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Amy’s Miracle

Amy’s Miracle

She loved him. She knew it was foolish, since he didn’t truly love her. She had loved both of them for so long. They were different. Completely unlike any two people she’d ever met. And this was why she loved them.

She herself is far too ordinary. Others may have commented on how her beauty, but they would call just about anything beautiful. To her, it was a hollow word. As a girl, she had once cavorted in a mound of fertilizer because she had believed that it would magically expedite her growth much like that of plants; for which a farmer relative of hers had named it “miraculous”. It wasn’t until afterward that she had realized that the word “fertilizer” was actually synonymous with “horse shit.” From this day, Amy never trusted anything anyone ever said. If a pile of animal feces could be a called a “miracle,” then the word “beautiful” can also be a euphemism for ugliness.

She had the misfortune of living in a city of lies. She had been born here and could see no means of her own to leave. Yet, they had been born elsewhere, in the outside world! Together they may conceive of a way to escape.

 She had failed in her attempt to “persuade” his brother to take her. Take her from here. She had approached him once, just after midnight.

She knew what others would only guess: he prowls at night. She could never remember seeing him during the day. She couldn’t quite say that if she had seen him, that she would have been capable of recognizing him because she never had the chance to see much of his face.

Yet, because of the fact that he was even out at all during the night was indication enough of who he was. She was also sure — were it someone else — then they would not have left their home without the aid of lantern.

She had snuck out of her house wearing only a flimsy nightgown and had carried no light. Even though it was cold out, the nightgown was drenched in a sweat of anticipation so that it clung to her uncomfortably.

She decided to take it off and as she pulled it over her head, she smelled him even before she had heard the ghostly flap of that cape he wore.

At first, she had been afraid of that sound. It reminded her of window that had been left open at night; a window through which the wind might blow and rustle a curtain. A window through which something else far more sinister might crawl through…

Yet, she had not run because her first sign of his passage had not been that sound, it had been his smell.

It was the fact that he actually smelled, really. She was sure that he bathed; yet the smell which had wafted through her nostrils and electrified her brain with excitement had not been a smell which a body could naturally produce.

What she had smelled was most assuredly blood. She finally extricated herself from the sodden garment and had carelessly rolled it up into a ball and threw it behind her into the bushes where it would stay forever for all she cared.

When she was rid of it, her last shreds of modestly and the fear which it produced was gone. She at first held her arms across her breasts for a moment, and then let them fall seductively to her sides with her hands on her hips. She was ready.

Circus Barker.

The fat man was shouting/ laughing/ singing in a boastful voice that was loud enough to be heard but at the same time pleasant to listen to. He was having a dialogue with a rather large woman in red dress who held a baby wrapped in blue (that signified it was a boy) and was an old woman, presumably her mother. “Come one, come all,” chanted the fat man on the podium, shaking his cane in the air heartily. “Come see our shows and have the time of your lives while this wonderful circus still thrives. Because, if you don’t you’ll be outta luck and your friends’ll call you a big, dumb cluck!”

“Where can we see all of these marvelous things you have promised to show us, My Good Man?” asked the woman in red, jostling her baby back and forth in her cradled arms as it laughed and gurgled happily. She didn’t appear to be putting much stock in what the man said.

 

            “Why, madam, to answer your question would be very simple. Now, if you would please loosen the knot in your wimple, that is making you so hard of hearing, step right into the line and all will be fine! And, for goodness gracious, do not sing, if you’d please; for, as the old saying goes, in doing so, you would bring on the end of our Grand Show!” he replied.

 

            “What?” asked the woman in red, not understanding the last part of the man’s speech A man in the crowd, considerably far away from where she was standing, clapped his hands to either side of his mouth and yelled, “What he means is: `It ain’t over until the fat lady sings,’ you old cow! If you were to sing, they’d have to cancel their show because that’s what tradition says they should

do!” She ignored that.

 

            “Well, is it as good as sermon in church?” asked the old woman while her daughter looked back and forth through the crowd to see if she could spot whoever insulted her.

