Jonathan's blog: "Poems"

"Fear of intimacy is a fear of death. In a world where we have been taught to believe that the bolstering of our individual power is the greatest good, it is difficult to feel that a melting of the walls surrounding us is something to be desired...We are afraid to surrender to love, for we are afraid to die to who we are. We may loathe who we are, yet we still resist the chance to become someone new. It is only when we are ready to embrace the possibility that we might be tomorrow who we were not today that true intimacy becomes attractive. If all you want to do is remain who and what you are now, then by all means don't fall in love..." -Marianne Williamson "Illuminata" (pgs 161-162)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

I am cold and clammy to teh tough

I am wet and warm and hot

I float down to earth in many forms

and sometimes I help wood rot

I spoil some peoples day

others dance with joy

for flowers I am a treat

and make mud puddles for little boys

I travel from city to city

and leave a part of me behind

Sometimes when I come the skies darken

and people scatter and hide

Though you have your own opinion

of how good I am to you

I don't really want

to make your day sad and blue

I mostly come when you need me

although not all the time

I actually try and wash the earth

and rid it of its grime

Somewhere in a lush valley a lone figure lays admiring wild flowers in a green fields of grass. He is a striking man of six foot with flowing black hair. His olive skin is smooth and clean shaven, his dark eyes shine bright with amusement as he watches tiny insects crawl and explore the flowers in front of him. He stands to stretch his legs and takes a deep breath of clean crisp air. A soft breeze ruffles gently his white shirt and dusts off his jeans. On his feet are fading scuffed brown boots showing the miles of wandering the world. Here this lone man looks content and happy. He turns to the west away from the early day sun. In the distance he can see another man walking toward him from the plains below. The man below is walking along running his hands through the long grass of the fields allowing the grass to gently caress his fingertips. This man is tall as well with long dirty blonde hair. He is wearing square rimmed sunglasses hiding his eyes as blue as cool creek water. His black shirt drapes his muscular frame and is lazily untucked from his fading jeans. His black boots disappear with every step through the grass as he climbs the hill slowly to his friend. Seeing his friend above him, he waves a quick silent greeting and hurries his pace to get to the top. A smile spreads across the dark haired mans face seeing the greeting and he waves back.

Finally the two men stand before each other and with a laugh the embrace firmly as friends that have been away far to long. The history between the two me spans eons. And the centuries since their last visit show in the genuine love they share for each other. As they separate the blonde can see tears in his friends eyes and he begins to weep as well. Silently they admire the other taking in every detail of the face, the dress, the health of the other. Finally the blonde musters the courage to speak. "It has been far to long since we were last together, Satan-el." This brings on fresh tears down the face of the dark haired man. Shimmering wet tracks stand out on his dark complection. "It does me well to see you again, Jehovah," he replied smiling. "I am sorry it has been this long to see you as well. We both have so much going on and I am afraid things may soon get more difficult for us ."

A look of concern and questioning washes over the face of the blonde. But the embrace from Satan-el comforts him some. The two begin walking across the field of flowers with the fresh sun warming their faces through a clear blue sky. All around them are simple signs of life and wonder and the lush valley takes on an added warmth as the two walk admiring the beauty of this unspoiled beauty around them. High above them birds play gayly in large swooping loop and turns. Off in the distance they can here the sound of a river flowing strong and they can see below them deer prancing and grazing in golden fields. They walk together silently pointing and remembering earlier times comparing shared histories without a sound as only two close friends can. Their bond is tight, their love, eternal. As they come into sight of the river they had heard Jehovah finally speaks.

"We have created a beautiful realm, Satan-el. The Earth is vibrant and alive with so much. I think we did a wonderful job," Jehovah said. "When we set out to create a world where both of us could exist together, I think we have proven that it is possible for both of our visions to exist side by side."

"Yes, Jehovah," came the soft reply. "I think we did well. I never thought I would be so sad to leave a place such as this when we do go home. I do admit, though, that there are some things that trouble me about the middle realm."

"Oh? Like what?"

Satan-el takes a deep breath, almost distracted, lost in a lingering though. "We created this realm between Heaven and Purgatory to see if both our visions of a utopia could exist side by side without destroying each other. We also populated this realm with beings of both a n angelic and demonic nature to see if both races could coexist as well without killing each other off. But the creatures we have populated the earth with are something so vastly different than the angels and demons that populate our realms that I am almost weary to think that all three could really populate together. We have really outsmarted ourselves with human beings. As much as we have created and with all the beauty we have blessed this realm with, the humans seem determined to destroy as eagerly as they do to conserve. This troubles me greatly."

Jehovah listens silently, nodding in agreement. Satan-el continues. "In the realm of Purgatory, I am revered as a lord, a king if you will, ruling over Purgatory with an iron fist of fear and respect. In my realm that is acceptable because my will is the will of who resides within the realm of Purgatory. Every demon lives within my strict guidelines or the punishment is severe. I love my creations and I do have a degree of leniency for all. And I have the loyalty of the Fallen who still think they don’t deserve your love and forgiveness. They are my personal enforcers of my law even amongst my lords and generals . Even Lucifer has a begrudging respect, if not fear, of Gabriel. And he is he strongest and most cunning of all my children. More so than I care to admit at times." The last was said silently, and Jehovah could see that there was more to the story concerning Lucifer than his friend was telling but decided not to press right now. The journey they were to walk would be a long one and there would be plenty of time to talk about Lucifer later.

At the river the two friends turned to follow the running water and to walk the banks. The sound of the water flowing along side of them brought a great deal of comfort to them and soothed the pain in Satan-el’s face if for even the briefest moment. They walked in silence for a while as Satan-el collected his thoughts. Ahead they could see the fallen remains of a forgotten cabin. The timbers were old and rotted, the sight was of a mound of gray and decaying wood. At the front of the pile was still a wooden frame of the doorway leading into the once seasonal hunting cabin. It was here the two began to walk, as if the cabin was now a place to explore and play. The two climbed the broken stair onto the rotting porch and through the doorway. On the other side was not the rotting timbers before them, but the hustle of a farm. Chickens ran off to their left penned into a coup and the low call of cattle came drifting from their right. The smell of manure and freshly tilled earth filled the air replacing the crisp clean air they were just in a moment before. Satan-el turned and looked behind them at the gaping maw of the barn they had just stepped from and smiled. No matter how many times they do that, he always enjoys the quick change of scenery. Jehovah could see the boyish smile on his friends face and began to smile himself. It was a temporary joy, a fleeting joy, but one that Jehovah and Satan-el would take anyway. They began to walk through the farm out to the tall stalks of corn laid neatly in row after row.

"One of the things that I am concerned about is the religious principles that are in place here," Satan-el continued. "There are so many beliefs, myths, and stories that I think it would be difficult for the both of us to be accepted here on Earth. I mean, how would some humans react if they found out that I had a hand in the creation of earth as well? That I had actually come up with a great deal of ideas for the creation of life here on Earth? How would they react to the thought of that? Humans suffer a great deal already with the fact that they have this duel persona of both angelic and demonic qualities. They struggle every day with these facts. And even though the gift of free will guides most from destroying one another, there are still things in this world contribution to the genocide and eradication of whole cultures and species. How can we over come these problems without having to start over and keeping ourselves away from our realms again risking the same problems we had before? Purgatory still bears the scars from the war that raged while I was gone, and from when I returned."

