a feeling drags the body down, deep into the abyss of darkness. retreat into thyself, into the abyss of the soul. sit there, legs hanging off the bed, eyes locked onto nothing, mind running too fast or saying the same thing slowly.

the mind wants tears to come, but the body has no more to give. eyes dry, mouth screaming, gaping hole aching in thy chest, the body shuts down, wanting to do no more.

the legs and feet move slowly, like a turtle, trudging against the hard floor, to the room where so much has happened. reaching for the handle, cold and smooth against thy palm.

the silver surface on the wall reflects the world’s view, red face, empty eyes, messy hair.

hands fumble for the familiar sharpness, mind knowing that this moment could always be the last.

back against the wall, body sliding down to sit on the floor, cold tile embracing the legs.

the blade pricks the skin, blood blossoming like flowers in the spring, running down the skin of the wrist, like a river coursing over rocks and dripping onto the white tile

eyes look up, familiar white looking back, pain erupting, spreading up the arm like a wildfire.

smoke dances on the edges of vision, the haziness fogging the mind.

relief is felt, but the sick mind cries for more pain, more relief, for what else could make this aching hole better?

the door with the cold, smooth handle bursts open, and a figure appears. the tears the sick body couldn't produce are made by the figure.

the blade is taken from the sick body and thrown in the bin where all rubble goes.

blood still babbles like the creek, but a cloth, like a large stone, stops the river from flowing.

help in the form of a screaming van and kind, sad eyes is called.

the smoke has overtaken the vision, now the mind sees nothing but black, and the body, unresponsive, refuses to move.

the body is taken to the clean place that smells like cleaning products and is taken to be poked and prodded right away.

the body, still as unresponsive as the mind, is pumped with blood from a stranger, the clean people hoping to fix what was lost by the sick mind.

finally, hours later, the body, and the mind, wake up.

the tears that couldn't be produced earlier, are produced now, but in confusion.

the sick mind wanted to die, yet the others wouldn't let it.

why the sick mind asks, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?

but then, an outside figure tells them that they are loved, and other figures do care about them.

the mind doesn't understand at first but then, they get it a little bit. maybe others do care for them. maybe they are loved.

and they realize, maybe things aren't the best right now, and maybe they won't be alright tomorrow, but it will be ok in the future.

and then the mind realizes life is like a semicolon, it's okay to pause for a minute to recover and take a break to think, but, life has to continue eventually;

Innocent little ladies, so they seemed

uncorking mouths to let sins out.

Knit One, Purl Two

Knitting virgin white sweaters

covering their blackened souls.

For all the members of sordid group

had pasts kept cloaked inside.

Knitting needles had sharpened points -

Becky used one to do her lover in

a spiked stab to base of the neck

nary a mark to detect cause of death.

Knit One Purl Two

The things they knit were sturdy and sure

but violations they had committed

unraveled as their tales spilled out

many secrets of which they were proud.

Anna bragged she had tightened a scarf

around neck of husband who had cheated

dumped him in sinking sand nary to be found.

“Scoundrel left me!” she cried out to her friends

Knit One Purl Two

Black wooly socks soaked in poison by Lila

absorbed through the skin by her father

death blamed on heart attack by doctors

all his fault because he had molested her.

His passing gave her great satisfaction.

Knit One Purl Two

All the women in the dark knitting group

shared their stories but knit themselves

into a corner when one too many

losses occurred and it sounded like a yarn,

trying to pull wool over detective’s eyes.

Knitting group all convicted at trial

they had blabbed way too much -

jury and judge all agreed on conviction.

The evil little group now continues together

wearing striped uniforms in prison confines.

Knit One Purl Two

in the style of Robert Browning

A soda. There’s a chimpanzee downtown

At Robinson’s, right now, drinking soda,

And all the while reporters scrawl and laugh

To see this monkey—Joe Mendi, it’s named—

With straw in furry hand ten feet from where

I first agreed to do this thing. Is this

What it was for? A headline, scores of them,

To show the circus came to Dayton? I’m

Unsure about it, George, unsure of how

This serves our cause, or Dayton, Tennessee—

Why do you laugh…? Of course I know we’re in

The news! But to what end? Evolution’s name,

And Dayton’s name, are tied now to a chimp

Who sips a soda on a stool, a joke,

A flannel-suited mockery of all

We know is true. …I won’t. My lips remain,

While angry, silent, mum. But answer me:

Am I a puppet, Mr. Rappalyea?

