Then Again

"Rachel," he whispered.  She hadn't heard him. "Rachel," he whispered again.  This time she cocked her elegant head to the right, confused.  She'd heard him, and the millions of times before that, but never before had the voice been so loud.  Rachel had found she could almost tune out the echo, but now it was something more.  Instead of the echo, it was the voice itself.  And it was saying her name.  The elevator doors had just closed and she was alone.  Or almost.  She could have been afraid of the voice; intimidated, but she wasn't.  This was mainly because the voice was not entering her ears, but her body; her soul.  It did not only whisper, it sung, shouted, exclaimed, loved and cried.  The whisper was not something a human could make.  The manners her mother had taught her had not yet all escaped, and she felt the need to respond to whatever was calling her name.
"What?" she almost mouthed, hoping there were no cameras in the elevator to catch her talking to what she was sure could only be her own insane mind.  Had the drugs really messed her up that much?  They couldn't make her insane could they?  Besides, she wasn't high now.
"Don't do this," the voice said.  Knowing the answer, she asked the question.
"Do what?"  But the voice was gone, and with it, it's presence.  She had felt it go, like a thickness in the air escaping through some giant unseen door.  She then felt the elevator slow, pass its doorstop and come rushing back up a few inches.  The door pinged open to reveal a few impatient faces and a crowded mall.  Rachel found it impossible to move.  It felt as though every ligament, bone and muscle had been super glued tightly together, and then her shoes to the floor.  The blank face she'd perfected years ago was displayed to the impatience of a busy society.  No one took the time to notice her stare was too blank.  A person who can show no emotion-whether in their face or their action- is not someone to mess with.  Several people got on and a tall man was accidentally shoved into her.  At the jolt she suddenly  had the impulse to run.  She had to get out of there or she would suffocate, the air itself was refusing to enter her lungs, she was immediately claustrophobic.

When she was five, her apartment building had caught fire.  Or rather, she had set the fire.  Her parents were at a Christmas party, her babysitter asleep.  The fireplace had crackled in rage and she was cold.  She'd seen her parents stoke the fire many times.  Tiptoeing past the snoring teenager, she'd reached her small bony hand out to open the grate.  It squeaked a little and she'd paused, then continued as the snores loudly escaped an almost shut mouth.  After the grate had been opened, it was easy.  She'd almost skipped over to the large, looming bookshelf as she went about gathering the fuel for the heat she needed.  She was sure the sleeping babysitter was cold too. Rachel grabbed a few small paperback novels and tossed them in the fire.  It grew, but not enough.  A few more books were hurled on, lighting slowly but burning quickly as the venomous flames eargerly lapped up the pages. Soon there were too many for the grate and they toppled out of their brick cage, igniting anything near them.  The flames climbed up the wall, erupting passionate delight.  In just five minutes she was almost surrounded, the fire alarm had gone off long ago and she could already hear the sirens of those who would save her.   She heard the shouts of firemen looking for anyone still in the building.  Her thoughts were clouding over as she stared in terror at the flames that engulfed the couch where her babysitter had been.  Her ears longed to shut out the screams of pain, pain that had been her doing. 
"I'm sorry," she'd managed to squeeze out of her tiny burning lungs as strong arms picked her up.  The fire had completely annihilated four apartments and killed two people; one was her babysitter.