Jehovah nodded in agreement. Heaven still bore the reminders of the rebellion of the Fallen as well. Part was because he wanted a reminder for all of his angels, the consequences and results of doubting him. And part because he needed a reminder or the frail bond he shares with his angels as well. It is a reminder that he can never neglect his adoration for his angels again. The reminder of the day he went back to heaven to see the destruction and carnage of the Fallen and the Loyal opened deep old wounds in his heart. The sight of both Jesus and Gabriel in a pitched battle over his love almost tore his heart from his chest. He had tried to hide the pain he felt over eons, but the thought of the carnage he saw that day in his name is still a fresh and weeping wound. Jehovah began to cry silently. He looked over at Satan-el and could see his friend lost in the thought of his own battles with Lucifer upon his return to Purgatory. Jehovah felt a sting of pity. He had only to see the destruction of his angels and that of heaven. But Satan-el had to fight to regain his realm, almost having to destroy his own creations to do so.

Satan-el was reliving his own personal horrors as they walked through the field together. The scene still visits him at night in his dreams as he sleeps. It was a scene replayed over and over again burnt into his mind and as vivid as if it had just happened. He was ambushed by lesser demons as he entered back into Purgatory and brought before Lucifer who now had control over Purgatory and its subjects. Lucifer decided that it was time for Satan-el turn relinquish his rule over Purgatory to Lucifer and if he didn’t he would have to fight Lucifer to the death. He still to this day bears the scars from the battle. He and Lucifer fought for three days before the Fallen came to his rescue, sent from Jehovah. He was not sure how Jehovah knew of his fight, or why he sent the Fallen. But he was so relieved and grateful for the aid. Gabriel was the most fierce, and fought with such conviction That Satan-el had a moment of fear of which would be worse, to allow Purgatory to fall to Lucifer or to Gabriel if he so wanted the realm. Satan-el still maintains that he could have beaten Lucifer, but deep down there is still real doubt.

As the two friends emerge from the far side of the field, they come to a fence with a gate latched. Satan-el takes the lead and opens the gate swinging the door wide in a grand gesture that brings a smile to the two somber faces. "After you," Satan-el said with a slight bow and an outstretched arm. Jehovah steeps through followed by Satan-el into the dark, dusty shadow of a pubs main bar. Jehovah looks to the bar and then to Satan-el with raised eye brows. "Sure, why not." came the reply from his friend. "I could use a drink." The two made their way to the bar past a half dozen patrons and took a seat looking at a metal sign hung directly above a bunch of stacked pint glasses. The sign read "Drink until she’s cute." A heavy set , middle aged man came up to the counter without a greeting and just looked at the two men before him. Jehovah held up two fingers and the bartender turned to retrieve two of the local favorite, Guinness. The bartender placed the drafts in front of his two guests and walked away without a word to focus again on his crossword puzzle at the end of the bar. Satan-el took a long deep drink from the dark brew before him and let out a long breath.

"This tastes good," he said. "But the taste of Mead is much better for me."

"And why is that?" asked Jehovah. "Is that because of the time you spent with the Scandinavian men of the North?"

A startled glare escaped Satan-el. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"We both agreed that we would not interfere with this realm in any way so we would be of no influence to humanity as we could watch how they progressed. You broke your end of our agreement Satan-el." Jehovah took a long drink from his Guinness as well. "You tried to influence the Scandinavian men." Now Satan-el wore a pained and hurt face as he looked at Jehovah. Jehovah never looked from his drink.

"How can you say that, Jehovah," Satan-el asked the pain of the implication clear in his voice. "I was out walking though the forests in the north as we both agreed we could do. They stumbled upon me. I never went out seeking their company. You should know better than that." Jehovah looked at his friend cooly. "You broke your word to me," he said flatly. "You deliberately told them stories and myth that became legend and the cornerstone of their way of life. You gave them a religion when they were out and free to do as they please." Jehovah turned away hurt. He was angry and it shown bright in his cheeks as well as him tone. It was an anger that was a petty one, he knew, but a wound that was deep because it was done by a friend. Satan-el looked startled and angry now.

"You think I tried to misguide them? You think I tried to interfere with their lives?"

" You broke your word..." Jehovah began to say again.

"Shut up you pompous bastard," Satan-el shouted. Every patron in the bar jumped including Jehovah. "I was found wandering the forests when they came upon me. I had to fight to be allowed to live. And I said nothing about you or I until after they got me drunk! Damnation I was drunk when I came up with the stories about Odin and Thor, Loki and the Frost Giants. I could barely see strait and they wanted to hear about where I have been and where I was going. I just began to talk. I never thought the stories I told and the things I said would ever be taken into a content or being real. I mean come on, man? Who would really believe the stories I came up with that night? The universe coming from a cow? How was I suppose to know that they would take such things seriously?" Jehovah just sat there and said nothing. "It’s not like things that I said didn’t even get misconstrued at all is it? How would you like the fact that any religion after that was persecuted and represented by a goat?"

With that Jehovah cracked a smile. It was true, the current representation of the pagan religions were all represented by a goat in the main stream of humanity. "Where did they get the idea of a goat from anyway?" Jehovah asked. "How in the hell do I know," came the hot and short reply from Satan-el. This really had touched a cord with him and Jehovah began to see that the subject hurt his friend much more that was first realized. He wanted to apologize but was unsure how. A goat, for heavens sake. With that Jehovah began to smile a little more broadly.

"And don’t think I don’t know about the whole Jesus stunt either," Satan-el vented.

With that a cold glare shot from the eyes of Jehovah. "Watch where this goes, Satan-el. Choose your words wisely for they are coming dangerously close to pissing me off," he said coldly. Satan-el could almost feel the temperature drop in the pub just from Jehovah’s words. "You deliberately tried to change the Norse men into creatures like you. They soon pattered their lives like yours, reveling in war and carnage. They would prey on the weak plundering villages and killing simply because they could. They lived to take and to do what they wanted when they wanted and be damned any who got in their way!" Anger began to rise into Jehovah’s face as he spoke. "How many died needlessly in the face of what you wrought in such kindred spirits as those men?"

"Less than those of the Christian faith," came the soft and ashamed reply.

Jehovah rocked back as if the words had suddenly taken on a solid, physical form and he had just been stuck squarely with them. With eyes wide, Jehovah spun around and marched briskly toward the door leading out of the pub, pausing only to grab a brown heavy leather jacket hanging by the door on his way out. To Satan-el it was as close to a run as he could have seen and he ran out after Jehovah grabbing a heavy black jacket as well. The street was cold grey and crowded as he emerged outside the pub after Jehovah. For a brief moment he could not see his friend in the crowd. Across the street was and alley where he spotted the dirty blonde hair as it quickly strode away. Fighting through the crowd Satan-el had to run after his friend to catch up. Jehovah’s pace was quick and deliberate trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and Satan-el. "How can you just walk away when you are confronted with this?" he called after Jehovah.

"Go away!" came the angry reply.

"Jehovah, stop."

"Go away!" came the reply again louder.

"Jehovah..."

"DAMN IT, GO AWAY!" Jehovah bellowed spinning to face his pursuer. Satan-el stopped in mid stride. The voice of Jehovah echoed down the alley rattling windows as it bore down the alley toward the street behind him. "Go away, you have no right to throw that in my face after all that we have been through, Jehovah shouted pointing at Satan-el. In two long quick strides he was chest to chest with Satan-el, his cold blue eyes flashing pain and anger. And to Satan-el’s horror he could also see hate.