I thought I joined a team that day, but shots

Are fired about my head and I call none.

You set the meeting, asked me there,

Contrived arrest for something I’d not done

And I agreed, to end this backward law.

I will not spill; the story’s safe with me:

“A drugstore argument, a broken law.”

And not at all confederacy, and not

A plan. None will admit the origin.

They can’t—ungilded candor lacks the shine

Demanded by ambition. Robinson

Is slinging drinks all day (his drugstore will

Replace its fountain when all’s said and done,

Just wait), and Bryan wields his Bible, verse

By verse declaiming holy words in town

So people nod “Amen.” And Darrow, he

Spins yarns and charms and holds his court, a king

And clown commingled. George, I’m nauseous. I

Just want to swim. July’s thick heat just grows

Unbearably, and swim I do, but they

(reporters, always more reporters) stand

With notepads. I can have no peace. It’s not

Your name they know, the mastermind behind

The scenes. It’s mine. You choose to speak

But I am forced to hide. I’ll always hide.

You knew that, George, I think… a brand new hire,

Fresh out from university... The books

Will say that Tennessee v. Scopes took place

In 1925. That’s not the end

For Scopes. They print my name, not yours. The case

Soon ends, but I will never teach again.

Many have been through trials

Common trials

Cliche trials

Battling to win the game of:

Love,

Life,

And Lies.

Marching along

With chaotic pride

In the parade of

Self-fulfillment.

Jumping over hurdles

And dashing to the finish line,

Only to come up short.

My trials,

Aren’t common.

Join along in the struggle

To breathe a breath

Of broken hearts.

Ignore the bright bold colours

And come into the dark,

The shadows that hold secrets that will never be brought to light.

My trials hold truth,

And I will weave you out

From behind your mask of deceit,

Because I bet you

You’ve only beat the others racing

By taking knives to their backs.

These trails,

Are real,

These trails

Are punishments

For ignoring the pain,

For ignoring the hurt you’ve placed on others or yourself.

Look past the illusion of the parade:

With the brightness,

There is darkness—

Life is more than the bright shiny typical future,

There is the pain,

The emotional game of fulfillment.

And I’ll be watching your parade,

As you dance on to the end of your “trial”,

Because I once,

Was naive like you,

Naive enough to believe that:

Playing the game of love, life, and lies,

Was the hardest trial I ever had to overcome.

But it’s in the shadows

Where the real struggle begins.

Individually invisible to the naked eye, collectively the slurry of filth permeated the room as a blanket leaving everything to chance. The dead tiny soldiers lay silently, longing to be put to rest, desperately clinging and cautiously shifting with the subtle movement coming from under the sheets; a toss, a turn, a constant shallow breathe in, breathe out in between fitful nightmares. To the words engraved into the surface of the dusty silver coin by the bedside, life would go on whether or not it’s recipient interpreted the symbolism, or valued the significance and followed through with his promise. It was the 29th day of a 30 day month, one more long excruciating day to go for the red coin to be pulled out of the bag before the group confessional and handed over, entrusted by covenant, defined as daily crapshoot.

Slow to leave slumber, nonsensical images flooded the mind of the body unable to grasp the newness of the day, or the incomprehensible desire to leave his demons behind. He reached towards the bedside where there would surely be a bottle to be had with something left, if not vapors, knocking off the dusty silver coin and it bounced. Light as it was, the sound was enough to remind him of the words he thought would never be his to embrace, 24 hours of sobriety. And then it hit him. “Get up, get showered, get to work, get to a meeting, don’t drink and one of these days, find the strength to clean up this mess.” But as long as he continued to clean up his act, the dust would remain settled, and a new milestone awaits, if only he can make it one more day.

IN THE CIRCUIT COURT FOR FICTIONAL CITY, USA

JOHNSON’S INNER CHILD

Plaintiff

v. Conscious Docket

No. 01-2020

JOHNSON, ET AL. ,

Defendant

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF PROCEEDINGS

(JURY TRIAL – DAY ONE)

Fictional City, USA

January 25, 2020

BEFORE:

THE HONORABLE GOD ALMIGHTY, JUDGE

PROCEEDINGS

The Clerk: All Rise

The Court: Good afternoon everyone and everyone be seated. Now calling for the record the case of one Inner Child Hurt v. Johnson’s Heart & Soul, et al., it’s a dire matter 01-2020. And if Council would identify themselves for the record.

