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a time slip

Some days I’ll be doing my thing and all of a sudden I’ll feel a shift. I’ll start to feel a strong sense of deja vu. I’ll know I’m in this place and time but my senses feel like I’m back in another space. The light, smells even sounds remind me of a different time. Then I start to get a giddy feeling. Physically I feel dizzy and I get butterflies in my stomach. In contrast to my anxiety attacks though these are really pleasant feelings. Sometimes I’ll close my eyes and I feel like I’m back in that time. I’m back as a visitor though, if that makes sense. I know this time is past but I physically feel it. I’m embracing these moments. I close my eyes and try and meditate. I feel like the universe is reminding me that every moment is connected. To not worry about the passage of time. Time changes but it’s always there.

just some words

So I’m sitting here at my desk.  To be fair I love my desk and sitting here does make me feel good.  I’m supposed to be writing, so now I am.  I’ve been feeling very lost lately.  I don’t know what I’m doing here.  I know what I want to be doing and how I want to be feeling, but I can’t seem to get there.  For years I’ve been in awe of other people who seem to get it.  They’ve got a job, family, friends.  They always have something to do, and they are doing it.  How do they do it?  My everyday life is often full of questions, especially when I feel happy or content.  Those are when the monster questions arise.  Why be happy?  This is just meaningless shit.  Then the other side of my brain says, well of course it is but that’s ok, that’s life. But the nasty side keeps piping up with the whys and what fors.  I start sewing something or writing something and as soon as I start to feel like things are on the up, that nasty voice pops up.  You’re going to die anyway and then what? Then nothing. I believe that there is something after this life but the nasty voice doesn’t even allow me to have that.  Nope.  Nothing.  No one will know you.  You will truly be alone in darkness and silence.  That is the everyday crap I have to put up with to try and live a “normal” life.  I thought putting it down on paper, so to speak, would be good.  It might stimulate my writing process but damn it’s just making it difficult to sit here.

All right.  I’m going to publish this cause at least I’m contributing something to this obnoxious blog.  Then I’m going to actually do some writing on my short story because believe it or not, I do want to write.  I am so messed up.  Anyway, it’s cool.  Hope y’all are having a good day.  It’s real windy here.  I love to listen to the wind in the trees.

Peace

 

A bit of reality

So this is going to just be me writing as I think.  If you really don’t want to hear about everything that’s been going on with me over the past year (and I honestly don’t blame you if you don’t) just pass this one by.  I haven’t written for awhile and I need to get this all out for me.  Here we go…

Today is our wedding anniversary.  Two years!  It seems like it’s been a lot longer than that.  This last year has been particularly hard on me and as a result on my husband.  Not sure if it was my move to London from Illinois or the move from London to the suburbs but my mental health has taken a downward spiral.  I have gone to the doc and I’m taking care of it but as many of you may know, even though you take medication and precautions it’s never gone.  So I’ve had some bad flare ups where I, this is super hard for me to write because that makes it more real, I wanted to hurt myself.  An attack is such a difficult thing to understand.  It’s hard for the person going through it and it’s hard for the people who love them.  So I’ve been having episodes where I get short of breath and want to scream and punch and hit.  It feels like bees have filled the inside of my body and I can feel the vibrations of hundreds of thousands of bees in my head.  The feeling is so uncomfortable, I want to hurt myself in a different way to distract from the vibrations.  My husband has been great.  He is really worried but he tries to help me the best he can.  I feel awful for him.  After a hard day of work, not knowing which wife you are coming home to has to be frustrating.  Oh balls, my mind is getting distracted and I feel like I’m going to start to cry.  Writing this out is great but I think I need to take a little break to calm down.  Okey doke.  I’m going to publish this cause I think that might be a good thing for me.  Ugh, maybe not.  I hate keeping everything inside but I don’t want to burden anyone or make anyone else worry or feel bad.  On the other hand, if my writing is a tiny call for some help, how can I get help if no one sees it.

I’ll be back.