"You have no right’ Jehovah said in a hissed breath. "No right to throw that in my face. I had no choice to send Jesus here. There was a war in Purgatory. I sent the Fallen to you because I knew you needed the help. I sent Jesus here with some of the other Fallen because if they failed, if you were defeated, then the war in Purgatory could very well spill to Earth and destroy all we created. ALL WE CREATED TOGETHER! I could not take the chance of this middle realm falling to Lucifer because if that happened, then that ambitious bastard would eventually turn his sights on Heaven and your vision would end up destroying mine. Even if the angels of heaven won, we would still lose because of the taint of all your minion would bring would forever stain Heaven."

Jehovah closed his eyes, took a deep breath and hung his head low. Satan-el soon began to realize the full scope of what had happened and how hurt his accusation had really made his friend. Jehovah tuned away and spoke softly. "Jesus fell into his own plans when he came to Earth. He never realized what we were trying to do here. Or if he did he never let me know. He was angry about what he had to do. Because of being sent with some of the Fallen he felt as he was being punished by me. Some of the Fallen, angry at me for sending them here vanished off to do their own thing. They turned their backs to me, ashamed for their transgressions. Jesus and some of the Fallen soon met and they too were asked about their journeys and where they were going. Jesus, angry at you began to preach. He preached about what we do in Heaven and the kind of lives we strove to live. The remaining Fallen became his apostles as he traveled spreading the word."

Jehovah walked slowly to a crate that was leaning against a wall and sat down. He leaned over placing his face in his hands as Satan-el stood spellbound by the truth before him. "I had no knowledge of what Jesus was doing until it was much to late. What could I do? Without destroying all we had created, I had no way to fix what had begun. Jesus made his share of enemies as well with his preaching. As they crucified him, I stood by and did nothing. I saw them nail his arms and feet to a cross, a piece of wood to hang him in a public square in a morbid display of hate and fear!" Jehovah began to cry. "And I still did nothing. I did nothing because I was angry about what he did. Because he took it upon himself to try and change what we had put so much time, thought, and love into. Even when he looked up to the Heavens asking why I forsake him, to my eternal shame I did nothing."

Satan-el, frozen where he stood, began to cry as well. He wanted to go over and embrace his friend. He wanted to go and comfort his friend and cry with him. He wanted to try and ease some of the pain that was seeping out of Jehovah. The pain and guilt was a burden that Satan-el could almost see atop the shoulders of his friend sitting no more that six feet from him, weighing him down, crushing him with the weight, enveloping him, suffocating him. But despite all that Satan-el wanted to do, he remained frozen in front of his friend watching him cry silently and alone. How Jehovah could stand the pain in his heart was a miracle to Satan-el. The guilt would surly kill him in his own heart Satan-el thought. And for once he did not envy his friend.

"I have felt the burden of every death made in my name, Satan-el. I weep for every soul that was carved from the body of each human. I feel the chill of every light that is extinguished in my name. And I bear the burden and will bear the burden today and for all eternity. "

Satan-el could now find the strength to move and he did embrace his old friend. He could feel the moist tears of Jehovah on his cheek and the muscular body sag and droop in his embrace. Together the two stay there for a while lost in the bonds they share, two brothers seeing each other again and for the first time not recognizing the other. Satan-el pulled Jehovah to his feet. The two began to walk silent in the chill and drizzle down the alley. When they came to the end of the alley, they stepped out between two huts and into a village in the rain forests of South America. There the children of the village ran and played among the trees, laughing and shouting gleefully as they went. Satan-ell looked at his friend and could see a light in his eyes dim but there. A smile spread across Jehovah’s face slow and thin, and then broad and flashy. The children ran around the two men standing silent and watching the innocent and young in the best days of their lives and marveled that even in all the world with so many flawed and corrupt people, there was still laughter. And there was a light in every child’s eyes that they saw. Satan-el and Jehovah found a log to sit on and sat silently watching the children play for a few minutes before Satan-el spoke.

"I have been banished from Earth," he said.

"I know," Jehovah replied.

"I can no longer protect Earth from Lucifer. Once he knows this and that I can not come back, he may try and destroy the middle realm just to hurt me. And then try and take Heaven as a way to destroy you." Jehovah sat silent watching the children. "I was never mad about you sending Jesus here. I knew why, but I never knew the full scope of what you felt or went through in sending him here. Lucifer is far more ambitious than I gave him credit for, and my arrogance may have cost us all we created. For that I am truly sorry. I love this place and what we have done, especially that we did it together. That is what I am most proud of." Jehovah managed a small smile toward his friend.

"I know you made a deal with a man, a human named Ashe Blackwood. And I know you lost," Jehovah said. "Do you know why you were defeated? Or how?"He turned to face Satan-el. Satan-el could only look back with questioning look on his face. Jehovah turned away again to watch the children. "Because Ashe Blackwood is the descendant of one of the Fallen, an angel named Araziel. Araziel when he came to Earth took off on his own. He came upon a race of simple people who lived peacefully off the lands. His offspring became the Native Americans in North and South America.. Actually the Fallen that abandoned Jesus all came to the Americas and began to populate the lands. That is one of the reasons the Native Americans were so in tune to nature and their spirits. They are almost a cousin to all we have created. But Ashe is a direct son of Araziel. He was born with angelic powers and traits. Society today in North America taught his ancestors so well to bury their past and their heritage that it took the trauma inflicted in your meeting to finally bring all that back to the surface. He is the wild card in Lucifers plan to dominate and destroy Earth. He is a being that may well be the only creature to save all we see now."

Satan-el smiled. He rose to his feet and helped Jehovah to his as well. Without a word they embraced for the final time as brothers and kissed gently on the cheeks. Satan-el separated from Jehovah and silently turned and walked to the doorway of a nearby hut. There he paused and turned to face Jehovah. He took in the brilliance of the man before him one last time. Jehovah stood before him flashing his brilliant smile, his cool blue eyes bright as a mid summers day sky. His long dirty blonde hair gentle flowing in the soft breeze. "I love you," Satan-el said to his friend and disappeared into the darkness of the grass hut, and out of sight back to Purgatory. Alone Jehovah stood embraced by the laughter of playing children and smiled.

He sat at his dinning room table looking at the blood on his hands in the dim light of the streetlight coming through the back window. Tears ran down his face slowly, pink trails creasing the blood that covered his face as well. What did he do? Where did her go? Whose blood was this, his, or worse yet someone else? Soft weeping gave way to loud sobs as he buried his face into his hands again. Looking through his bloody fingers, he could see that the clock on the wall read three am in its red digital glow amid the darkness of the room. The red, he thought, looked like the color of blood. This brought a new wave of sobbing muffled by his bloody palms. "Shut yer fuckin’ hole," pierced the darkness coming from the living room. Randle did not need to look through his fingers to know who it was. He knew it was the old man, the one who always insulted him, the one who always laughed at him, the one who always made fun of him. The one who calls himself Daddy.

"Don’t talk to me like that," came Randle’s muffled reply.

"Don’t make Daddy come in there, boy."

"You are not my daddy," Randle said softly.

"What did you say?"