 

            “Why, madam, it would be a sin to say thus, but so you will not fuss, I’ll say this: while it may not be as enriching for the soul as that most hallowed hall, the things that you can do here you won’t forget (without regret); things that your pastor will not like at all!” he punned. At this many people, including the woman in red and her mother, laughed at and most of them stepped foot in the line while the fat man turned his attention gravely to Athens and Bleach as they pulled over alongside of him (in their car).

Mara Draft

A poor man once said he’d dig out a mountain of gold with “sheer willpower.” In later years, the quote was replaced with “the barber’s wife’s welfare.” Some things were best said in their original times rather than later on.

Living in a Factory Town, it was common to either say “my dad worked at the factory” or “my mom was on welfare.” It would sound weird if you mom worked because nobody really knew for sure the factory employed women. And if your dad was on welfare “he’d be best esplainin’ himself” would be the common punchline. The uncommon one being he was “a King amongst Queens.”

At the factory, they made many things but cans of ham “were worth five box tops.” Nobody understood why. “Box Tops” were a sort of currency of the children. Your mom would buy you cereal and then she’d tear off the top of the cereal box to get a toy in the mail. The number you sent in was like a grade of quality for the toy you got.

Of course the top of can was common enough. Even a large can top like one in which meat came in was common as well and as such wasn’t worth sending to the Box Top Company. “So why is it potentially worth five box tops?” one could ask. “Because give one more and that’s six which is the same as sex.”

Nobody said Factory Town jokes had to be funny.

“I wrote that. My name is Mara. Mara the Sorrowful. Promise me you like my stories and I’ll tell you another good one. Tease me or pull my hair and my daddy will sue your daddy. Don’t ask me why your mom’s first name is a verb, either.”

Mermaid Encounter

A curtain was lifted, revealing mock-up of a beach, with the horizon painted flatly onto a back drop. An actor who wore a sailor’s outfit came on-stage from the left and he carried a large umbrella. He unfurled it and stuck the end of it into the sand. He sat beneath the umbrella and then laid himself down for a nap. As he slept, a woman’s head popped up from behind some rocks off to the edge of the shore. She had long, blond hair and a beautiful face with blue eyes. Her head disappeared beneath the rocks and reappeared a few feet closer to where the sailor slept. She laughed.

 

     When she was just parallel of him, she raised herself up so that her body, from the waist up, was visible. Bleach was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing any clothes at all and began to blush. Her hair, even though it was wet, hung loosely down her shoulders and away from her face in way which lead one to believe that it were perfectly dry. From what Bleach could see of her, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She reminded him of the way Amy had looked so long ago. Her eyes, although a different color than those of the elven woman’s, they had the same intelligence about them. She smiled with full lips and perfectly white teeth which gleamed slightly in the light. She dove below and a fish tail came up and splashed some water into the sailor’s

 

     He awoke with a start and looked all around to see who had disturbed his sleep. The woman appeared once more, this time at the edge of the rocks. She smiled and beckoned to him before diving below. He stood up fast, knocking the umbrella over in his haste. He flung his shirt and shoes off as he ran toward the rocks. Reaching the end, he dove in after her.

 

     A minute later, he surfaced and splashed about, searching for her with alarm. One of her hands broke the surface about ten feet away from him. The hand waved, then went below once more. He swam to where she had been. After looking about to no avail, he dived underwater to see if he could find her. He surfaced in the same spot, gulped up a mouthful of air, then went below again. When he surfaced for a second time, he began to gasp, already starting to get exhausted.

 

     A single, enchanting note of a siren’s caught in the air and he spun about to see her lying face down on a smooth rock near the beach. She waved to him extravagantly and her bosoms swayed and glistened wetly in the light.  He swam along the surface in a rough, torturous stroke which disturbed the water a great deal. Just before he could reach her, she disappeared behind the rock and he could only see a ripple in the water which marked her passage.

     He stood, dripping wet, wearing only a pair sodden pants which clung to his legs. The pockets were full of water and bulged out at his sides. He clasped his hands to his lips and called for her. She then reappeared, far out in the bay. She laughed and waved again. This time she sang a full verse of her song, which was a wordless jungle of sounds which were pleasant to the ear. He dived back into the water and began to swim toward her at a feverish pace as soon as he hit the surface. Once again, just before he reached her, she disappeared. He stopped right in his tracks and moaned with all of the sorrow in his heart. Just then, she shot out of the water and flew up and over his head in wide arc, almost five feet up and three to the side.