Peace out xx

The Good One

Following is a story I wrote for a contest.  It was a 500 word limit and we were to use this quote from a Jekyll & Hyde play as a theme:  “It might be possible, of course, that far from being one, we may possess two selves.”  

Let me know what you think.

 

The Good One

Another day of marching against the current administration and crimes against our fellow man.  This was Sadie’s life. The 30 year old, white, straight women felt this was her calling. She loved helping people.  Between these marches and her job at the community center she felt at peace and purpose driven in her life. She was thinking about this when she was hit from behind and thrown into the cold brick side of the bank. The next thing Sadie remembered was waking up in the hospital with a large bandage around her head.  A anti-immigration supporter had driven his car through the group where Sadie was standing. Two others had died. Sadie had a concussion and a bruised brain. She was lucky.

That night Sadie had a headache.  The worst she’s ever had. She blacked out and woke up the next morning in bed, not remembering what happened last night.  On her nightstand were flyers for “The Wall” to be built and to supply all white citizens with guns. Was this some kind of joke? Where did these come from?  She crumpled them up and threw them away. Returning to her job at the community center felt good. That afternoon when she was helping a family apply for their green card renewal she intentionally gave them the wrong information.  Her head began to hurt and she excused herself. “These people make me sick”, she said to Sandy, another community employee. Sandy looked at her funny. “Oh, did they do something wrong?” “Yes,” Sadie spat, “they’ve come here to take advantage of our system and hard working taxpayers.”  Sandy was shocked. The look on Sadie’s face was one she had seen on those neo-nazi members as they screamed hate. It looked completely out of place on Sadie. “Maybe you ought to go home and tax a break,” she said. Sadie left the center. Unsure of what was going on with herself.

Sadie woke up in a cell.  They told her she burned down the Community Center last night.  There was a fun fair going on to raise money for programs at the center.  Five people died. Three of them were children. They showed her the CTV footage of her spreading gasoline and spouting hate speech.  People were screaming and asking her why. Calling her name. People she knew and loved. People she helped.

The jailer found Sadie the next day.  Hanging from the bars of the window in her cell by her shirt.   The note she left read this:

“Since the accident things haven’t been the same.  It’s as if there are two of me and they are constantly fighting.  After last night I can’t deny it anymore. There are two and the side that is dominating cannot be allowed to do so.  I am sorry.  Please remember the decent Sadie. The good one.  Everyone has two sides. Which side will you let win?”

The Great House

Sarah thought how lucky she was that Aggie had asked her to come with to the summer house. She had been enamored by the house and surroundings as soon as she arrived.  The large Victorian rooms. Windows looking out on the wild flowers leading from the expansive garden to the dark wood. Unfortunately their reasons for coming were not a holiday.  Aggie had come to get affairs in order. Her grandparents had recently passed and she was the last living member of the family. After dinner, in the study while having a drink in front of the fireplace, Sarah had to ask Aggie why she had stayed away from this beautiful home for all these years.  And now, that it was hers to enjoy, she was eager to be rid of it and get back to the city.

 

Aggie sighed.  Her beautiful auburn hair hung around her face, her dark eyes peeking out from under the fringe. Sarah thought her olive skin looked a bit ashy and attributed this to the loss of her grandparents and the stress of taking on this business.  Aggie took another sip of wine. “When you arrived, did you see the large tree trunk near the wood?” Sarah nodded. Of course she had. The tree was an imposing figure. It would take 3 grownups in a circle pressed against the trunk, arms hugging the tree and only their fingertips would touch.  The top bent off in giant, arm like branches that reached for the house. In these branches there was what appeared to be a hole. A dark chasm in the trunk of the tree. Another tip of the glass and her wine was gone. Aggie smoothed her skirt. She couldn’t keep still. “I loved coming here every summer.  Perfect place for a child. Places to explore. The magic of the world all yours. And Casey. My cousin, he loved it too. Casey was a few years younger than me and each summer we looked forward to our weeks spent at the Great House.