Rachel tore out of the elevator and instantly forgot why she'd been afraid.  Cautiously she glanced back into the room she'd fled and saw the flustered faces looking back.  Without a word of explanation, she turned and walked towards her tower of refuge.  The clock in the middle of the mall overlooked almost all the stores, with the exception of two banks and a dollar store.  Christmas shoppers were everywhere, haggling, shouting, grumbling and fighting.  Rachel figured true Christmas spirit had never been in a mall, and never would.  Half these people didn't even know what the holiday was, other than a lot of work.  They have to shop, bake, clean and decorate for the one day in which they almost but don't tolerate their extended families and recieve gifts they loathe but outwardly smile over.  The patterned blue bag her grandmother had given her in grade nine hung awkwardly over her shoulder, her palms were sweaty, her mind uneasy.  The hard metal lump in her bag was disguised well, and as she felt it brush against her leg she wondered if the voice had been real.  Was she not supposed to do this?  They had told her she must, for her drugs, for her protection, but now she wasn't so sure.  These people may not have experienced what she had, or felt the emotions and pain she had felt, but they had lives too.  The unknowns walking briskly around her had hopes, dreams and experienced pain just like she did.  To the world, her face remained vacant, her footsteps sure, her path marked. Dodging people and carts and loose chidren she strolled over to the tower.  Sitting on a bench in front sat a haggard looking young lady.  She seemed as if she'd been in a hurry, then got interrupted by a call that changed her entire week.  In her hand she held a single rose that had not yet bloomed.  Her face displayed uncertainty and her heeled foot hopped every now and then.  Rachel was almost past her when the lady suddenly glanced in her direction and then vaulted off the bench with a smile that exclaimed relief.
"I thought I was too late!" she said excitedly as she reached Rachel's side.  Rachel sized her up.  If this woman thought she was going to stop her, she would quickly never be able to walk again.  Suddenly Rachel's face exploded with surprise.  The strange nameless woman had thrown her arms around Rachel's short, thin body.  She was hugging her.  Rachel's instincts told her to pull back, to fight, that this woman was dangerous.  No one hugs a stranger with such confidence!  But she didn't.  She stood there allowing herself to be hugged, not thinking to hug back.

Two years ago she'd been sitting in a swing, silently moving back and forth.  When she got sick of the continuous rythm, she changed to a pendulum movement, sliding from side to side.  It was late and dark out, about the time no one but drug dealers and drunks were on a playground.  She was neither on drugs nor drunk at that moment, rather, she was crying.  The air was freezing and the tears that should have been warm felt more like ice cubes slipping over her bruised face.  Soon she would hear the booming sound of her drunk boyfriend's screams.
"Where are you bitch?"  he would yell as he drove around the block, honking his horn, squealing the tires.  Early in the relationship he had been wonderful, with only a few minor faults.  He'd want her to spend time with him instead of her girlfriends, because he missed her.  He'd call her more than once a night with nothing really to say.  Soon it got worse and Rachel began to regret saying yes to that first movie.  He had many friends, but she wasn't to have any he didn't know.  Soon his friends became her acquaintances and her friends became extinct.  He would drag her everywhere with him and she had no choice in what they did.  He even picked the movies they saw.  After that they began to fight.  Actually, he would pick fights, and he didn't pick any he knew he couldn't win.  Things that went wrong were soon her fault and he'd verbally tear her down.  He drank a lot more and one night he hit her.  Rachel had been shocked, threatening to dump him.  This hadn't gone over well; he threatened suicide and murder and she nursed a black eye for being so bold.  Too drained to move anymore, she stobbed the swing.  As she stared at the ground, two pairs of heels appeared.  Both dirty with mismatched nailpolished toes sticking out.  She strained to lift her head.  The faces she saw were heavily makeupped but kind and she instantly felt a link between them and herself.  They looked sadly on her beaten face and when they started moving she went with them.  They half carried, half supported her to a car on the other side of the street.  The man driving never turned to face her and she was glad he hadn't, or she would have turned and run.   In exchange for protection from her boyfriend, she was to complete some projects for their gang.  Really, she didn't have a choice.  At first they were small and only slightly illegal but lately they'd been getting more and more dangerous.  The driver had promised this task would be her last and then she would be free, but she knew it wasn't that easy. She knew why this was her last.