"You are not my daddy," Randle repeated through tight fingers. Randle did not want to look, did not want to part his bloody shield. The truth was, Daddy scared him. Daddy scared him in the way that imaginary monsters scare a child, only when the lights come on, Daddy is still there. There was something about Daddy that sent an ice cold shiver down Randle’s spine strait through to his very soul. It was in the way that Daddy talked, the way that Daddy moved, the way that Daddy looked at him. It was in the way that Daddy made him do things that he did not want to do. Through his bloody fingers, Randle could feel the sharp stare of Daddy. Through the darkness of the house, through the darkness of his closed eyes behind his trembling hands, Randle could almost see Daddy’s eyes looking strait through him. A sound in the darkness, the sound of something powerful and heavy shifting across the carpet, caused Randle to jump in his chair. Revealing his blue eyes to peer in to the blackness of the living room, a hulking formed eased into the dim light of the entryway. Daddy towered, staring at Randle, his eyes were almost electric as the froze Randle to his seat. Underneath Daddy’s white t-shirt, powerful muscles rippled as he spoke again. "Speak up, boy, Daddy can’t hear you."

"You are not my daddy, YOU are not my daddy, You are NOT my DADDY, YOU ARE NOT MY DADDY!!!" Randle screamed jumping up from his chair. Tears came back fresh to his cheeks, his hands clinching in the sticky blood. Daddy stood in the entry way from the dinning room to the living room unflinching. He just kept his cool electric eyes on Randle. A small sound escaped Randle’s lips and with it any strength that he had to face Daddy. Randle’s body slumped into the kitchen doorway. "Turn on the goddamn light," Daddy commanded. Randle did what he was told.

Once light flooded the room, Randle could get a full view of the carnage that was in the kitchen, the dining room, and through the living room to the front door. Everywhere he looked there were bloody footprints over the carpet of the living room, the wood floors of the dining room, the linoleum of the kitchen. There were bloody hand prints on cabinet doors and drawers. One drawer in particular held more gore than others. The drawer that held his kitchen knives. The sight of all the blood made his stomach lurch. "What did I do? Oh, God, Daddy, what did I do?" Randle whispered. He turned back to the old man standing in the dining entryway. Daddy did not move at all. He just stood there keeping his electric eyes centered on Randle. Randle looked away to his bloody shaking hands. Small drops of blood broke away from his hands and fell to the floor. "What did I do?" he asked again, this time to his hands.

"You did exactly what needed to be done, boy. You made Daddy proud."

"Why do you keep calling yourself my daddy?" Randle asked.

"Cause you keep acting like a big fuckin’ baby, that’s why."

"Stop talking to him like that," the girl in the kitchen scolded. Randle turned to see a teenage girl standing in the middle of the kitchen shaking her head as she looked over the bloody carnage that was the kitchen. Her red hair shook in fiery waves across her shoulders and around her beautiful cream face. It reminded Randle of fields of wild grass moving in a mild autumn wind. She looked up at him with sadness and fixed her green eyes on his. There was so much compassion in her eyes that he felt for the first time ashamed of what he might have done. She then looked out past him to Daddy. Her green eyes focused into anger. "Just leave him alone you old asshole. He doesn’t need you talking to him like that."

"Shut up, Carla. Make yerself useful and mop this mess up," came Daddy’s reply. Randle turned and looked at Daddy. In his eyes, Daddy seemed to have just as much dislike for Carla as he had for Randle and the others. The others except for Laura. Daddy liked Laura a lot. It was almost as if Daddy had a crush on Laura, but Randle knew better. Daddy always had a biting remark for someone. The only time Daddy seemed to approve of anything was when Randle had hurt someone. Then a small thin smile of pride would spread across Daddy’s lips showing thin crooked teeth. Randle again turned to look at the teenage girl in the kitchen. To his surprise, she was busy making a sandwich. The scene of something so ordinary amid the carnage of the kitchen struck Randle as amusing. Carla finished the sandwich and walked past his to the dining room table placing the sandwich where Randle usually sat. A look crossed her face as if she had forgotten something and she turned and walked past him to return to the kitchen. There she quickly drew a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and poured a glass. Again, she brushed past Randle as if he was not there and placed the glass of tea next to the sandwich pleased with herself.

"Don’t pay him any mind, Randle. Eat this and calm your neves," she said.

"Child, shut up and take your damn sandwich with you," Daddy bellowed.

"I don’t know who you are talking to," Carla replied turning to smile at Randle.

"Girl, don’t make me..."

"Don’t make you what?" Carla asked coldly. "What will you do? You are not my father, you are not Randle’s father, you are not anybodies father! You are an old nasty man and I bet that you couldn’t even pay a woman to keep you company! Why I will just bet..." Carla was stopped short by the back of Daddy’s hand. The slap was so hard that she fell back into the dining room table and over a chair. Randle quickly dropped to his knees and helped her to sit. Carla sat with the back of her hand pressed firmly against her bloody lip glaring up at the old man standing over them. "How dare you," she breathed.

"Stand up and I will put you down again," Daddy threatened.

"What’s all the yellin’ bout?" came a small tired voice from behind Daddy. Looking past the old man, Randle could see a small boy of ten walk sleepily from the darkened hallway leading to the living room from the lone bedroom. "Go back to bed, Danny, or you will get a taste of it yerself." Danny stood behind Daddy rubbing sleep from his eyes looking from Carla to Randle to Daddy and back to Carla. Randle could see the footies of Danny’s pajamas were wrong. The plastic rough side were on top of his little feet. His pajama bottoms were on backwards. Randle knew that he was to young to have to see any of what was going on and tried to stand up. Danny’s eyes grew wide as he finally took in the bloody scene of the dining room. "Ran-ran, what happened?" he asked softly. Before Randle could speak, Daddy turned to Danny.

"He killed someone, Danny, now go the fuck away."

It was as if all the air had been sucked form the room including the breath that was in Randle’s chest. The silence crushed Randle as all eyes fell upon him. Carla’s fantastic green eyes, Daddy’s shocking blue eyes, and Danny’s wide brown eyes bore into him like hammers into his skull. A second wave of nausea swept Randle as he tried to suck any remaining air in the room back into his lungs. It was Carla who mustered the breath to speak first. "Is that true?" she asked softly. Randle could do nothing more than melt to the floor in the corner. His body felt heavier by the minute. "I don’t know," he whispered. Suddenly they all began to speak at once.

"Ran-ran, no!"

"How could you Randy? Why did you..."

"The boy did good, he did the right thing..."

"Please say it’s a lie, Ran-ran. Please."

"Who did you kill? What did you do?"

"The both of ya, shut up and leave the boy alone..."

The voices began to pound into Randle’s head. Even as he slapped his hands over his ears, the voices rang through his head as if he was at the center of an echo. It was as if the voices were a physical pain. He closed his eyes and began to kick his feet as if he could drive his way through the wall behind him. The pain was a pulsating white light behind him. The voices grew louder and louder. A woman’s voice thundered above the noise. "Would you all shut up?"

Randle did not have to open his eyes to know who it was. He knew the voice well. It was Laura.

"What the hell is going on here?" she asked sternly.

"Randle killed someone," came Carla’s tearful reply.

Randle opened his eyes and looked out at the tangle of people standing in the dining room. Through their legs he could make out Danny collapsed in a heap on the floor. He was curled up in a ball, his big brown eyes were staring vacantly off into the unknown. Huge tears were slowly making their way down his tiny face. Randle wanted to cry himself. He could se ethe pain flowing out of Danny’s face as easily as the big wet tears flowing frm his eyes. Randle would kill himself if he felt that it would somehow ease the anguish the young boy was feeling. The innocence that once burned brightly in Danny’s face was now shattered and crumbling revealing a boy that looked much older than ten. The shattering of youth by a trama can do that, Randle thought, ashamed.

