No plan for the future

Just cruising along

Taking the days as they come

Have no future

But I wake up each morning

Start the day, squelching the mourning

No plan for the future

Well, maybe I do

But the plan does not include me and you

Have no future

Or do I? I don’t know

All I know is that I don't want to let you go

I don’t know what happened to me; who I was before, who I am now, who I will be in the future. My heart and mind seem somehow dulled, as though all my memories and feelings are closeted up somewhere and I lost the key with which to unlock their door. Occasionally the memories come back to me in sharp, short fragments - and when they do, they burn ... they burn.

The doctors say it’s trauma. They say it as though they know what my mind looks like, as though they understand, as though it’s something they can define, though they can’t see the broken parts of me that will never work again and the once forgotten scenes and sounds that repeat themselves over and over in my head as I lie awake at night. These are hidden from view. No matter how hard they try, they will never reach my heart; I have too many secrets concealed there. Secrets about the kind of things that happen at night time when no one is looking; secrets about how it feels to press your back into a corner and make yourself small, choking on thick grey smoke until you don’t care if you die because your body is begging for an escape, for relief; secrets about waiting for a rescuer who never comes and crying soundlessly without tears. I tell them I don’t remember anything while looking directly into their eyes so that I frighten them. I, still so young, frighten the doctors. It gives me a gratifying sense of empowerment to know that I can strike fear into someone so far above me and make them puzzle over what I am thinking. They’ll never know. They suspect that I remember, but they just don’t know. It infuriates them, with all their wisdom and years of study, to be unable to uncover a child’s little tucked away thoughts.

When they found me first, one of them sat me down in the room with dark floorboards and cracks in the walls and asked me if I remembered what had happened. I stared at him that same way until he told me, himself. He said in the gentlest way possible that my family was gone, that I had been discovered in the rubble, the aftermath of a destructive housefire. It was a miracle, he said. A miracle. He asked me if I felt sorrow over the death of my family and, my eyes still locked with his, I replied,

“Maybe.”

Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I think these days I’m inclined to say I do not, because in the disconnected shards of memory that return to me every now and then I feel the way my father used to beat me, see the disapproval with which my mother looked at me, hear the cruel words my brother said in my presence and know again the forlornness of lying alone, crying and shivering in the darkness of a cold bedroom. I think perhaps if I was truly sorry about it I would tell them who set fire to the house. But that's my secret.

I have heard the word sociopath before. Once I found it in the solid black dictionary they keep in the doctor’s office, the one full of yellow pages and long fancy words no one can pronounce. Sociopath. Sometimes I fancy that I am exactly that, and I have begun to believe that the doctors agree with me. I never wish to be anything different, somehow. Maybe, maybe, that is where my identity is to be found - maybe one day when I look in the mirror I will know with certainty why the doctor is afraid of my frozen blue eyes - maybe I will eventually realise that it is not an illness but a power - maybe it’s better to have no sorrow. But still I wonder; if I have no empathy, no care, if my love is numbed and my heart cold ... why does it burn?

#fiction

there's someone that waits beyond the dark

behind the curtain, behind the black

collecting falling stars in a butterfly net

weaving tapestries out of thoughts that will never be spoken

fishing scribbled papers out of streams and making their words heard again

fireflies are collected in jars

and cast into lanterns

illuminating the pale sky

but will never reach

the other side

Heaven sent, Hell bent.

Small talker, drowsy walker,

Say those last words quick.

That tankish brute burst

Through buried men, alone, no...

With Legion rising.

Nameless forces sparked

Ember teeth squeeze blazing jaws,

Steel walls turned foe drop.

City dweller mood

Like kings men galloping free.

Marble Goddess sigh.

Drag them, torture if

You must, always torture, send

Those rebels to ruins.

O’ live lioness,

Prowl in sacred complexes,

Data mine, wander.

Smiling kindred cut,

Dragged to noxious country lots,

Childhood bludgeoned rouge.

Tyrant, lover, fool,

We’re nothing new, just reruns,

Awaken lovelies.

(Quick little note: I messed up while creating this challenge. It is set as democracy, rather than monarchy, but I will still be deciding the winner: not the post with the most likes. So you should still be expecting a Pen to the Paper announcement next Sunday. Now on with the biscuit--someone already uses that? Snap.)

I stared at my study guide, taking in as much information as I possibly could, when I looked up to see Nick and Maya standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” I said, closing my book.

“It’s time.”

I looked at my watch. “OH, SNAP! It’s already half past inconsistent? I gotta run!” I exclaimed, jumping from my desk chair through the door, nearly knocking Nick down in the process.

I broke through the curtains, tripping onto stage and sprawling across it.