One summer, Casey was different.  He didn’t want to go wander the woods or play in the creek.  He stayed near the house. Staring out at the garden. To be fair, I was different too and didn’t really notice these changes in Casey.  I was twelve and had gotten caught up in the beginnings of being a teenage girl. I had brought a portable record player with me, remember those?, I lay in my room listening to music and reading Cosmo and other beauty mags I had stolen from my mother.

I was lying on my bed flipping through one of the magazines when there was a cough at the door.  Casey stood there. Despite being the height of summer he lacked the golden brown skin that we took home with us.  He was pale and I was shocked at the sight of him. I immediately felt ashamed and realised how I had neglected him that summer.  I foolishly thought that he looked so despot because his playmate was growing up.” Unable to sit any longer Aggie got up and started to walk towards the window.  She abruptly stopped and turned to the fireplace. She stood fiddling with the doily that lay on the mantle. I leaned forward in my seat and looked out the window. Taking up most of the view was the old, massive tree.

Aggie began again, “So, I asked Casey to come in.  I started apologising for not spending as much time with him but he quickly stopped me.  I asked him what was wrong then, eager to get back to my narcissistic ways. He asked me if I had any bad dreams.  I told him of course, everyone does. Casey shook his head and said ‘no, have you had any here. At the Great House.’ I had begun thinking of an article I was reading about how to perfectly apply blue eyeshadow and was barely listening to him at this point.”  Aggie paused. “Isn’t it funny how I can remember silly things. Like reading articles about blue eyeshadow? Anyway, point being I wasn’t listening really and I said no. Casey asked if things felt different here this summer. Again, I thought he meant me growing up and I said to him, Casey just tell me what’s going on.  Casey then told me that a few days ago he had been playing in the garden by the big tree. He heard a whisper. He thought it was me.” Aggie smiled sadly. “Casey asked, ‘Where are you?’ The voice responded, ‘the tree’. Casey looked up into the tree but didn’t see me or anyone else. He kept playing with his toy soldiers.  He heard the voice again. It was telling him to join them. This time when he looked around and didn’t see anyone he got scared so he gathered up his toys and ran to the house. That night Casey said he dreamt of the tree. He dreamt that a beautiful girl was in the tree and wanted him to play. When he said he didn’t want to the branches of the tree became great arms and grabbed for him.  At that point he woke up.”

Aggie refilled her glass from the decanter on the table.  She drank the full glass in one go. Her hands were shaking.  “Casey was telling me how he had that same dream every night. That every night the girl asked him to come and he would say no and the tree would reach for him.  He had stopped going outside during the day and was having trouble sleeping at night. He asked me if that night, he could sleep in my room. Anxious as ever to put on another record I said fine, of course.  I’ll never forget how happy he looked when I said he could stay with me. That night Casey came to my room dragging along his blanket and bear. We got tucked in and went to sleep. At some point I woke up and noticed Casey was gone.  The moon was almost full and it was quite bright. I saw Casey walking through the yard towards the tree. I jumped out of bed and ran, as fast as I could down to the garden. As I reached the tree I heard a gasp. That’s all. Just one gasp.  The tree was before me. Bear was on the ground. Casey! I called. Casey! I started to move towards the tree but I thought of what Casey told me and was too scared. I turned and ran back to the house screaming for my grandparents. I told them I had seen Casey walking through the yard.  I didn’t mention the tree. For three days we searched the woods, creek and gardens for Casey. Our parents came up, the whole town rallied around us. On that third day I gathered the courage to climb that tree. I looked down into the space and there was Casey. His hair had turned white but other than that he looked like a sleeping angel.  Of course, he wasn’t sleeping.

Summers obviously were never the same.  My grandparents kept the home but visits from us were rare.  I don’t think Casey’s parents ever came back. About ten years ago my parents and Casey’s were killed in a boating accident.  Now that my grandparents are gone, it’s me. I can’t be here. That’s why I asked you to come. I need to take care of this, but I couldn’t be here alone.  I’m going to sell the home, but first I’ll have that tree removed.”