A. Grace: Good afternoon, Your Honor, Amazing Grace here, on behalf of the Defendant, Inner Child.

F. Time: And Father Time as well, Your Honor, on behalf of the Defendant.

I. Child. And, Your Honor, Inner Child on behalf of the Plaintiff, Johnson.

B. Heart. And good afternoon, Your Honor, Broken Heart here, also for the Plaintiff.

THE COURT: And good afternoon, everyone.

A. Grace: And, your Honor, seated to my right is Jane Doe (phonetic), a paralegal at our office, and seated to her right is the Accused, Johnson.

THE COURT: Okay

A. Grace: Thank-you, Your Honor

THE COURT: and, are we ready to proceed or are there any preliminary matters?

A. Grace: I believe we are ready to continue, Your Honor.

OPENING STATEMENT BY BROKEN HEART

May we speak now, if it please the court, good-afternoon. What brings us here today to this Fictional Courtroom is the law of consciousness. And it is the law that protects inner children. But only if corrective measures choose to enforce the law, shall it be so. And, what you’ll hear from the Judge are a couple of terms. And, you’re going to hear the term “unconditional love” a lot. And, basically this term means one important thing: Inner children have a right to depend on their caretakers to provide the attention and love they need to be happy. This is a trial of consciousness. It’s not a criminal case. No one is going to jail. No one is being punished.

OPENING STATEMENTS BY INNER CHILD

Good afternoon

THE JURORS: Good Afternoon

As the Plaintiff, I am Johnson’s inner child and, on this day of January 27, 2020 in Fictional Court, USA, I not only represent myself, I stand in defense of all the other inner children of the world. Some may select other titles to describe who and what an inner child is. Many people might think that the inner child is the better part of the dreams and challenges that live inside of the soul. Others think it is simply the instrumental flow of consciousness that defines the meaning. And, still other folks often say that the “inner child” is simply symbolic of better wishes that don't always come true. The wishes sometimes not granted because of the fact that our caretakers give up on themselves.

Your Honor, realistically speaking, I know this Court cannot force the Plaintiff to better love herself and bring out the best in her inner child. I ask only that the Defendant, Johnson, is required to take a clearer look at MY need for her attention and care. Let it be known that all the Jurors selected for this trial are, in fact, secret angels that have been in the Defendant’s life since birth. Amazing Grace and Father Time are on Johnson’s side. I, too, as well as the broken heart that comes from years of the Defendant’s self-neglect, love my caretaker. Your Honor, this trial isn’t about pointing fingers of guilt or sentencing Johnson to a self installed prison. The Jurors do not have a single vote cast as a “guilty” vote and the only hope set forward is for the Plaintiff to love herself and change.

THE COURT: On the record of this matter of Johnson’s Heart & Soul vs. Inner Child’s Right to Live, Conscious Docket 01-2020, are we ready to begin?

A. Grace: We are, Your Honor.

THE COURT: Okay

A. Grace: And, of our only witness today, I call

GUARDIAN ANGEL

A witness, produced on call of the State, first having been duly sworn according to law, was examined and testified as follows:

VOIR DIRE

BY THE COURT

Q. Miss Angel, if you would tell me your name for the record:

A. Guardian Angel, the mom.

Q. Would you tell the Court what your relationship is to the Defendant, Inner Child?

A. I am the Defendants guardian angel and beloved mother. I was also the Plaintiff’s loving, earthly parent and cared for her, from diapers to adulthood. When I reached the age of eighty-seven, I went home to heaven to be with the Lord and my beloved husband, Kenny, and continued to do my work. As of today, I am the guardian angel, watching over both the Defendant and the Plaintiff, 24/7, and I do so with a willing heart, your Honor.

Q. G. Angel, for a verdict to be rendered, would you please tell the court in what

ways the Defendant has harmed the Plaintiff?

A. Yes. There have been many times that the Plaintiff did not love herself enough

and, in turn, failed to see she had an inner child within that needed her. Even now, at age-62, the Defendant still has the same inner child that is often left alone in the world. Let the Court know that Johnson’s unhealthy habits have had a bad affect on the little girl that lives in her: overeating to the point of obesity, starving herself when she was near anorexic, her excess worry, self-denial and shame. The list of “sins” could go on and on as it is; we all fall short and make mistakes in our lives. As Johnson’s mother, I have returned from heaven to testify to the fact that forgiveness is in the Hands of the Lord.