“I’m okay!” I said, shooting up. “I think we all know why I’m here.” I walked to the back of the stage, grabbed a whiteboard, and brought it to the center of the stage. “So, quantum physics. If you multiply p by three, e by two, and add a, n, and r, you get pen paper, because I’m too lazy to add the other letters. Looking forward to the entries this week!”

An old Toyota minivan parked near the docks. Randy and Max looked out from the windshield and into the fierce Florida sunlight. Several ships slightly swayed to the gentle waves that refracted against the rocky shore. A white box plastered with blue labels perched precariously on the cupholder between their skinny teenage figures.

“We got a big one today,” said Randy, picking up the box and shaking it while putting it to his ear.

“Bet it’s some sort of electronic. Rich neighborhoods are always tech product heaven,” said Max.

Randy took a pocketknife from the glove compartment. The thin layer of beige packaging tape split in a quick movement of his wrist.

“I hope that house didn’t have a nest cam,” said Max.

“Stop worrying about that. I told you I checked.” said Randy.

He strained his arms and ripped open the top of the box. Packaging peanuts and newspaper exploded onto his lap.

“Well, it’s definitely not an electronic. There would’ve been a box,” said Max.

Randy stuffed his small spindly hand into the package. When he reached back out, a long and narrow white sack was in his hand.

“What on earth is that?” exclaimed Max.

“Maybe it’s a dildo,” joked Randy.

“Shut up Randy!”

The sack wriggled as Randy put it in his lap and opened the drawstring at the top. His hand went in. A sudden yelp followed. Randy pulled his hand out of the bag. In it held a small monitor lizard. The tiny creature flicked its long, forked tongue. Its fierce eyes glared at Randy.

“Whoa cool.” he said.

The lizard wriggled in his hands, pressing against them with its legs that were powerful despite its size. Its long back claws scraped Randy’s skin.

“Wow, those guys literally ordered a lizard! I didn’t know they even came in packages!” exclaimed Max.

Randy took a hand off of the lizard and chucked the box into the back seats. He opened the door and exited the car.

“Hey! Were you going?” asked Max.

Randy walked out onto the nearest dock and sat down, the monitor wriggling in his hand.

“I think these guys can swim, I got to check it out.”

Max got out of the car, walked to Randy, and sat down next to him.

“They can swim?” he asked.

“Their supposed to slither in the water like a snake. I’ve seen it on animal planet. It looks really cool,” said Randy.

He got on his stomach, both of his hands and the reptile hanging over the dock. The lizard broke free of his grasp and slithered through the clear, brackish water. Randy grabbed it before it swam too far. It desperately tried to slither forward as he restrained it.

“This guy could’ve escaped and practically live out here.” said Max

He put his hand in the water and stroked the monitor’s head. The monitor snapped around its head and sank its teeth into Max’s hand. Max hollered and yanked his hand up from the water, the monitor not letting go. Randy released his grip from the lizard and it hanged from the meat of Max’s palm. Max continued to yell in pain until the lizard opened its jaws and scampered down the dock.

Randy ran after it. Once he’d scooped it into his hands, he clasped it tightly so it could not move their head close enough to bite him. Max sat on the dock, holding his hand, moaning.

“Oh crap, this looks really deep!” he cried.

“These guys are supposed to get super aggressive when they’re older. I heard some even have saliva that turn your flesh into jello.” said Randy.

“What?”

“Some monitors have deadly saliva. I think a single bite can even bring down a wildebeest.”

Max looked to Randy wide eyed, then rushed past him to the car.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” asked Randy.

“I’m not letting myself turn into jello!” cried Max.

“We need to go back to the house and see if that thing is venomous.”

“Oh, come on, you’re overreacting. I’m pretty sure the bad ones only live in Africa or something,” said Randy.

“And how do we know it’s not from Africa!”

Randy sighed and walked back towards the car.

“We’re not going back to that house. I don’t want to get in trouble. Let’s just find what it’s labeled as on the box and look it up on our phones.”

Max slid into the car and grabbed the box. He dumped the peanuts and newspaper, fishing for a label. He then picked up the box and scanned it from every angle.

“No label.”

Randy grumbled and entered the car.

“Fine, well go back. But if anyone asks whose idea it was to steal a live monitor lizard, it was your idea.”

He put the key into the ignition and sped off.

Two Burmese police officers walk on either side of a prisoner of war. They escorted the young prisoner through the compound gates.

Arriving at the office of the sanctioned Bible College, the officers have the director of the school sign the document giving him custody.

The senior officer commands, “He cannot leave your compound for the next three years.” Exchanging the signed document for the prisoner, both officers leave.

The director asks his assistant to have the missionary from America come to the office once he finishes his lecture. Both the prisoner and the director sit in silence until the missionary arrives.