Sarah sat there stunned.  She had been so jealous of this place and excited to be here, having no clue that her friend felt completely opposite.  Aggie put her glass down. “The men come tomorrow to take out the tree.” She smiled, then said good night and went to bed.

That night Sarah tossed and turned.  At one time she thought that she woke up and saw Aggie in the yard by the tree.  When she woke in the morning with the sun shining in the windows, she laughed at how she had let Aggie’s story get the best of her.  Sarah went down to breakfast. No Aggie. She wandered out into the garden, calling for her friend. No response. At nine the men came to take the tree out.  Without Aggie to give the go ahead, they wouldn’t do anything. After waiting a half an hour they left.

Sarah went back out to the tree.  “Aggie”, she whispered. “Please” was whispered back.  Sarah stumbled over an exposed tree root and ran to the house.  She threw her things in the car and quickly left.

 

A week later the news was talking about someone finding Aggie’s body in the tree.  Her hair was white. They don’t know how she got in there. The chasm was so tight, they had to cut apart the tree to get her out.

This post brought to you by

the following writing prompt:

Outline the plot turns for the personal history of one of your most treasured objects.

Hmmmm.  Ok.  Here goes.

 

Before I moved countries, m15665829_10212634372040734_4883333734333827822_ny grandmother gave me a compact.  It’s a beautiful gold tone with tiny jewels and a star shape.  It belonged to her mother.  It is the sign of the Eastern Star.   Wives of the masons belonged to the Eastern Stars.  I imagine my great grandmother taking great care of her compact and feeling pride of belonging.  My great grandmother had come over from Yugoslavia and my great grandfather from Sweden.  They actually called him, “The Swede”.  They lived in Mineral, Kansas and worked hard to make a life for themselves.  There was a lot of unrest in the country at that time (not unlike now) and a lot of not so great folks.  My great grandpa was a miner and from all accounts he was very kind man with never a harsh word for anyone.  Apparently there were some drifters blowing through town.  They started picking on a young, local boy working at the watering hole.  My great grandpa stepped in when they started to get rough with the boy.  Those men left.  When my grandpa was walking home apparently those men were camped out by the side of the road.  They started yelling at my grandpa.  He was alone.  One of them threw a rock.

 

Not sure if I answered that question correctly.  Now though, I’m going to get my papers and try to put the whole story together.  I have some copies of the newspaper articlIMG_3516es from my grandma.  Those themselves are awesome.  Anyway, my grandma always wanted me to write.  What an awesome legacy if I was to write the story of her parents.  She passed away at the beginning of this year, at the ripe old age of 93.  I miss her lots.

Off to research!!!

Peace and love

 

 

 

Writing prompt from, “642 Tiny Things to Write About”, by the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto.

Good thing I’m going to research!  While I was looking for pics I found this.  My info on the Eastern Stars was a little misleading.15697668_10212634370400693_3202874141769555615_n

So much randomness

“Hello, my friend hello.”   Did y’all sing that?  “Just called to let, you know”

I woke up singing that this morning.  (I’ll post the video link at the end.)  Now if I was still living in the States.  Working at the job that I had for going on 15 years, I would’ve walked into my director’s office singing that first thing!  I miss not being silly.  I used to just do goofy things.  Make people laugh.  I can be silly with my husband but the regular person humor doesn’t translate.  I mean, even words like silly and goofy get me looked at funny.  It has made me feel isolated in a way I never even thought about.  I mean, I’m working through it and all that but I’m just saying, there are so many things to get used to when you change the country of your residence.  The tiniest things.  The big things get all the attention, but the tiny things.  How to answer the phone, how to answer questions on a job application.  Realising when people say, “You all right?” they aren’t really asking a question.  🙂  I still have a hard time with that one.  But I’m figuring it out.

This blog is going to be so much randomness, I hope y’all stick around.  I’m sure I’ll get better as I go.  Ok, I’ve got letters to write and I’m taking a tarot card reading class sooooo I’m planning to post again later today.