"Who?" asked Laura.

"Randle..." Carla blubbered absently.

"Were you there?" Laura demanded to Carla. "Then shut up!" Turning to Daddy, she asked again. "Who? Who did he kill?" A small smile creased his old lips, smacking of pride. "A nobody," replied Daddy. "A scumbag drug dealer." Laura looked around the dining room following the bloody trail first through the living room and then again into the gore of the kitchen. Slowly she scanned the scene of the kitchen taking in the amount of blood on the floor, the walls the cabinets. She then took three steps, stepping over Carla and took in the full scene of the living room. "Local?" she asked. Daddy chuckled. "No. South side. Caught him clean," he responded. Laura again crossed the dining room and looked back into the kitchen. Laura’s lips parted as she mouthed the word "Damn" to herself. She finally looked down at Randle melting into the corner of the dining room. He looked back up at her helpless. Carla crawled over to Danny and cradled the boy in her arms. Her touch brought a small whimper from his lips. Laura paid no attention to her as she finally turned to Daddy. "Only one kill?" she asked in disbelief.

"Oh my God!" screamed Carla. Her voice caused the boy to stiffen in her grasp. "How the hell can you be so calm about this? How can you talk about this as casually as if you were asking for butter on your toast?" The boy in her arms made a loud sob and she turned her attention back to Danny briefly holding him to her breast, comforting him as best she could. Danny began to plead softly into the softness of her sweater. Laura did not paid her or the boy any attention. "Only one?" she asked Daddy again ignoring the teen.

"No," Daddy said with a smile. "Got the buyer as well."

"Who was the buyer?"

"No one that will be missed. A street bum. Got them after the bum made the buy."

"Where on the south side?"

"Just some side street." Randle could hear the pride in Daddy’s voice.

"Care to tell all?" Laura asked. There was a flirting behind her voice that Randle did not like. He could see an expression on Daddy’s face that recognized it as well. Daddy actually looked like he was getting a joy of bragging about this to Laura who in turn looked as if she was getting turned on by the story. Carla clutched Danny’s head tighter to her as she looked back and forth mortified at the two people in front of her. She tried to cover Danny’s ears as Daddy made himself comfortable at the dining room table. Laura sat down as well eager to hear.

"We pulled in this alley off Crenshaw and Beaumont," Daddy began. "Randle turned off his head lights and we sat in the dark for a little over an hour. We recognized the area from when we were out driving around about a week ago. We had seen a deal go down a little off the street that we were now on and we knew that if we waited long enough, we would see another one. We got lucky. It was the same dealer that we had seen before. The bum just came stumbling up to this door and knocked. The dealer answered and they talked for a minute. The bum must have smelled like dead ass because the dealer shut the door on him and made him wait on the stoop. It took a little coaxing, but I got the fat boy out of the car and in motion. He knew what he had to do. He was crying the whole way down there, but as he got close, he shut off the water works and crept up on the bum."

Laura was beginning to grind herself into the chair listening to Daddy describe the action. Daddy noticed and leaned in to continue. "Fat boy kept real close to the buildings. He almost was invisible, swear to God! As he came close to the light, fat boy crouched down and waited. The dealer came back out and made the deal. Money for rock. Then the dealer went back in and slammed the door shut. The bum just stumbled off not even knowing what was around him. Hell he walked right by fat boy and never even noticed the gleam of the knife. But I did. God it was beautiful how that boy went to work! Like he had punched a time clock and was working for over time! Watching that knife shine in those high swinging arcs almost made me nut. It was as if the grim reaper had come up from hell himself. He cut off the bums head!" Daddy was smiling broadly now.

All eyes were on Randle. He could se the horror in Carla’s eyes, the smile across Laura’s lips and the crooked grin cracking Daddy’s face. The pride in that grin ate at Randle the most. "No, Daddy, please no," he pleaded softly. His lips began to quiver. Laura was definitely getting off on the story and Daddy was all to happy to give her the pleasure. She touched Daddy’s arm gently. "What Happened next?" she cooed. Smiling daddy went on. "Fat boy took the head and went back to the dealers house and knocked. You could see the bloody knuckle prints on the door clear as day. He held the head up to the peep hole in front of him. The dealer opened the door..."

"How did you know the dealer was alone?" Laura asked.

"We didn’t," Daddy replied still smiling.

"I am sorry. You didn’t?"

"No, we didn’t," Daddy replied slightly annoyed.

"Don’t you think that was a little dangerous?"

"Who gives a fuck?"

"What do you mean ‘who gives a fuck?’"

"What word do you not understand?" Daddy asked angrily. His smile had faded.

"‘Who gives a fuck?’ I give a fuck, dammit! What would have happened if Randle had gotten hurt?" Laura’s face began to crease in anger. Daddy looked like he was getting angry as well. He didn’t like to have his story interrupted. He did not like that Laura was no longer turned on by the tale. And he did not like to be second guessed. Daddy’s face twisted and her glared at her. "What would have happened if Randle had guessed the wrong time to go in there? What if there were five guys in there. If he went in, he would have gotten his ass handed to him. What if he went in just before a sting operation? What would happen if he would have gotten himself killed, or in prison? What would have happened to us?"

"He didn’t get hurt..."

"That’s not he point, old man. He could have!"

"But he didn’t..."

"HE COULD HAVE GOTTEN KILLED!!!" Laura screamed.

"What is wrong with you two?" Carla shrieked. "You cant just argue like this..."

"Shut up, girl, or I will slap you again," Daddy commanded raising his hand.

"He could have gotten caught..." Laura continued.

"Caught?" Carla asked. "Are you worried about Randle or just yourself?"

"Myself," Laura shot back coldly. "I am all I care about."

"Shut yer face, girl," Daddy commanded again looking back at Carla.

Danny began to gurgle again into Carla’s chest. It sounded like a well that was backing up into a basement. It was as low thick sound that seemed to cover the room. Carla clutched Danny tighter to her, trying to protect him from the argument, the gore of the room, from Randle himself. Randle lay in the corner still listening with a morbid fascination to the story that was flowing from Daddy’s mouth. The voices all began to pound in his head again. Wave after wave of sickness washed over his body. It felt like he was being thrashed around in a violent ocean. His breathing was labored as if he was breathing through a thick cloth. Randle clasped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes trying to steady the pounding of his head.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE, ALL OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Randle screamed. Randle snapped his head back toward the dining room entryway and glared into the darkness. They were gone. All of them. Laura was no longer grinding into her seat, Carla was not clutching Danny to her chest, Daddy was not towering over them. He was alone in the dining room. Silence filled the room like a heavy fog. Randle climbed slowly to his feet and looked around him. His eyes scanned the dining room and out into the dark living room. Breathing a deep sign, his eyes finally fell to the dining room table where sat a sandwich and a glass of tea.

Randle felt sick. He dashed from the dining room and down the dark hallway to the bathroom. Inside, by the faint yellow light of a nightlight, he vomited into the toilet. His chest hurt and he could not see without shooting pain behind his eyes. The toilet felt cold to his touch as he knelt with his head pressed against the basin. He finally stood and stumbled to the sink barely able to lift his eyelids. Absently he flipped the light switch to his right and turned on the water to hot. As steam began to rise out of the bowl of the sink, he ran his hands underneath the water. The water burned his hands, but he welcomed the burning to counter the pain that was behind his eyes. He began to rub his hands together trying to ease the dried blood from them. He raised his head and looked in the mirror only to see the face of Daddy grinning back at him. Startled, Randle fell back into the bathroom door.

