The bullets were gone. So was the medicine.

“I’m too small,” my daughter complained. “I can’t go. I’m just a girl.”

“Your mind is a rifle,” I said, my skin clammy. “Your skin, a shield. Your bones, armor.”

“What good are mind and skin and bones 'gainst a bear that wants meat? ’Gainst snow that snatches warmth with a touch? ’Gainst men who crave both flesh and warmth?

“Books made you think you’re civilized. You’re not. You’re a girl, a human, a beast. As much as the bear with its strength and claws and teeth. The eagle’s flight, vision, talons, and beak. The cat with its stealth. The frog, lover of water and earth, and its tongue, and its leaps. All beasts have their powers, but none as powerful as yours, my girl. Your wits conquer all. They make you more vicious than any other creature.”

“I’ve never gone to town alone,” she said. “A full day’s walk in knee-deep snow. A night alone in the forest....The light dies so early in winter. And the night lasts so long.”

I awkwardly unwound the dressing on my thigh to explain. The pus bubbled a gross green around the wound, a clear message. Help, or I would not live long.

“My love,” I said. “I would not ask this, but at present, I see no options. Though I won't make you, and I won't lie to you. There is danger in the journey. But I wouldn't ask this, if you were not who you are. The young woman you’ve become. You are fierce, sweet pea, like a winter storm. You are a force of nature. Had you a different disposition, with a weak piece to you, I would not let you go.”

She looked at me, fiery and resolute, tempered by my words. My God, I could see her mother so clearly.

She nodded.

“At the wharf there's a place called ‘The Galley,’ owned by a man named Stones. He will give you food and water, and help you procure the medicine I need. Have him come back with you, with more supplies than you can carry. Ask for him by name and tell him I’m your father. As a test of identity, ask him what got caught in our netting off the coast of Greenland?”

“What’s he s’posed to say?”

“A baby seal. White as clouds. We pulled it up and let it out. Fed it some fish and let it play around the deck awhile, then slipped it back in the water. It weren't old enough yet to be wary. Not like you.”

My daughter packed wares, dressed thick, and met dawn in stride.

Stones was a good man. He’d look after her.

Running seems to be one’s way to escape from their calamitous purgatory. To escape from their destined destiny. One can walk or run but will their footsteps of dreaded agony be remembered amongst the living? We can run but how far can that take us?

The bashful trees whispered violently under one’s breath in the howls of the winds, never failing to show that they grew from the mediocre memorable mistakes of others. Of both the living and the dead. The shadows of the ones who once lived, devoured the night, burying the exuberance of the people alive. Each gravestone brings back the memories that one’s mind teems with. But the memories that want to be remembered lie buried away. Never to be mentioned again.

Flowers placed ever so delicately remind one how memorable they are and can be. But what's the point if the flower dies too? The dirt that one is buried with, is filled with footprints of generations from many moons ago. As the lachrymose clouds hang low, they invade the perished reality that the living are forced to see and indulge.

The ambience of the dead is rather peaceful but the feeling of despair still remains. The gates are closed but they break free after a long time, with no other tragedy destined to them. The world beneath us can be ineffably dangerous and damaging. It can be a place where one's nightmares are hidden in one's dreams, watching over like a predator out in the wild. Or where a dream becomes our most feared nightmare. A place where one's heavy secret is buried, hidden away from reality. Hoping that it would stay that way for centuries to come.

The cemetery, a place where you die once but continue living.

A light snow began falling as they brought me on board, bloody and beaten. Trussed with a gross piece of fish netting like a wild beast, I was beyond help. They had taken my weapons, but in my present state, the rifle and shield wouldn’t do me any good; any more than complaining would.

The delicious aroma of fried frog legs coming from the galley was an overwhelming test of my willpower, but I wasn’t sure they would feed me—the captain was a cruel vixen. I was lucky she even let me live.

We'd met in the tavern last night, and had quickly become lovers. This morning however, things had gotten awkward.

I tried to explain we were from different worlds, but that only touched off the powder-keg of her temper, and she’d called for her guards.

Maybe she will keep me as slave…

———————

©2022 dustygrein

"I don't mean to COMPLAIN, but to EXPLAIN," the old man started, as he poked his head into the doorway, while I held the entrance door like a SHIELD, "you see, I live not far from Zaporizhia. My village has been bombed recently, and I had to move to Dnipro. Please let me in for this night."