Grab this day by the jewels kids!  Make it a good one!

Peace and love

 

 

A “normal” day would be nice

First off, if you’re reading this, thanks!  I’ve struggled with public writing.  In the case of mental health it’s really freeing.  I don’t want this only to be about my dealings with that though.  I’m a writer and I’m working on getting published and living the brilliant kind of life I know I deserve!  So, while I might post on here about how nothing makes sense and what’s the point.  Don’t stress for me.  If any of you deal with these thoughts you might know how you can’t tell people close to you.  Most of them don’t understand and all it does, for me anyway, is to make them worry and me guilty.  Not good.  To be able to tell actual people instead of the pages of my many journals, does a lot to make me feel better.  And while your many words of positive encouragement and kindness are GREATLY APPRECIATED, I’m not looking for them.  They make me feel guilty that I’ve made you concerned and blah blah blah.  Know what I mean?  I like to see the notifications that so and so viewed/liked my post.  It makes me feel good!  I think wow!  They took the time to check it out.  I wonder what they thought? I hope it reached them in some way.  (Plus, since I’m a writer I’ll then check you out and make up scenarios of what you thought of my stuff by your writings and pics!  😉  ) By all means comment that you get it or tell me what you think of my latest story attempt or tell me what your fav colour is!

Anyway,  so that’s out there.  Man, I woke up in the middle of the night and thought of something really great.  Some good thinking or talking point.  But I did a cardinal sin of writers.  Even though, I have a notebook and pen ready by the bed, I didn’t write it down!!!!!  It’s lost for now.  That was a bummer.  All I can remember is sometime last night thinking maybe I got my love of classical music from Tom and Jerry.  And I thought that cause someone played a bit of their fav piece on talk radio.  I really loved it but I can’t remember the name of the piece or the composer.  Then I started thinking, “Why is Mozart my fav?  Tom and Jerry used classical music a lot.  I’ll have to Google who they used the most.”  So now you know the fascinating thoughts that run through my little mind on a daily basis!  So, I Googled and found some interesting things.  While lots of classical music was used in the cartoons I grew up loving, Mozart was not among them!  What?!  So how did I pick Mozart?  Was it because everybody loved Beethoven and I wanted to be different?  Maybe.  I’m the kind of person that might have wanted to see a movie but won’t if everyone keeps telling me how awesome it is.  Maybe it was because Mozart was a fun, rebel composer.  He was in that movie anyway.

That’s all I’ve got for now.  Hope you keep stopping by and checking out my ramblings.  And here are a couple fun articles about classical music in those great cartoons.

As always, hope this day brings you peace, love and happiness.

https://www.cmuse.org/classical-music-in-tom-and-jerry-cartoons/

https://listverse.com/2009/06/30/10-best-uses-of-classical-music-in-classic-cartoons/

 