"Don’t stop washing yer hands, boy," said Daddy. "Wash ‘em right good. But no matter how much you scrub, no matter how long you soak ’em, you ain’t never gonna wash away the sin. Try as you might. We are you, boy. We are your family. An’ this family is all you got, so don’t ever raise your voice to me again." Randle walked back to the water, steaming from the sink. He looked at the smiling old man in the mirror. "Tidy up, fat boy. You have work to do. There is a whole city of dealers, whores, thieves, molesters, rapists... all waiting on you to come and show them judgment day. They are all waiting on you, Randy, boy. Go on and make Daddy proud."

Randle finished rinsing off his hands and turned off the steaming water. Smiling he reached for a towel and dried his hands. He took one final look into the mirror at Daddy’s proud smiling face, turned off the light and walked into the darkness of the hallway. He walked into the darkness of his own soul.

Jason Devine walked into the darkness that was his rented house. It had been a while since he had actually spent any time there lately. Since his break up with Rachel, he had spent most of his time either at work or at the bar finding a companion at the bottom of a bottle. He had used to be only a beer drinker, but since she was gone he has discovered the pleasures of mixed drinks. His new best friends Jack, Jim, and Jose had listened to all his problems and had never said a word. These were the kind of men that Jason could confide in, secrets that once were only shared with Rachel and no one else.

Jason stood in the doorway and closed his eyes, breathing deep. He could still smell the scented candles that use to litter the room filling small holes on shelves, counter tops, and ledges. He could remember nights coming home from work and the house smelled of jasmine from her burning candles. She would have dinner almost ready and a bottle of wine open, chilling on the table. The smell of her cooking would dance with the scent of the jasmine candles. Jason could feel tears well in his eyes and bit his lip to try and keep the flood waters of the past dammed. He opened his eyes and looked down at the brown paper bag that he was carrying in his left hand. He might just be making a call to his good friend Jack to settle his nerves he thought. Jason stood in the doorway as if unsure that the room he was looking at was indeed the same living room that he had shared with Rachel for those past seven years.

He could see on his left the key rack that used to hold both sets of keys. There were five hooks and as he hung his set on the middle hook he felt even more alone than before. The sight of that solitary key set was a visual reminder that he was indeed alone in this house and that was all there was to it. The key rack hung next to the large doorway that opened up into the dining room. From where Jason was standing he could see the entire dining room, now bare save a few brown boxes and a weight bench that he had brought up from the basement to try and add something to the emptiness that was there. On the far right wall he could see into the small kitchen that Rachel would cook her fabulous dinners and breakfasts. She could cook anything, he thought, and he could not remember ever being tired of whatever she created. Thinking about her cooking, Jason’s stomach made a large gurgle as if to agree that her food was very good. Next to the kitchen was the downstairs closet that was slightly ajar from her move. Through the cracked door he could see the many coat hangers that hung bare. To the right of the closet were the stairs the lead to the bedrooms and office upstairs. Jason quickly flicked his eyes away from the stairs. The memories from the bedrooms were a bit more than he could bear right now.

Jason turned his head to the right. Here he could see the big, soft, blue chair that the coat he was wearing quickly found its way to. Accompanying the chair was the matching sofa that he and Rachel use to lie and cuddle up on watching movies, listen to the rain on, or just nap on when they could get the time together. This was the sofa that they had first made love on, the sofa that first held the fragile form of their son when he had come home from the hospital, the sofa that he held her on as she wept after the funeral for the baby. It was SIDS, he kept telling her, there was nothing that she could have done differently. She lay in his arms for hours crying, sometimes softly, sometimes hysterically. And sometimes he joined her. This sofa bore the weight of seven years of pleasure and pain. Since she had left, he could not bear the thought of touching the sofa, instead lying on the floor in front on the sofa, or reclining in the easy chair. The easy chair transformed itself into a bed quite a few nights after Rachel left. It was blue as well, but lighter than the sofa or chair.

Jason pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels from the brown paper bag. He unscrewed the black cap and took a long deep drag from the bottle. The whiskey hit his throat and stomach like liquid fire and it took a minute to straighten his face from its contorted form. Tears had welled into his eyes again, this time from the whiskey, and he found that he was alright with that. Jason’s eyes fell again to the easy chair. Behind it was the fireplace that he and Rachel sat in front of sipping glass after glass of wine. Her soft, supple body illuminated by the orange glow of the fire was the most incredible sight in his opinion. The way she would lay down beside him, her long dark hair exploding around her head, her body inviting him to touch and caress it. The fireplace was flanked by two built in book shelves. Shelves once used to be packed from wall to wall of her favorite authors, stacks of journals, and a disarray of scrap books and photo albums. Above the bookshelves, in between the fireplace and the walls were two empty spaces that held two pieces of art that the two of them had bought in Maine one fall a few years ago. They were walking along the boardwalk in a small New England town when they came upon an old man painting the shore and cove that stretched out before them. They had already taken countless pictures to remember the trip, but this old man had seemed to capture the cove, the sky, the gulls flying around, like no other picture they had taken yet. She had insisted on buying that painting, and with a little persuasion of three hundred dollars, they soon were packing their new memory into a freight box with a second painting by the old man of a mountain scene.

Jason began to look around the room at the walls. There were few pictures that hung there, pictures of his family and things that he did, but there was a lot of open space where the important pictures used to hang. Pictures of Rachel would crowd the walls here in the living room. Pictures of her with short hair, long hair, in a dress, at a bar-be-que, parties, vacations, special moments that shone down on him from every angle. Now there was nothing but empty space. Jason took another drag from the whiskey bottle. The room felt like he was looking into the center of his heart and all he could see was empty space.

Along the wall to his left was a large void that use to be filled with their entertainment center. What was once a center filled with all the bells and whistles was now a night stand with a small television balanced on top. In the center of the room was a wooden chest that had become a makeshift coffee table. Inside the chest was all the mementoes of Rachel that he could fit into it. There were some late nights that he would pull out something from that chest and weep. Its secondary function, from the looks of it, was to keep the dozen or so fast food bags and paper plates off the floor. The room that was laid out before him was no longer recognizable. This was no longer that house that he had made into a home with Rachel. Looking around he felt helpless and pitiful. Again, this would be something for he and Jack to talk about later as he wept quietly over old photos.

As Jason stood and looked at what had now become his life, the lights went out. It took a moment for the fact that his now unfamiliar world was now dark. He turned and dumbly looked at where the light switch would be along the wall close to the door. Reaching out, he began to fumble along the wall for the light switch. After a few careless swipes, he found the switch and began to flip it up and down. The switch would flip, but no lights would come on. He turned and looked out the doorway to the street below. There was a little light, but he could see that the electricity was off all through out the neighborhood. Jason stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He took a minute to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. He could make out shapes but nothing was a definite. He took a couple steps forward trying to force himself to see where things were, but the darkness enveloped him. The only light that he could see was that of the hour marks n the watch that he wore. He stood there in the darkness thinking of what he should do. On the one hand he welcomed the darkness that clutched him tightly. In the dark, he could no longer see the life that was his. He would not have to be reminded of Rachel with every step through this house. Every step brought back a memory of that exact spot. Emotionally every step was like walking through broken glass in bare feet only to have to wade through a creek of alcohol.