An AWKWARD pause lasted about half a minute. I felt I had to HELP the poor old man, for I had relatives in Donbas who had to flee in a similar way eight years ago, when the war had just begun. His luggage turned out to be LIGHT: one bag and some package, reminding a PRESENT wrapped in a PIECE of tarpaulin.

I LIVE alone and have no friends or LOVER to visit me, so there was nothing GROSS in the man staying here. He TOUCHED my arm. His hand was cold as that of a FROG or a sea BEAST - who knows how long he had been under the rain and SNOW.

I cannot remember how he left the next day. Perhaps he was in a hurry, as he forgot his package. I had nothing but to loosen the NETTING and unveil the tarpaulin; for a moment, I could not believe my eyes. The item I had just unpacked was a printed gravure from the early nineteenth century, depicting a GALLEY with slaves on it and a Turkish guard pointing his RIFFlE on them. I have no doubt concerning its originality, being a former artist myself. The picture has not been tested anywhere yet, howewer, for I keep it at home.

I could not recollect any information about the owner anymore, as he had left no phone number, not even his name or surname. The gravure is sure to BECOME a burden for me.

Hark ye oh,friends and strangers,

A tale there is to speak

About fabled hero,

His name was in old Greek.

I cant remember how it went,

am old and cannot  tell,

But this old nameless hero,

was born to raise some hell!!

But this old nameless hero,

was born to raise some hell!!

A shield he had , the hero,

A rifle , smooth of bore

It was a lover's present,

From a forlorn distant shore

With implements like these he marched

Up mountains , down in dale

But he had   but one talent only

And that was to raise hell!!

But he had   but one talent only

And that was to raise hell!!

His name was Jason, i recall

My mem’ry stirs anew,

I had a fear I'll never know

This noodle’s burnt in stew.

Oh, Jason is the name, at last,

Oh fortune , rung that bell

The smoothbore-rifle’d hero

Who was going to raise hell!!!

The smoothbore-rifle’d hero

Who was going to raise hell!!!

Upon a galley sailed he,

Equipped as I have told,

He knew all kinds of hardships

And often short of gold

Resorted to eat snow and frogs,

and rowed in  gusts and quells

Be he did not complain at all

He’s going to raise hell!!

Be he did not complain at all

He’s going to raise hell!!

He rowed the galley by himself,

And thus he sailed in arcs

One side he rowed and then the next

across the splinterin’ planks,

On benches there sat no one, he

pulled oars alone, propel

Cause all the others got the hint

He was going to raise hell!!

Cause all the others got the hint

He was going to raise hell!!

Perhaps I should have mentioned it,

My memory’s not the best

It’s hard for me to keep this up,

And tell you all the rest

Explain I must, and tell it true

Omit no vague detail,

’bout Jason and his rotten ship

In search of raising hell!!

’bout Jason and his rotten ship

In search of raising hell!!

He reached a distant island

Cruel and jagged, rocks and shoals

The waves crash fiercely on him

broke the keel , and breached the hold

but Jason didn’t mind that much,

He jumped into the swell

And brought his rifle and his shield, he

The best to raise some hell!!

And he brought his rifle and his shield

The best to raise some hell!!

My head hurts much , I beg to rest

And help me take some zinc.

The fire dims , the mind goes numb

To recollect and think.

If I could tell this story

as I was once,  young and hale

Then surly t’would be smoother

Telling Jason's raisin’ hell!!

Then surly t’would be smoother

Telling Jason's raisin’ hell!!

Awash he was, on blackened shore,

His galley torn and sunk,

There was no light and fiercely cold,

But Jason still had spunk,

He gathered, netting all that washed ,

As waves and thunders knell

and made a cosy fire, he

So cold while raising hell!!

and made a cosy fire, he

So cold while raising hell!!

‘tis awkward, I‘ve forgotten now,

That island’s curse’d name

There were no trees to give him fruit

no kindling to take flame

No mango , no bananas

There’s just sand in the dry well

A test of thirst and hunger,

As he went on to raise all hell!!

A test of thirst and hunger,

As he went on to raise all  hell!!

And thus, he, ill-provisioned,

Lips a-cracking he proceed

Along, the shore became a vale

Foreboding his heart plead,

The gravel, black and sharp it was,

A putrid sulfurous smell

He knew at once he was not lost,

He was approaching hell!！

He knew at once he was not lost,

He was approaching hell!！

Upon arriving at the gates ,

Abandoned he all hope

The red horned beast approach’ed

made to tie him with a rope,

But Jason, he did stir and shot

The demon who there dwell,

it was his master that he wants

The boss-man , who raise hell!!