Rough Draft of the short story The Cats

The Cats
By Iekika
My English teacher tells me that writing things down is good for a person. It helps them work things out. I’m hoping this paper and pen can help me. I haven’t been able to fully wrap my head around what went down that Friday afternoon. I keep going over and over it. My brain says no way this happened but when I look in the mirror, I see the faint yellow bruising from my black eye, and my arm from shoulder to elbow has that raw pink look of new skin. Maybe all this will seem more real when it’s something I can hold. Here goes.
I’ve been going to the market for my mom since I was about five. That might sound especially young but as mama says, I’ve always been a responsible kid. Now I’m eleven and I’m pretty much running the house. Mom fell sick right after dad left. I’ve been taking care of us just fine though, so don’t be feeling sorry. When mom needs her medicine she calls down to Mr. Long’s store on Elm and lets him know I’m coming. Then she ties the money in a bandana and I head out. Mr. Long knew us before mom got sick so he lets her send me. When I go in he always asks how she’s doing. I wish he wouldn’t. He looks at me with a painful expression on his face. It makes me feel uncomfortable, and I can hardly look him in the eye. I give Mr. Long the bandana and he takes a bag from behind the counter. He takes the money and puts the hanky and change in the bag. Then he staples it up and I head back home. When I get home, if it’s a good day mama’ll take her medicine in a glass and sit on the sofa watching whatever’s on TV with me. She only watches for a short time but it’s the best. If it’s a bad day, she’ll take the bag, both hands trembling and stumble into her room shutting the door behind her. Ok, you’ve got a little background. Now I can get into the real reason I’m writing this story. The cats. I don’t really get on with people and that’s fine by me. Yeah, people kinda suck but I got the cats. There’s a bunch of ‘em that hang out near the abandoned store that I pass on the way to Mr. Long’s. It’s a nice quiet spot. A small bit of parking lot with trees around it. Just a place that’s been forgotten. You know those places? They have a special feel to them. A bit of magic. So, I’ve started hanging out there. I like to take my book and sit on the roots of this oak tree. The cats come and sit with me. I talk to them a bit and sometimes read to them. I felt like the cats and I had become friends like. They mean a lot to me.
About a week and a half ago I was headed to the shop on my regular route. It was a really nice September day. The kind where the sky’s a bright blue and the sun is beaming down. I was walking through the parking lot kicking stones and thinking about being back in school. So deep in thought I was, I didn’t hear trouble coming right in front of me. Joel Patross slid his bike to a stop and smiled a nasty smile when he saw me. If I had been paying attention, I might’ve ducked behind the dumpster and Joel would’ve kept going. I’d have been saved from the pain and scars, but then I wouldn’t have my story.
Joel was sixteen and puberty had not been kind to him. He was big in the belly and had bad skin. Because Mother Nature was not being kind to Joel, Joel felt it was his duty to pass that on to everyone else. He let his bike drop. “Hey there shithead,” he said. Scared as I was, I had to choke back a laugh. Joel’s voice was changing and every now and then it sounded like it was squeezed through a blade of grass. “So this is why I hardly see you. You’re sneaking around.” Joel started to walk towards me, “what do you do back here? Jerk off?” When he said that he put his hand down by his crotch and moved it back and forth, “uh uh uh”. A laugh snorted out. This isn’t my first run in with Joe, but I’ve managed to avoid him for awhile. Now I see that he’s missed me. Joel’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Positively over the moon, thinking about the beatdown he’s going to give me.
So I’m standing there. I’ve a twenty in my pocket for ma’s meds. I can’t let him have that. Maybe he’ll just kick my ass and not go through my pockets. “I asked you a question fucko. What are you doing here?” Another step. Shit. I manage to get out, “going to the shop to get medicine for my mom” I tried to steel my voice to not sound scared, but I was. A smile broke out over Joe’s pock ridden face. It must hurt him to smile. Maybe that’s why he’s so pissy. “Medi-i-cinnnnn” he stretched it out into a whine. “Gimmie a break. Your mom’s a lush. Is her docs name Jack? Pathetic. Nope. No medicine today.” My hand tightened around the bandana in my pocket. Not only did I not want him to get the money, I wasn’t going to let him see it in the hanky. Mom kept doing that, like I’m still a little kid or something. “She does need it.” I said, “and I’m going to get it for her.” Joe took a step closer to me. No longer grinning. “Buying her booze isn’t going to help her. It’s only going to hurt you.” He cracked his knuckles in both hands. Another step. His fists are clenched. “The store knows I’m coming.” I kept talking. I took a step back and looked around. No matter what I did, he would catch me and I’d get a beating. I slid my right foot back and felt it bump something. I looked down and saw Sir Thomas at my feet. Purring and looking up at me with those yellow cat eyes. Gimmie a break about the name all right? I was into Thomas the Train at the time I named him. “Aw cute. Your pussy came to help you out. Maybe to help you rub one out.” Joel was cracking himself up. Thomas purred again. I looked down and gave him a weak smile. “It’s all right buddy. Go on. Get outta here.” I gave him a tiny nudge with my foot. “Yeah scram before I decide to break your scrawny neck.” Joel was leering at Thom. That was the last thing I wanted. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if Joel hurt the cats because of me. Thom walked away slowly, stopping to give Joel a hard stare before disappearing into the woods. Now, you’re thinking up til this point it’s all pretty normal kid stuff. Right? I swear to you. That cat was staring Joel down. Joel didn’t notice, but I did. Once Thom was in the woods I relaxed a bit until I turned back to Joel and his shit eating grin. “Now”, Joel squared his shoulders. “Don’t give in too easy. I want to enjoy this.” Joel rushed me and I stumbled backwards falling on my side. When Joel fell on me, I went sliding across the asphalt. Pretty much Joel riding me like a sled. When we stopped, Joel grabbed both my ears and banged my head on the ground. The world grayed out for a moment and when I saw the light again, stupid me tried picking my head up. It got slammed back into the ground when Joel’s fist made contact with my nose. A groan escaped my lips as I felt my nose move in an unusual way. “I knew you were a little perv.” This time Joe punched me in the side. The pain was intense and I felt a warm, wetness spread over my pants. “What the fuck!” Joe yelled, he jumped off me and started kicking. “You better not have gotten any of your piss on me. Are you not freakin potty trained?” I rolled to my side and Joel kicked me in the ass. I kept my eyes closed and tried to make as little noise as possible. Hoping he would get bored if I didn’t react. He kicked me hard in the shoulder and my face scraped the ground, raising a new fresh hell from my nose. Just when I was ready to let go and let the darkness take over I thought I heard something. Joel must’ve heard it too, because the beatings stopped for about a second. Then he stomped on my shin. The noise came again. This time I could tell it was a growl. It was louder. I opened my eyes. Thom was back. He nudged my head with his and licked my sweaty hair off my face. “Stupid cat. Take a hike.” Joel said and bent down as if to grab Thom. I tried with all my might to sit up and protect the cat. Thom didn’t even move. As soon as Joel bent over he let out this inhuman scream. Joel started spinning wildly, trying to grab something that was on his back. He finally got it and a black cat went flying across the lot. He landed on his feet and started right back at Joel. Three more cats were on Joel and more attacking every second. Cats were coming from everywhere. Taking any piece of Joel they could get. The screams from the cats and Joel were like something out of one of those horror movies they show Saturday nights on TV. It was insane and louder than anything I’ve ever heard. I closed my eyes tightly. As bad as Joe was, this was hard to watch. A piece of what I believe to be his scalp landed on the ground by my hand. His clothes were in ribbons and streaked with red. Everywhere there seemed to be pieces of skin hanging off him. He was mangled.
The cries had changed to loud moans and whimpers. I opened my eyes to see Joel stumbling off. Weakly kicking at any remaining attackers. Finally he was out of sight. Some of the cats were sitting and cleaning themselves or each other. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t know what to think. I was in too much pain. Not sure how much time passed before I finally tried to sit up. I sat there with my eyes closed. Finally I was able to open my eyes and slowly move about. The cats had formed a large circle around me. Thom was sitting next to me. He nudged my hand, as if to ask how I was. I scratched him behind the ears. “I sure owe you guys, don’t I?” The cats stuck around in that circle as I painfully picked myself up and started to walk. When I got to the path that cut through the woods, I turned around. All the cats had gone except Thom. I raised my hand to him and he turned and walked away. I started through the woods. I had to get ma’s meds and get home.
So that’s it. Teacher was right, I feel better writing it out. You can believe it or not. I know what happened.

I’m back, baby

I’ve been gone feels like forever.  Been writing, just not for the public eye.  But I think I’m back.  Part of making myself healthier is giving myself goals and forcing me to complete them.  It’s not as bad as it sounds.  I just need that extra push.  Otherwise I think way too much about stuff I can’t control and that drags me down into a pit that’s full of, well; shit.  So! I’ll be writing more.  Glad to be back.  I might even try for readers and interact.  Yikes!!!!

 

Peace