The anonymous lady let go of Rachel and handed her the rose.
"Here," she announced.  "A beautiful rose for a beautiful girl."  Rachel stifled a gasp that could have been a laugh.
"You've got the wrong girl," she stated matter-of-factly.
"No, you're her.  God told me."  With that she wished Rachel a treasured Christmas, offered a God Bless and disappeared into the crowd.  Dumbfounded, Rachel was once again superglued to the mall floor, only this time her face was astonished instead of blank.  Turning quickly to complete her task she found she couldn't. Watching the river of humanity glide through the mall halls she acknowledged that she couldn't take what didn't belong to her.   No, she wouldn't.  The church that had seemed to alienate her earlier now seemed to beckon like the only warm place on the North pole and with only a small amount of regret, she turned.  The walk out of the mall went quickly and the demons that had assaulted her mind were losing their grip.  The presence from the elevator was back and it engulfed her with an intimacy better than any she had ever or never felt.  Her face was calm as she passed the unaware people.  Once out of the mall she detoured a little from her path to the church to find a garbage bin. Rachel shuddered as she dropped her shoulder bag into the bin and the gun clanked as it hit the bottom.  The task they'd asked her to do was going uncomplete and for once, she didn't care.  The Christmas shoppers continued shopping, unaware that for many of them, that day would have been their last.  Rachel turned once again towards the church and almost shouted as a feeling of freedom enveloped her.  She bounded up the steps, ripped open the doors and marched into the pastor's office.  The conversations that followed changed her life, and many others as she shared her story.  She was Rachel, and she was free.

She Went Too Far

Lying on the slippery pavement

The girl struggles to sit.

Relief and worry fight for control

On the faces of the bystanders.

The man in the truck hops down,

Takes a step toward her mangled body.

But this is as close as he gets as horror grips his eyes.

Maggots are crawling in her mouth,

Falling out past bloody lips.

She struggles to explain

But the people are all running.

She is alone, as she was before.

Oh well.

The girl stands, brushes the worms off

And walks down the street.

Entering her favorite cafe,

She fingers a bun.

Instantly the pastry ignites and is gone.

No food may reach her lips.

Sighing, the girl walks to the bridge.

Knowing it won't help, she jumps.

The impact shatters her bones,

The cold water welcomes her limp body.

Opening her eyes she awakens,

And halfheartedly pulls her dead body to the shore.

Here Comes Santa Claus

The wretchedness of those fat, red suspenders was unbearable,
The despicable fake white fur gleamed in the red Christmas tree lights.
The red coat was pitifully stretched,
The pants were tragic, to say the least.
The unfortunate black boots clonked heavily as he walked,
Leaving sooty footprints from the fireplace on the recently swiffered hardwood floor.
The contemptible wide black belt was one notch too short,
All sorts of unknown food lingered in the nauseating white beard.
His blue eyes neither sparkled nor glittered,
His smile was not kind or handsome.
His hair had not been combed or cut in awhile,
The hat was too small for the monstrously grotesque head.
The grungy bag slung casually over the shoulder boasted holes and snags,
The presents laid out were not properly wrapped.
One cookie was shoved into a carnivorous mouth,
The rest were thrust into the grunge bag.
The eggnong was slugged too quickly,
Then tossed to spill it's remains on the floor.
Here comes Santa Claus.

Hear This Tree, This Plea

I supply the air you breathe;

Without me you would perish.

Your betrayal cuts me deep,

My love you should cherish.

You slash off parts of me

With hardly any thought.

This murder shows only profit,

But my life you have not bought.

When the heat bears down,

I offer the shade you crave.

No thanks do I recieve,

For I am but a slave.

I helped you provide,

Helped prove you're a man.

Then you asked for more,

And thus it began.

If I could speak the language

That you would understand,

I would warn you sir,

Your ego is too grand.

I am taken for granted,

You do not seem to notice.

Soon, I'll have nothing left to give,

Then this will be named: injustice.

I hope when I'm gone,

And there're no air left,

You die a slow and painful death,

Regretting the life you bereft.

Observations of a Cafe Wallflower

--She stopped outside the cafe and turned to look in the windows.  Shifting her water bottle to her elbow, she crossed her arms against the chilly night breeze.  He hadn't seen her yet; he was rather preoccupied with spicing his drink.  His fingers danced a few inches above each shaker as he sought the one that would taste the best in his white chocolate mocha.  Her mouth curved a little as she brought the burning cigarette to her lips.  Blowing smoke, she kept her eyes on him alone; content to simply watch.  He finally chose the vanilla container and shook a little of the white powder onto the top of his foamy drink before replacing the lid.  Turning to go, he saw her watching him and his goateed face smiled.  She almost laughed, and took a step away from the window to greet him as he came out the door.  They walked down the sidewalk together then, she dropping her burnt cigarette to the ground while he pulled a new one from behind his ear.