On the other hand, he could go meet Jack Daniels out at the bar, and maybe Jim Beam and Jose could meet him out as well. That way when he did come home tonight, he would not be in any condition to deal with the house and the memories that it brought. This seemed like the perfect plan, and he was rather proud of himself for thinking of it. Smiling he turned to go through the door and out to his car. As he looked at the door, he froze in his tracks. There in the window and curtain of the door was a figure. Startled he took a step backward and tripped over a pair of shoes that were left in the middle of the entryway. He landed with a hard thud and a bolt of pain shot through his rear. He sat there looking straight ahead through the window and the curtain from the front door. The figure still stood motionless. Jason could not breath. Then a small smile of embarrassment spread across his face. It was probably a neighbor coming to check in on him to make sure that he was alright. He felt silly for being so easily rattled especially in a house that he had lived in for seven years. Jason climbed slowly to his feet and brushed off his pants. He was sure that it was just a neighbor outside the door. Jason reached out and fumbled for the knob briefly and soon was turning the handle. He opened the door and began to say something and stopped without ever uttering a word. There was no one outside at all.

Jason stepped through the door confused. He stood out on his patio and looked all around. There was no one to be seen in any direction. He thought for a moment that maybe it was all a figment of his imagination. Maybe Jack Daniels was playing tricks on him. Jason stepped back into the house and shut the door. He stood looking down in the darkness at where his feet would have been and thought about it. Yes, he must be slightly under some kind of influence. He looked up and out the window again. To his surprise, there was a figure shadowed in the doorway again through the curtains. Jason stood there mesmerized. It was as if the figure could see him as well through the curtain. Jason took a step backward in shock. The shadowed figure then moved. Jason turned and took two long strides away from the door. In the dark it was hard to tell where he was so he felt lucky to have been able to take the two steps that he did. Turning back to the door he was relieved to see that the figure was no longer there. He stood in the dark and looked around wishing that his eyes could focus and get adjusted to the lack of light, but nothing was familiar to him.

A noise to his right caused him to spin wildly looking right. In his quick turn he took a step backward and something hit his leg causing him to come crashing down over the chest on the floor. He could hear the sound of paper bags and old drink cup spilling to the floor all around him. His pants were now soaked and he felt an explosion of pain go through his ankle. What the hell was happening? He could hear a scurrying about him, but he could not tell what it was. It sounded small but he was unsure of what the noise really was. Jason sat in the dark trying to get his bearings. There was a creek of a floor board in the other room. He could not be sure if it was a floorboard from the kitchen or from the dining room. Here sitting on the floor in the dark he imagined that it could be a floor board directly in front of him and he would never know the difference.

Jason slowly made his way to his feet arms outstretched hoping that he would find something familiar within arms reach to get a better bearing on where he was. The dark seemed to amplify the creaks and groans of the old house settling and he thought he could also hear the fain wisp of footsteps as well. Who ever was at the door was in the house, he was sure of it. Anger began to mix with panic as Jason stood there blanketed in the dark. Jason turned slowly and tried desperately to see his way through the dark. Off in what he thought might have been the corner where the blue comfortable chair was, he thought he saw someone sitting down, but could not be sure. He took a step to his right and was brought low again by the sharp pain in his ankle. This time when he fell, he came crashing head first into the night stand the held the television up off the floor sending the TV crashing down beside him. All this noise would allow who ever was in the house to know where he was at. He tried crawling away as fast as he could. Jason crawled head first into the book shelves that was next to the fireplace. It felt like someone had hit him in the head with a ball bat.

He sat and held his head in his hands for a moment. He could feel a dampness coming from his head that he could only assume could be blood, but was not sure. He wiped his hands in the dark on whatever was around and looked off into the blackness to try and see what was around him. Faint shapes stood out, but the forms mingled with each other like different shades of black. There was definitely something off to his left that he could make out. He slowly made himself into a crouched position. He could see the faint glow if the door and to a certain freedom from the blackness inside the house as long as he could make it through the door. He got ready to spring forward when another creek made him freeze in his tracks. This time it was definitely coming from the room that he was in. Jason crouched and waited to see if he could hear something else to tell him if the person in the room could see him or not. No sound passed and Jason stayed there crouched for what seemed like an eternity.

He felt that the time was now to run. There was someone in here with him and Jason did not want to be in this room any more. He launched himself forward and was tripped up by something on the floor in front of him. He could not tell if something hd grabbed his foot or not and he came down still pumping his legs in and effort to run. Jason fought to his feet and stumbled up. He turned and thought he could see a form near the window that was over he sofa. Jason took a step backward into the doorway that lead to the dining room. A sound in the kitchen spun him around again. Here he was out in the open with nothing to hide behind. On a wall in front of him, he could see the shadow of a man. The build was that of someone athletic. The shadow was hunched over a little like it was about to lunge at him. Jason did not wait around to see who the shadow belonged to. Jason lunged forward himself and propelled himself onto the stair. Tripping and clawing his way, he began to climb the stairs. Fear had taken deep root into his heart. He could hear what sounded like crashing behind him in the narrow corridor of the stairwell and he fought harder to climb the stair. Jason came to the top of the steps and began to crawl forward trying to keep low and out of any light to prevent his stalker from detecting him. He found a wall and began to move slowly along it. Feeling the cool wall was a comfort that at least one of his flank was protected.

Jason came to the door jam of the spare bedroom and waited. The door was closed and he paused to listen for any noise to let him know if he was alone or not. Silence greeted him and he struggled to his feet. Jason placed his back on the wall and pushed himself up the wall. His ankle was throbbing and his head was pounding. Jason took a step forward running his back past the door jam and along the door. Suddenly the door was flung open and he fell into the room. With a loud crash he hit the floor at the foot of the bed inside. As he fell, he hit his elbow on the foot of the bed and pain shot through his arm, numbing it. Jason struggled to his feet. If there was someone in the room he did not want to be lying on the floor if they decided to attack him. He stood and surveyed the room as quickly as possible. There were dark shapes all around the room and a window off to his right. Light crept through the window softly and was the only comfort that he had. Jason stood there and turned around. Movement caught his eye and he stopped cold. In front of him he could see the outline of a man. He could make out the hands, the build, the look of an oxford shirt and the crouched form. Finally he could see the form of the man who was in his house. Panic gripped at his heart as he stood there frozen. He could see that the man could see him as well. Now it was all just a staring contest. Both men standing, ready to react to the others first move.

Jason was not sure that he had the nerve to confront a man. Not here. Not like this. He was terrified while the figure in front of him looked calm and perched to strike. Without warning light burst through the windows flooding the room from the street light from outside. Jason threw up his hands startled and he saw the man react. No time for waiting to see if the man was attacking, Jason dove headlong for the door. Instead of getting out the door, he crashed right into the doorway. Jason fumbled for the light switch and flipped the switch as fast as he could. He then jumped from the doorway back into the room to face his assailant. There, standing in the middle of the room, he was amazed to see that not only was he alone in the room, but the mystery assailant was his reflection in a mirror that was mounted on the closet door. Jason stood in disbelief looking at himself in the mirror unsure of whether he wanted to laugh or cry. All this time and it was only his reflection stalking him. Jason began to laugh. God, how stupid could he be. The shadows downstairs could have been his shadow from the little bit of light that was coming in off the street. Embarrassed, he checked his head for where he crashed in to the book case earlier. There was blood, but now it had dried and crusted over. He looked like hell.