Director introduces the prisoner. Pastor, this is my youngest son, Timothy. He will be our guest for the next three years. They captured him during a battle being fought with the Karen. Because the government knows my connection with America, they release Timothy to my care for the next three years.

Pastor, “Will Timothy enroll into the college?”

Director, “He must make that decision, he does not believe in God. We will keep him busy working here, serving the staff and the students.”

Timothy extends his hand to the Pastor. “Nice to meet you; my father David has saved my life. When they discovered David is my father, they sent me here instead of being executed.”

Pastor says, “I will pray for you.”

Timothy just smiled; nodding his head in agreement. David’s assistant escorted Timothy to his assigned room.

David goes over the Sunday service with the Pastor. “You know that the Bishop of the Baptist Church in Yagoon will be her to read from the Scriptures and you are to give the message. The government has sanctioned this church. Do not give an alter call, it is against the law. The Bishop may report proselytizing to the government.”

“I understand! If God tells me to give an invitation; who am I to say no to God, are we not to obey men over God?”

Sunday morning, they introduced pastor to the Bishop before the service. The Bishop had an air of authority about him. Dressed in a full-length robe, it reminds the pastor of a rooster strutting around the barnyard. It appeared everyone had fear and not a reverence for the Bishop and his minions waiting on him hand and fist.

Service underway, the Bishop had David sit on his right side before the pastor was to be seated on his left.

David rose to the podium. He leads the congregation of two hundred in prayer. Then the Bishop stood looking out to the congregation, silent as the dead almost afraid to breathe. He reads the story of the prodigal son.

And he said a certain man had two sons: And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And few days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.

The Bishop and David cannot see Timothy. The podium blocked their view. The pastor can see Timothy seated next to the stage. Timothy was listening intently. Pastor has an overwhelming desire to pray for Timothy.

Bishop reading: And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he was in want. And he went and joined himself as a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine ate: and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my fathers have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father; I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.

Pastor can now see tears building in Timothy’s face. They gush out like a dam bursting. His heart had received the Word of God.

And he arose and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again. He was lost and is found!

The Bishop closes the Bible on the podium and invites the Pastor to give a message.

The pastor, “The son left his father and family to live as he pleased. We are all the children of the creator, God. He has many children that live their lives as they please. How wonderful is it when just one of these children understands God loves them? God’s son died so we might live! He was obedient unto death; it is rare to see this quality in use. But, we resemble the young son, who lived as he wanted and it turned out that he might die. He had to return to his father to live. God gives us all this chance. Who here today wants to come to the Father. Just Stand and I will pray for you.”

Only Timothy stood and the Bishop and David could not see him, but the pastor and God did.

Later, after the service David said to the Bishop I did not see one person stand. It was a good thing! The Bishop laughed as he left at the American pastor to have someone stand.

After the Bishop left, David looked the pastor in the eye. “I told you not to give an invitation. Good thing no one stood up.

Pastor said, “Yes, someone stood up. He is coming our way now.

Timothy ran to his father and cried, Father, forgive me. I will be your best student. Both, now understanding God can see the unseen, he sees the heart. Nothing can stop God from an open heart.

Frozen lakes,

Cloudy skies,

Taste of snow,

Shivering bodies,

Frost bitten fingers,

But also magic in the air,

White lights,

Pine trees,

A jolly ho-Ho-HO,

Families gathered together,

Realistic world is no more,

Happiness reins,

Children laughter cries out,

Snowball fights,

Frosty forts,

And a favorite snowman,

Winter movies like Frosty the snowman and Jack Frost,

A birthday and a prayer,

In a winter world,

Magic and pain join,

And hope brightens.

Ethan Huxley was a street rat, and in his opinion there were few worse things to be. He'd had his fair share of suffering, too, so these words were not meant to be taken lightly. Being a thief was common. Degrading, especially for a prince. (Well, aspiring prince. Ethan hadn't worked that part out yet, but he was sure he was made to be a royal.) Still, he would rather steal than pay (he had no money), or god forbid beg, like some common pauper. No, Ethan still had his dignity, and as that was pretty much all he did have, he held on to it tightly.

As much as he hated being poor, being a thief did have its merits, one of which was that everyone ignored you. Ethan was thankful for this as he sat in some boxes at the mouth of an alley, eating a borrowed apple and surveying his (hopefully) future subjects as they went about their business.

I heard voices yesterday / the sound bouncing off heads / turning my whole body to face them

fragments of thought / making abstract art / a weird mix of freestyle and slashes

I hit the publish button / they tell me things / impossible to think

I press delete /

I press backspace /

This isn’t poetry it’s