--They sat together at the table in the corner.  He sat sideways as his girth would not allow him to face her.  She didn't appear to mind.  They never talked; in fact, they rarely even looked at each other.  Both simply sat, quietly cradling their warm drinks in their hands.  The man glanced longingly at the velvet green seats across the room.  How much more comfortable he would be if he sat there!  The girls currently occupying the chairs were, however, oblivious to his longing, and they continued to sit in the coveted chairs.  He tried to drink his coffee slower than they were, in hopes that they would leave before he did.  This was a futile attempt though, as the girls were preoccupied with their textbooks and weren't paying much attention to their drinks at all.  He, on the other hand, had only his drink to occupy his mind.  Glancing at the woman across from him, he could not even manage a smile as their eyes met.  Time passed slowly as they downed their drinks and eventually the woman stood, indicating her own longing to leave.  Looking at the chairs almost mournfully, as if he'd never have another chance to sit in a comfortable chair again, he sighed and stood to follow her.

--She peered distrustfully into the oddly green drink.  She'd had green tea before, in fact, she loved it.  This however, was definitely not the color green tea was supposed to be.  It was also neither the smell nor, as she cautiously sipped, the taste of normal green tea.  Could it be because it was a latte?  Grimacing, she regretted the five dollars she'd paid for it.  Setting it down, she reached for her friend's cup.  The mocha should cleanse the horrid taste from her mouth.  After realizing she couldn't simply just drink all of her friend's coffee, she returned to her own cup.  She had never believed in wasting and, no matter how bad it tasted, she was determined to finish it.  As they talked and sipped, she gradually noticed that it didn't taste so bad anymore.  Perhaps it wasn't such a bad drink after all, even if it wasn't related by anything but name to green tea.

--The EMS men walked in with a business-like air of authority.  Their uniforms proclaimed their status to all in the cafe.  They needed the caffeine as they started their night shift and hell, why not get the best caffeinated drink there is?  Both had shaved heads and one was married, or at least his left hand proclaimed marriage.  This one waited at the pick up counter while playing with the paper bag encasing some bakery delight.  The other stood at the spicing counter, presumable stirring in some tasty powder.  He turned to say hello to a young boy in a blazing yellow shirt.  Obviously not dressed to sit and chat, they took their orders and left, carrying out with them the air of something undecipherable that they themselves had brought in.

--He had fifteen minutes of break and the choice of any drink he wanted.  He didn't even have to make it himself.  Stepping up to the pick up counter, he plucked his double chocolate chip frappachino from his co-worker's hand and took a step towards the door.  He had no one waiting for him outside, no visible person to hang with as he counted down the minutes of his break.  He stepped into the darkness and vanished.  Life went on withouth him and when he appeared again in the doorway exactly fourteen minutes and forty-three seconds later, hardly anyone noticed.  Except maybe a cafe wallflower.  He slid back behind the counter and slipped the drive-through headphones  over his head, instantly taking orders as if he had never left.

--The man spread the newspaper out across the table.  His friend had brought a book and didn't really need that much table space.  He'd only ordered water and was glancing at the warm drink his friend had bought.  The friend who was currently in the washroom.  Reaching for the tempting drink, he kept his eyes on the far away bathroom door.  Taking a small sip, he quickly set the cup back.  Oh, what the hell, why not one more?  He didn't think his friend would notice that little bit gone.  This friend was either taking an unusually long time or his own nervous imagination was playing tricks on him.  After stealing another gulp, he becames worried that he wad swallowed too much.  He swiftly poured a little of his water into the steaming cup.  Attempting not to appear guilty, he reuturned to the newspaper before him.