     For the first time, her entire body was revealed. From the waist up, she was a beautiful woman, yet, instead of legs, she had a fish’s tail with emerald-colored scales like the plates in a knights armor and a fin on the end. She even had a short dorsal fin growing out of her back. Surprised, the hapless sailor reached for her, yet her body passed right past his groping hands. After she went under, the mermaid rose up right next to the sailor and they embraced. She kissed him, her breasts crushed against his broad chest. She undid his pants and they made love in the sea.

They flopped around and around on their sides in the water like a cap-sized in a bizarre flurry of naked flesh. Still kissing, they sunk beneath the surface. The surface of the water was disrupted with many bubbles.

     Almost five minutes later, the mermaid swam to the beach and dragged the naked body of the drowned sailor onto the sand. She kissed his cold, blue lips once more and dove underwater. The curtain fell. The air was permeated in exhalation by all of the menfolk present, sighs in regret to no longer be capable of seeing this human oddity, as well as in relief in having not taken the place of her unfortunate victim. In deed, many amongst them were sailors themselves, all the more seduced by her wily charms than less hardier souls.

New book, part of the “sequel material.”

laterDNC

Dove & Crow Story Deepens

This book was an attempt to condense the plot of the story down to a few “essential” beats as 77 pages rather than the telling the complete story. Ideally for a film adaption but writing in scrip format for a whole project isn’t my greatest strength.

The rest of the story can be read in the paperback format in “Michael Courtney Woodard’s Big Book of Spirituality & Fiction.”

 

Today is Special, beginnings revised. SPOILERS.

The grass dances in the warm breeze in celebration, back lit by the waning light the sun.

Today is special.

Two young boys had been walking and planned to continue to do so until dusk. One is dressed in black with a black cape while the other is in white with a rainbow cape of many colors. The boy in black raises a hand to the air and points with a smile at something in the distance as it happens.

The boy in white sees it as well. He frowns deeply.

High above them in the sky an eagle is flying. A smaller bird, a dove, flies too near the eagle which shrieks before snatching at the dove and carrying it off.

Reminds me of you,” says the boy in black. He takes a quick jump and begins to hover along the ground at great speed. “Always putting your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

Not quite as gifted, the boy in white shouts “Aw, come on, Raven! You know I can’t use magic as well as you!” He begins to run.

Raven calls over his shoulder, “Drop the shrub, Bleach. Maybe you’ll run faster!”

Its a corniferferer!” shouts back Bleach. “I wanted us to plant it today… together.”

A coniferous tree blossom!” corrects Raven.

As the eagle took its meal, the boys watched from a distance then waited until it had finished. Then the eagle flew away, satiated. Raven laughs at something.

He laughs at something he sees ahead. “Oh, a crow arrived!”

In deed, a lone crow picks at the dying dove. It stands on the dove’s broken wing, pinning it down with its crude, reptilian feet. And thus after a long drought, the grasses’s thirst is quenched by the blood of a dove.

The crow openly rejoices at the meal, it had arrived to the carnage before the other scavengers; it had even beaten the flies that would have invaded such a prize.

The crow swallows a morsel, smiling in its own way to the dove’s shrieks of pain. “Thought you could soar with eagles, did you?” cajoles the crow. “Apparently old Thoragil didn’t agree, eh?” It caws in laughter.

Not yet dead, the dove makes a small sound like that of a crying child.

“Fly, stupid Dove. Fly away. To your worms and play that you so love,” says the crow as it is cawing in its crow-laughter. Then it pecks out an eye and swallows it whole.

The mischievous one tosses a stone, laughing as the crow laughs; in mockery. He usurps it’s mirth for mirth of his own. He is a boy that believes a smile is something to be stolen, not shared or given.

The stone travels its predictable course, striking the crow a mortal blow and ricochets so that falls at rest in front of his sibling’s feet. The throw is a marvel, calculated with cruel precision.

A third witness, their elder, suppresses a smile before his cracked lips manage to form it upon his face. Now is a time for discipline, not pride. A teacher doth not praise what he wishes to declaim. What remains of the crow looks rather like an ink spill.

