Love Follows
Today I will tell her how I feel.
Her beautiful curls float over her back as she slips out of bed and drifts to the mirror, tying a gown around her perfect waist. She glances my way, but doesn't really see me. Yet.
Taking snapshots of her movements, I ingrain the images into my mind.
I step away from the window that gives me direct line of sight to her bedroom and put the camera away. She'll get dressed and take the 8:00 train, so I will follow as normal.
But today will be different. Today, I confess my love.
Lily
“I need a lily.”
“Kid, I’ve told you. No lilies. None.”
“But I need one.”
“Sorry kid. Talk to other florists.”
“I have.”
The man sighs and leans back on the chair looking at me pitifully. “I’ve got roses?”
“I need a lily.”
“Kid, these roses have been produced by the best chemists in Canada. Get her a rose.”
“Her name is Lily. I need a lily.”
“Well, go find a girl called Rose. They can’t make lilies. Of all the flowers… no lilies.”
I lean against the counter as a quake rumbles through the shop. Damn those metallurgists, I think. And damn those chemists.
“Rose or nothing, kid.”
“Are they from the ground?”
“That ground?” The florist gestures outside with a smirk where molten metal spills out of Metal Trucks, sealing up the ground with a hiss. “Don’t be stupid. Can’t grow nothing from the ground.” The florist jumps up to stop a bouquet from falling as another quake rocks the shop.
“Yes, you can. The books show lilies growing from the ground. Real lilies.”
“Chemists, labs, cells, chemicals, flowers. Roses, sunflowers, orchids. No ground, no lilies.” He crosses his arms, but then remembers that he was sorting out the sunflower arrangement.
“But can’t you grow it from the ground?” I ask, exasperated. “From a seed, with water, natural light. From the ground!”
“No!” I take a step back as he brandishes a sunflower at me, but he sees it in his hand and softens again. “I never heard of flowers coming from the ground. There ain’t nothing left of it. You can’t grow flowers from metal, kid.” He shakes his head sadly. “I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school these days, but it’s wrong.”
The florist turns his attention back to the window where a splash of lava billows up in the distance. A group of Metal Trucks swarm towards it like bees to pollen.
“Thanks for your time,” I whisper, and shuffle to the door unnoticed.
I step out of the shop in search of another florist, passing shop windows that rattle with the Trucks as they work day and night suppressing the magma, yet only heightening the instability. The path is nearly unusable from the buckling cement, and I amuse myself by treading on pavement cracks that I read had once been full of dandelions.
Unknown Escape
The murky brown void is tipped over the brim from the depths of the ring. A single drop trickles down into the crystal glass to make the maroon liquid fizzle black until it settles and once again appears as simply wine. The ring is flipped shut, obscuring the ruinous pit and a black glove is slipped over.
Jovial chatter echoes through the lounge as the glass is carried across the carpeted floor. Unsuspecting faces flick smiles towards the movement in relaxed waves.
The gloved hand extends death to an over-zealous being.
"No thank you."
Heads turn and the conversation continues.
The Flame of Life
An ember wakens,
Breathing in the air of dreams,
Hope sparking the mind,
Consuming the wick,
An inferno of daring,
To know everything,
Yet knowing nothing,
And being alight with it,
Brightened, enlightened,
Amassing of coal,
Humdrum days of searing aches,
A melting of cogs,
Observing the glows,
Young flickers spare a glance to
Ashes in a jar.
A Final Task
His eyes glimmer with hope as silver droplets trickle down his cheeks and soak the powder lining his nostrils. Dripping hair falls past his ears and dangles over the lip of the toilet seat.
"Is... it r-r-eally you?" His speech is slurred as his eyes glaze over and he tips his head over the seat. He spews, then straightens up once more, taking his final puff of white dust. Pathetic for someone known to be the king of rock and roll.
"Let's get this over with. Do you want the scythe or do you have another method in mind?"
It has been almost a century since I was forced into the role of reaper, but all I need to do is glean this last soul and I will be free to live peacefully in heaven.
"Scythe."
