask of vitality spread its wings, and soar—

to sore and sour the blocks of essence;

the building whose dream of being falls distant and discrete;

hidden; and not to be found?

Never has a mug of luster felt so cold.

{A symphony of thoughts; mirrored core; nuclei one or many; unknown; amassed—}

Befallen trance—a shattering of still—ejection—a flicker and a blur—a tempest of purple—figure darts from frame.

A vibration shivers through… the foliage of normalcy rumbles… ; crumbles the—

The pen drops like a net from a trap; a trap blind to its prey; its prey come and gone.

She slowly rises, gaining her bearings. Advancing on the coffee pot, she caresses, and with the carafe shares a yearning of olde companionship; of shields amongst the dark. The liquid within burns cold; the ocular flicker unseen.

*

CHAPTER 3: Con and Consternation

The majesty of the orchestra; the anchor; the spirit unbound.

The notes lay out before her, spread for the touch of phantom fingers.

The trees—oh, the trees… for their canopy is her umbrella.

She leafs through them one by one, ideas like crosshairs upon the prize, but with no mark set to collect.

The clouds… the clouds… the spirit moves amongst them…

Her eyes glaze over as frameworks flex and

the causeway

*

CHAPTER 4: Corruption

One wrong move, and integrity was no more. The hesitancy to see had been lost in the rumble of discord, and she had seen ; had glimpsed a fragment of passage; had supped of that forbidden fountain of displaced lore; had lost the mark and the ring of truth which had been hers ; And hers alone.

Where was out? she asked herself. By which way was the air?

In time she began again, feverishly, scope uncontested and burdening. Pages piled like stagnant foam upon a rising tide, the salt of her tears the only suggestion of pure and true manifestation.

As the minutes passed – and as her pen seized up more and more – a pattern soon emerged: a crisscrossing of good things; an emulsifying of cues; a plumbing of anchored foundations;

She scratched, almost madly, the lined ivory, the conscious view of her intensity seeming to eclipse the very satisfaction of her output. Somewhere—somehow—a bell tolled the top of the hour.

A chaos of misplaced air—

Then silence ;

And nothing but.

*

CHAPTER 5: Empty

The outpost stood proud by the afternoon shine, lines of decrepitude left golden. The leaves and debris which matted the Earth lay far beyond qualms of disintegration, rebirth’s stale promise echoing amongst the countless patches. The might of the four winds had lain claim to its toll…

Until today: for lone tire tracks, in bold succinctness, had taken hold of the story.

By studious encroachment came the party, betwixt personal discretions and the tattered bungalow. Seconds passed into minutes as their senses toiled, their eyes wearing thinner as hope and resolution linked hands and danced; onward and onward: behind—around—beyond—

Of the first who looked within—whose virgin eyes defied the gutted, blackened pane—none could attest leadership nor influence; only that the scream which escaped had chained all to that mythical snowball: that chaos run aground; that harbinger of stalwart and irrepressible horror.

“In the tunnels/byways hence/faded memories/save me/save me/”

A chant upon the breeze... :

grown to an assault... :

cries made one in the coming flood ;

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Take it for what you will. It was written off the cuff, exemplifying a lot of my habitual style choices. Beyond grammatical edits, and perhaps a few general ones, I felt no real need to go back and change anything. I do it all in-house, writing and editing and all, so I ultimately do get lazy to a degree. I take it as seriously as it is coming out. After that, it is just chipping away at the noise and tightening contextual discrepancies.

Anyway, here's to inspiration and love and all the joy that goes with them. \m/, B']

Z