SENTENCING AND CLOSING STATEMENT FROM THE HONORABLE GOD ALMIGHTY, JUDGE

IT IS THE JUDGMENT OF THIS COURT:1. For the neglect of self and lack of self-love, the Defendant is sentenced to instant forgiveness for all of her sins, past, present and future. 2. For the cause of creating a broken heart within her inner child, the Defendant is set free of guilt and sentenced to serve a term of lifetime friendship with said Inner Child, seeking guidance from above and finding mutual harmony. 3. These sentences are to run concurrent with each other and the costs are waived. Sins are paid for in full by the Son of the Honorable God Almighty Judge. Both the Plaintiff and Defendant are unconditionally loved. Unconditional love means that I, the Honorable God and Almighty God, will always love you, in spite of your mistakes. I find true pleasure when you care for each other with unconditional love as well.

COURT IS ADJOURNED. YOU MAY BE DISMISSED.

The crowds bellowed, chanting a reverberating chant, stars dancing across the night sky; joyous, harmonious, and unified. The ruler decrees a notorious sentiment, a sentiment unacceptable to the land the people claim as their own. A superstar, a politician, a journalist, an academic, and a citizen unite till their last breath. Standing in solidarity against the despot whose tyranny claimed the life of many. The streets are laced with the blood of the fallen, the innocent, and the judged. Without trial, without repose. Violence rules over the miasma of the night, stunning even those that stood ignorant on the sidelines. The lurkers and the watchers, unaffected no longer. The time on peace ran out when the despot took the throne. Now, the crowds shout and scream, their fists in the air with chants of freedom. The freedom they deserve, the freedom that is their right.

Thousands across the land stand together, bound by the same cause; freedom. Once again, a fire is ignited in the hearts of many. Every person comes out to drag the despot himself on the stand. No one stands idle, no one watches from the margins of privilege. The veil is pulled away in the most scathing manner, leaving nothing but perforations in its wake. The portal opened and the demons stepped out, and the crowds shout. They shout for the land, they shout for the end of their suffering. The land that once was, no longer remains. Changes, a little in a name here, a little in a song there, destroy the fabric of what was once a most majestic part of the world. Tethered by the ropes of greed and arrogance, blinded by the glimmer of untouched, unchecked power, the land now stands as a mere shell of its former self. But, hope.

Hope, because the crowds gather. They continue to stand together in droves. Stadiums, parks, schools, and monuments reverberate with the sounds and shouts of freedom from oppression. Students do not hold back, parents do no hold back, and while the unsuspecting leader, the despot, sits in abandon surrounded by mirrors to celebrate his narcissism, the crowds gather to bring him to trial. A hammer and a nail. That is all it takes to break the mirror. The despot is brought back to his place on Earth that is our land. The crowds tearing apart his arrogance and his unaffected daze, his imperviousness and his thick skin. He falls.

Not a drop of blood is shed. No violent calls echo in the now mirror-less room. Only the crowds who stand, their heads high, palms together as if in prayer, and a ghost of a smile hinting at days to come. Days full of promise. Days full of hope.

Love and hate

A currency

Crimson print

Where passion bleeds

Love and hate

Its truth and vine

Poured, our souls

When crushed like wine

Love and hate

The nail and stone

Chiseled sentence

Flesh and bone

Love and hate

To bless or curse

Tried by fire

Ink and verse

Love and hate

Bear fruit and seed

Squeezed like jam

Comfit of deeds

Love and hate

The flower press

Beauty,

Still, preserved in death

"I saw her so many times before yet I haven't seen her in such a long time I can't even remember her face. Oh, the pain, the agony."

"You saw her yesterday."

My village was a pretty peaceful place, but a kid or two would disappear every once in a while. When that happened, it was my job to find them. And I did, happy and healthy, every time. Most of them would get lost in the forest playing hide and seek or tag or murderous mischiefs. The last one might not sound like a game, but was the most popular of them all.

The forest was dense and unexplored, with bugs and beast lurking in every corner. Losing your trail was too easy even for adults, let alone children. The only reason I was able to move through it so surely and freely was my gift of smell. I could the sense the scent print of every person who ever passed through it and, if I concentrated hard enough, I could clutch onto one of them and follow it to its source. 