Usually, they beg or ask for mercy, sometimes even going as far as to try and glean me. I hesitate, but very well, he will have his chosen death. As he blinks, I neatly pry the soul out of the fleshy casing and watch as the carcass slumps forward, head now fully submerged in the bowl of the toilet.
"Thank you," I hear as his soft light slowly fades - up or down, I do not know.
"What do you mean, 'thank you'?" I reach to pull the glow back, but it is too late, it has already gone.
My final task is completed and I feel myself being tugged upwards, yet an ache is anchoring me to this world. Why did he thank me?
I fight against the tug, and finally pull back hard enough that I can chain myself to the scythe. I need just a bit more time here. Why did he thank me?
My body of bones claws against the marble tiles as I creak the bathroom door open and slither out. Midnight's moon cloaks me as I stalk the shadows creeping around the mansion. There is a tang of blood coating the air before I see it. Why did he thank me?
The kitchen floor is blanketed in the maroon liquid I have come to know like a best friend. In the centre of the puddle is a corpse, a chef's knife puncturing the stomach. The tug upwards becomes stronger as I drift forward. It is a girl's body, no older than 14. Why did he thank me?
I reach in and gently lift the soul out. The glow is cautious, then slowly darkens as it realises what has happened. I try to comfort it, but it disappears too soon. Please let it go up. How much powder must he have consumed to do this, or was it done before the first snort?
The wrenching upward becomes unbearable and I give in to the deafening pull. My soul rises and I find myself facing long awaited reunions, but I cannot endure the welcome for long and start wandering - where, I do not know.
I pass countless faces, but still do not stop. I search for a being I have no idea is even here. But I do discover him, obscured in a sea of many.
His celebrity status protected him from so much, but I was the one who ultimately stopped him from having to face the consequences of his horridness. I know why he thanked me. Behind the mask of a rock and roll legend lay a self-appointed reaper. I know what I must do.
I march towards him and begin to tether him to hell.
Guns to Stop Guns
Screaming pierces the red and blue illuminated day. Young innocents sprint to uniforms staying outside while friends turn cold. Some runners have maroon staining their clothes, all have unseeing eyes. As they escape weapons, they are only met with more - fleeing guns to hide behind more guns. Parents cry from relief as they embrace their warm kids. But some are left standing there, an empty space in front of them where their child is supposed to be. More shots add to the chaos. Uniforms shout that the target has been neutralised. Ended by the very weapon that started it.
My Everything
Oxygen is my everything. However, whenever I go outside all I see are the barren sprawls of land that are depriving me of my everything. Industries sweep away my everything faster than I am able to consume it. Our natural world is being depleted, yet the people who believe money is their everything are continuing to butcher the precious forests and vegetation that is keeping all of us alive. Money is not everything.
Happiness is my everything. However, people who believe material objects are their everything overconsume, leaving others to scavenge for basic necessities. There are innocents withering into tarmac out on the streets as a result. Even small donations go a long way, and when one donates they obtain a "Helper's High" as our brains release endorphins to make us happier. Sharing is everything. Material objects are not everything.
Learning is my everything. Yet, there are children who do not even know how to spell their own names. Resources are not being given. Chances are not being given. People who believe that being a "beautiful little fool" is their everything, are not able to see others. They cannot see the injustices facing poorer communities. Yes, sometimes it is better to be ignorant, but ignorance is not everything.
Safety is my everything. However, there is major gun violence, corruption, sexism and racism. People who believe they are everything do not care what happens to others. When everyone only looks out for themselves, the world deteriorates into chaos. Understanding others produces a safer world. Selfishness is not everything.
Having peace, cooperation and thoughtfulness in the world we live in is my everything.
The Chase
Harleys make people look tough and badass, but not me. I was hauled into this sidecar with a helmet squeezed onto my head. Hurtling down a highway with sirens blazing behind, my heart is racing. Thump! Thump! The bags of cash were left in a pigsty and the guns were strewn everywhere. My pockets get lighter as the accelerator is stomped on and chunks of money fly away in the squall. The bike sprints ahead of the raucous as a whirring sound begins above. Chaos fills the moonlit night as the headlights start to die. The bike skids over spikes.