Jason stood looking himself over. With a chuckle he reached out and flipped the light off to see himself in the dark one last time. In the dark he could see the shape and look of the man in the mirror, but nothing to identify him. With a sigh of relief and a chuckle, Jason gave himself the finger in the mirror and began to walk out of the room and in to the hall to go back downstairs and get his things for bed. He was exhausted and he did not need a drink as badly now. He threw a glance toward the mirror as he left. The mirror threw a glance back at him. Satisfied, he walked out the door. The reflection in the mirror paused and watched Jason walk away. His reflection smiled.

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been - a most familiar bird -
Taught me my alphabet to say -
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child - with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years,
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky,
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings -
That litle time with lyre and rhyme
To while away - forbidden thing!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.

~ Edgar Allen Poe

A kiss. The word is sweet. Why should your lips fear to pronounce it? If it burns them now, what will it do when words turn into deeds? Do not be frightened. Even now I felt how you stopped teasing and passed fearlessly from smiles to sighs, and then from sighs to tears. Oh pass once more, slowly, unconciously- from tear to kiss is but a quick heart's beat.

A kiss when all is said is- what? A compact sealed, a promise carried out? An oath accomplished and a vow confirmed? The rosy dot upon the i in "loving"? A secret for no ear, but for the lips? The velvet humming of an amorous bee: the endless moment of infinity? The heart's communion cup that tastes of flowers? The breathing in a little of the soul when the pure spirit rises to the lips?

A kiss has such nobility that even the Queen of France, the Queen herself, bestowed a kiss upon her favorite lord. And so, like Buckingham, the lord, I've suffered and been still. Like him, I love my Queen unswervingly. Like him, I am faithful and sad.

Tonight, I journyed to one of my favorite sanctuaries, the Halcomb Gardens. The moon was bright, for a half moon, illuminateing the sweet rows of fragrent flowers in a blue hue, their perfume caressing my skin alight the gentle breeze. I walked the length of the garden breathing in the cool damp air of after rain. I could hear the canal rolling lazily by to my left and the wind dance in the trees to my right. And as I approached the statue of Persephone, I noticed that she was gone, the pool of water around her was drained. I figured that she was just off being cleaned. I reached the steps leading to her pedistle and lay on the cool stones looking up at the stars. The rain clouds had cleared and I could see infinity above me, when I saw a shooting star. Smiling I thought back as a child when magic was around every corner and shone through the simplest things and made a silent wish. I wished that I knew how your lips tasted, whether they were sweet as candied strawberries or juicy as ripe apricots. I wished that I knew how yoru hair smelled, clean and damp as if from a shower or perfumed from conditioners and cleansers. I wished I knew how your hair felt wrapped in my fingers, soft as spun silk or light as cotten. I wished I knew how your eyes gleamed in the moonlight sparling reflections of the moon or dark deep and still like endless midnight pools. I wished I knew  how your body felt beneath me, firm and taunt aggresive in embrace or soft and supple like a gentle stream flowing around me. I don't know if it was the thought of you, of the sound itself, but I swore I heard people whispering to my right. And when I turned, I saw you naked save for a long white sash flowing around your body, running playfully away into the trees. Confused, I sprang to my feet and gingerly followed softly calling your name. As I approached the trees, I hear your name whispered all around me. As I turned trying to take in where your name was coming from I saw you dart from your hiding place and bound laughing into the thick. I followed, my heart pounding. Through brush, through trees I came to a moon lit clearing where you stood facing me arms outstretched. And as I entered, I heard a chorus sing your name through the wind passing though the leaves. In two boundful steps, I was in your arms. My god, amore, your lips were sweet as candied strawberries, your hair soft as spun silk, your eyes as deep as midnight pools and your body firm and aggresive. And I shed my own clothes as we lay down drunk from such intoxicating kisses. Your embrace was commanding and encouraging. We made love, passionate, earth shattering love as if afraid that there would be no morning again. Your breath gave me life, your touch gave me reason, your warmth gave me pleasure. We came together as one, my heart beating along yours, your breath chilling my chest, your nails in my skin hurting, enforcing the pleasure. You bit my lip, I bit your neck, your heels held me close, my arms held you tight. and when you whispered my name, it was as if I had heard it for the first time. In those moments, the only world that I knew was in your magnificent naked body. And I also knew that from my first breath as a babe, I have adored you, and every breath since was a suffocation until you gave me air to breath. I woke to you gone, fading like the morning mist rising from the earth. And as I made my way bake to the gardens, I came across your long white sash. I wrapped it around my neck and emerged looking at the statue of the Godess once again perched apon her pedistle, her deep green eyes looking skyward, as if looking for that next falling star.

In a moment everything that I knew of my life was shed away like a butterfly from a cocoon. In just that blink of an eye, in just that hesitation, in just that eternity between heartbeats. I stood atop the outcropped cliff of lifes uncertainty and took a single step measuring the distance between falling to the jagged stone below and shattering again in the pit of unanswered questions, but you caught   me.Your energy, your heart lifted me high into the stratusphere past obstructing clouds shrouding my view of the wonders of life, of hope, of future love; upward where countless stars gleamed like countless tears shed from my eyes in an attempt not to drown in past heartaches.

In a look you invigorated me. My body malnurished from fasting on empty words, empty promises, empty people. In your eyes, I saw reflections of a lush oasis of life in the middle of my  baren          soul. And from that oasis, an eden was built, a paradise where once I could only curl up in the hopes that pain would grow bored with me. I could once again rise, outstretch my arms and embrace   the wonderment of heaven within. Hope sprung like clover all around me  and enchantment flooded over me in warm rays. I stood naked, bare, and in awe of how bright  I shown in the reflections of your eyes.  

In a touch, you mesmerised me, invigorating me with energy  from your soul. Long dormant batteries of my heart recharged allowing it to beat again  unencombered. Beneath your caress, my heart would race, my body would sweat, and pain would bead off me like water drying in the sun. Each long, soft stroke of your fingertips wiped away years of pain as easily as whiping  away my tears. You carefully whiped away the cold broken shell that covered me exposing me as you could see me, as you knew I could be seen. And beneath your caress i trembled, but not from chill, but from fear that the rapture of your touch would soon fade and I would be left vulnerable and alone again. 

In a whisper, my name sounded fresh, new, sweetened by your breath, massaged by your lips, put forth by your radience,  In your breathed whisper, I could hear the long lost secrets of man , vows bold and majestic spoken with such clarity, truths unquestionable comforting my being in the knowledge that my name was safe tucked between toungue and teeth like a treasure hidden. I knew that these words from your soul would not maim or shackle like so many spoken past.  Each syllable  lighting down on my heart as gentle snowflakes.  

In a kiss I could feel my future, a silent physical oath, a declaration of entwined forevers. I could feel a lifetime of one  shared by two bodies pulsating as the heartbeat of our universe. In that kiss, time stood still and I could feel the uncontrolable knowledge that as my friend, i would never again know the chilled embrace of lonliness, as my equal, I would never again have a burden to share alone, as my lover I would never deside the touch of another, and as my reason  to love I would someday be blessed with a gloriousproclimation, a melding of our hearts into a son or daughter. And I knew that there was no one that I could ever want to create life with than you.

In a lifetime, I could never have dreamed, I could never have hoped, I could never have prayed for someone to complete me as you. And I cherish each lifetime in our simple moments, looks, touchs, whispers, or kisses. Because I have waited for what seems like eternity for the woman who shown me new ways and reasons to appriciate my extrordinary lifetime.