Cause it was his master that he wants

The boss-man who raise hell!!

upon the throne, Beallzebub

her fork tongue flick and flail

Around the dungeon, torture cries,

direction signs in braille,

the learned know, the damned can't see,

through sense of touch they spell

instructions that are written

in the lower decks of hell!!

instructions and directions

in the lower decks of hell!!

now Jason he did bow and kneel

and said 'I've come at last'

this place is gross, and you look bored,

why are you so downcast?

the piece I've got, a smooth- bore rifle,

And a shield O, Belle

but neither is of use to cheer things,

in this disappointing hell!!

but neither is of use to cheer things,

in this disappointing hell!!

the lady, she's a wicked one,

but eager to impress,

the minions sent redecorating,

she wont spare no expense,

and while they hammered, broke the walls

they holed up in her cell,

They matching the cacophony

with randy shrieks of hell!!

They matching the cacophony

with shrieks and cries of hell!!

alas my friends I'm all speeched out,

my throat now hoarse and rough,

i framed in verse this stupid tale,

my affliction was a bluff,

it was no faulty memory,

that brought this artless mell

in rhyming scheme and meter

that should be consigned to hell!!

in rhyming scheme and meter

that should be consigned to hell!!

I was tangled in a piece of old gross netting on a galley ship that was docked on the east side of my island home. I rifled though my bag trying to find the sharp knife that I had only used once (to kill a frog) it was an awkward position I was in, my bag was on my back and hard to reach. I tried not to cry out for help, I could do this on my own. I tried to work quickly, so I wouldn't have to explain how I got into this predicament. I could complain to the person that had become my lover later. He would be present, and he would listen. He would touch my shoulder gently and shield my eyes from the sun's light that would stream though the windows.

I finally cut a piece of the netting, and I fell to the snow covered deck. I quickly dusted off the snow as if it were live ants and ran off the ship, not wanting to test my luck against the fleet coming ever closer to the shore.

If hiding my nipples

could protect me

This cotton shirt would

feel like armor

If blanking out bad words

could erase them

These stations wouldn't

play "Crazy Bitch" at all

Take my tongue

pull it from my cheek

to check the branded bans

still healing there

Which trespass will land me

in jail? Retarded was

a useful word when first I learned it

It wasn't just slowing down

it was purposeful grinding to a halt

Our discord is being retarded

again

Words are not at stake

Ideas are

Our fear of being misunderstood

should not stand between us

and our willingness to say

All that we see in the world

is not well

is not even okay

We have a right to speak for ourselves

and in all your talk of ableism,

Stanford, you forget

Just how many cannot speak at all

and how they would die

for what we demand

language of dissent

Photo by Allyssa Olaivar on Unsplash

#Censorship #language #badlanguage #StanfordList #Freedomofspeech

Frog legs frying in a swamp ship’s galley

Netting stretched, shields against mosquito snow

My rifle leans in an awkward corner, a gross reminder

Of the beast below.

Complain again, explain once more

Become a slave to touch my lover

In murky light, eyes peer and glow

The bayou tests, God help me live

And the voodoo queen

Holds her doll

The piece of me

Ever present to her beck and call

This is awkward. I am dying to ask my lover to explain why she has a dead frog, a snowpea pod, a piece of fish netting, and a pregnancy test kit in her desk. But I cannot, because…

Felicity storms into her living room, interrupting my thoughts.

“How did you get in?” she complains.

When I do not answer, she folds her arms and glares down at me on the sofa. “You’re the one who rifled through my desk, aren’t you!”

I shrug, but she won’t let up. “I keep my doors locked to shield myself from galley beasts like you. How did you get in?”

“But lover, I…”

“Don’t call me your lover,” Felicity bellows. “Giving me a present does not make me become your lover. You couldn’t stand it when I told you not to touch my desk.”

Finally, I confess. “I’m sorry, honey, I couldn’t help myself. So, what are you doing with…”

“Get out!”

I start to leave, but Felicity grabs my arm. “I have a better idea,” she says. “Come with me.”

We enter the den. Felicity opens her desk drawer and begins an incantation:

“Here me, o gods of love,

I place this pea pod upon the netting,

Sprinkle sea salt and light for a wedding.

Awaken this gross frog from his desk tomb

Let him live as my handsome prince, my groom.

And let the annoying one watching in the den

Take the frog’s place in my desk. The End.

P.S. O gods of love, this story may not yet rest

It depends on the outcome of my pregnancy test."