--She waltzed into the cafe, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. He looked up and, upon seeing her, smiled.  This was who he'd been waiting the last hour for. The one whom, as he awaited her call, had distracted him from his newspaper.  They said hello as if strangers but moved without hesitation into a long hug, whispering into each other's ears as they embraced.  She stood on tiptoe, even though she was wearing heels. Their hug was long, almost consolatory and they slowly untangled their clinging arms.  She slipped out of her sheos as she sat down, curling in her chair with her back against the wall.  He offered her the remnants of his drink and quickly moved his books from in front of her.  No, he assured, he hadn't waited long.

Did anyone notice me?  Did anyone see as I closed my journal and pocketed my pen, that I had recorded a few minutes of their life?  When I move to leave, all that is noticed is that the velvet green chair is now empty, and it is quickly filled.  I was never here.  There isn't proof.  I am a wallflower.

Train Bridge.

She heard him approach; his footsteps resonant on the wooden planks. They slowed, stopped before they met her and in that action revealed identity. She didn't need to turn and look, her personal bubble was clear and unchallenged. Her breath circled above her in a white cloud, dancing like the northern lights. The night air had numbed her small nose and her eyelashes dripped. The sound of rain hitting the water below, the bridge, his leather jacket, it all moved together to create one melodic, mellow sound. The river looked so dark, so far below, so consuming. She stared at it to keep from looking at him. He was watching her, calculating and she felt it. She wanted to tell him to stop and her fingers fidgeted in her pockets as she struggled to stay quiet. She wasn't ready to go yet.

Stepping forward she leaned her chest on the wet railing and looked down. She looked as if searching for something. Anything. He made no move, no sound, barely breathed, and that made her nervous. The events of the evening pushed their way to the forefront of her thoughts. It hadn't gone the way she'd thought; the way she'd planned. There had been so much yelling, so many things uttered that neither of them meant. He'd pushed too far though, with an arrow both barbed and poisonous. Thunder like an angry monster grumbled above their heads, startling her, but he didn't move.

She turned her head a little to find him focused behind her. It was then that she acknowledged the irregular gait, already close, and as she swung her head toward the sound he moved swiftly, protectively beside her. This agitated and relieved her as the other man approached, an orange glow attached to a tall figure. The man took a heavy drag and blew it out in her face while swaggering quickly past. Coughing once, she raised a hand to push the lingering smoke away and then grab his sleeve as he jumped aggressively toward the retreating form. He paused, turning dolefully to face her lowering eyes. She focused on his shoes as she dropped her hand, but before she could slip it back into her warm pocket he had enclosed it in both of his.

He warmed her frozen hand and then, reluctantly, let it jerkily withdraw into folded arms. Glancing around him she could still see a small orange glimmer that shone every few seconds. As she tried so hard not to look at him, tears forced their way out, and she was thankful for the mask of rain. When he spoke it seemed so out of place; she had taken refuge in the silence.

"I'm sorry," he said gruffly. Sincerely. She knew his eyes searched for hers but she refused him, purposely targeting everything else. They took turns sniffling because of the temperature until he sighed heavily and finally moved. She stiffened in the expected advance but it didn't come. He walked away from her and she panicked a little as she watched him go. His wet hair was plastered to his head, his jacket visibly soaked and his hands stuffed deep in his jean pockets.

He took long, slow strides, resigned almost. Her body relaxed as her hands lowered to her sides. She glanced at the body of water on her left before taking a step. Two, three, and then she was chasing. He never slowed, simply slid to the right so there was room for her on the narrow boardwalk. She trailed nervously behind him before moving to his side. He almost towered above her and she felt safe. Linking her arm through his she shivered from the cold and as they subconsciously matched strides, he knew he was forgiven. The full moon shone above, secluded by the thick, grey clouds that drip, drip, dripped.

poverty

ashes to ashes
dust to dust,
even the rats
eventually leave us.
for a better place,
or maybe it's worse,
but what other world
has ever been so cursed
by humanity,
by insanity,
by the outcome
of destruction
of almost every family.
there's no place to walk
with feet left bare,
for every rock's covered
in the broken glass of despair,
of shattered affair,
of the result of seeing
and being
trained
not to care.