I could find anyone and anything, but I wasted half of my talent on a one particular person.

This time, the missing kid was Kiki. Like the last time. An the time before it.

To put it lightly, Kiki was the most mischievous kid the world has ever known. 

"Did you check all her usual hiding spots?" I asked Momo. 

"Of course I did! I even checked all the hiding spots she didn't even try yet!" she said. "What if she's lost forever? How will my heart live through such a heartbreak?!"

Momo was a ray of sunshine burning a bit too bright. She was adorable, cheerful, overly dramatic and desperately in love with Kiki. Everyone knew it, except for Kiki and Momo herself. 

"I have a bad feeling this time," she said slowly. "Like-like it's different than usual."

She was on verge of crying again, so I pat her on the frizzy hair. "Don't worry. I'll find her, like I always do. She's playing a game."

A game. Exactly. That was something we should be doing as well. "How about we play a game? Are you more of a tag or a murderous mischiefs kind a girl?"

"Murderous mischieves," she said readily, but it wasn't true. Momo was extremely fast and dexterous, running was her thing. She would play tag for hours on end until Kiki came around. Kiki, being the cunning beast she was, loved games packed with tricks and scares. I knew Momo was easily scared, so it was the furthest from her ideal game, but she was forcing herself to like it until she actually came to like it. But not more than tag.

Murderous mischieves was a game of stalking and scaring. One person would jauntily walk around the forest and the other would follow in shadows, watching their every move. When the time was right, the 'murderer' would jump out of its hideout and try to scare the 'victim'. If he succeeded, the game would declare the 'victim' murdered and the 'murderer' victorious. 

I was going to play as a 'victim', having to promise I won't use her smell to track her movements. Momo hid somewhere and I continued to follow Kiki's trail. I was so used to it by now, I could found it in the unwashed crowd without trying. I never confronted her about this, but I was fairly sure the part of reason for her constant disappearing was testing my ability. Ever since she was a toddler, she was jealous of me, crying 'I want to be a doggy too' every time she saw me. It was annoying at first, but became endearing with time.

I was relieved every time I found her, even though I wouldn't admit I was worried in the first place.

The forest was silent. Too silent. Aside from my footsteps breaking branches and fallen leaves, the air was empty. I made my way through the usual trails, paved with mistakes and wrong turns. With time, they became right. I was calm, but the silence was still unsettling. It made me aware of any little sound I was making, shifting my focus from Kiki's scent. 

Where did all the animals go? Usually you could hear birds' singing, boars' galloping and squirrels' squeaking. Those sounds were familiar, comforting, sounds of a true forest. Silence was the sound of death.

Despite my unease, I proceeded, more cautiously than before. I walked and walked and... I came to the end. The end of Kiki's trail, but no with Kiki in sight. 

I laughed at my naivety. Of course she wouldn't be standing in the plain sight, it was Kiki, for god's sake. I circled around, carefully searching for the glimpse of her raven black hair. Kiki was skilled at hiding, I'll give her that, but I was skilled at seeking too.

I pushed the branches back and forth, I flipped rocks and went through the bushes. Not a trace of her. The cold sweat came running down my face. I ran fingers down my hair, trying to calm myself down. She had to be there. My nose couldn't betray me. It never did.

There was a tall tree in front of me. Of course, she climbed to the top. How could I not notice it before? I started climbing it as fast as I could, but it wasn't fast enough. 

"Kiki, I'm coming for you!" I screamed from the top of my lungs. I had to scare the silence away.

My hand almost slipped, but I grabbed onto a lower branch in time. Its bark was rough so it hurt my skin, sending waves of pain and discomfort down my body. I desperately tried to lift myself back up, but the world didn't work in my favor. The smaller body landed on me, hugging me the instant it felt my presence. My hold of the branch lost its grip and I fell back-first on the hard ground. The breath escaped my lungs as the other person fell on my stomach. I screamed in agony and fear, lifting my head to see the little mischief. 

"Ha, I found-" I started happily, but stopped. It wasn't Kiki. It was Momo. 

She smiled at me. "You've been murdered."

I wasn't. I lifted myself off the ground. The ground. The ground was too rough. I was missing grass. I knelt by it, examining its surface. It was dug up and freshly covered with dirt and sand and crushed flowers. And Kiki's scent.

I realized at that moment I lost in the game of murderous mischiefs, but won in the game of hide and seek.