The boy in white does not smile either, in fact a single tear shimmers its way down his cheek.

The weepy one stares at what brother had just killed. He stands slump-shouldered, as if carrying the burden of grief were it a physical weight upon his shoulders; a cross he has borne many times throughout his young life.

The wretched brother tosses the weepy one’s hair and stomps the crippled crow to death; grinding its bones into powder.

The kinder brother sighs. He gingerly lifts the bleeding husk of the once flighty dove into his arms and holds it against his chest.

His heart beats softly in his chest while the dove’s is stilled within its breast. He kisses it. His hands and shirt and lips are stained the same pink from the crimson of the dove’s blood.

He spits the small drops out with a grimace, ignoring his brother’s contemptuous requests for a sip. He breathes into the dove’s beak.

And then the dove is whole again, its small heart no longer still, wings no longer broken. It leaps into the vapors of its home from the deathly ground, pausing only to chime a tune of thanksgiving to its healer and it is gone from this tale.

Not for the first time, their elder is reminded of how dissimilar they are; as the saying goes, these two wards of his “are as different as night and day.”

Why did you do THAT?” asks Raven.

It seemed the right thing to do. I couldn’t let dove stay dead for some reason,” protests Bleach.

It is at this time that their elder decides to make his presence known. He’d followed them this morning as he follows them every morning they are together. Who knows what trouble they can get into?

He rides his pony closer up behind them, forming a centaur-shaped silhouette on the ground beneath their feet.

The boys turn to face the music.

Sam seeks support. SPOILERS.

Sam stood for a moment in the circle when it was his turn to talk. The facilitator motioned for him to sit. Sam shrugged and sat back down. “Sorry. I just got a little confused for a moment.”

The others laughed. Sam laughed with them. Before the faciltator could ask his question, Sam went on. “Last thursday, “Jane the Hooker” (as most of knew her) was murdered.”

There were a few gasps. Mark got angry. “Are you talking tonight or the badge?”

“Both of us are talking, Mark.” He grimaced. He glanced at the facilitator.

David was the guy’s name. David was facilitating tonight. “Please, it is Sam’s turn, Mark. No cross-talk.” Mark muttered something about shoving that badge up Sam’s ass. “Sam, please don’t take more than one turn. If you know how I mean.”

“I”m not here to be personal, David.” Sam caught himself from mentioning a fig leaf. This wasn’ t the same David. It was just a guy with the same name. Mark raised his hand. Sam pointed at him.

David acknoweledged Mark. “You can interject for a couple minutes, but keep in mind it it is Sam’s turn.”

Mark stood this time. “I hate it when the cop comes. It ruins the meetings!” A couple people nodded ascent. “I leave here paranoid for a couple days afteward each time.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Mark. Mark sat down again. Sam stood again and this time he was holding a poloraid up along with his small notebook. He handed the poloraid to David.

David glanced at it and passeed it to the person next to him. David

said, “Pass it around, everyone look at it.” He looked up at Sam. “Any other photos?”

“Not this time, David.” He cleared his throat. “The suspects are three detectives under my command who are under suspension.”

Mark was getting out of his chair and putting his coat on. Mark didn’t like the cold.

As he made his way out, Sam watched Mark walk to the coffee machine to fetch himself a cup.

Sam glanced at his notes for another minute. No one else stood. David was making a go-on gesture. “They also beat down “Stinky Silvio”… caved his skull in.” It was true that Jannels was also a member of the group. Sam in fact was Jannel’s sponsor.

Near the end of the cycle. SPOILERS.

“This happens all the time. We live about ten years then at some point I kill you. Then you are reverted back to the same childhood mentality. You never remember much of the years we had shared before the end comes.

“Amy wasn’t the first to die. Don’t you even remember the names of those who have died so you can play the victim and be accused at the same time?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am talking about TIME here. I control it. I control everything. I even can control you when I want to. I control everyone. I am that powerful.”

Laying on the floor, bleeding out, Sam complains. “This is insane.”

“What do you expect, Humperdink?” says one of the rogue cops.

Sam can’t decide which one it is because he has lost so much consciousness and also can’t be bothered to care any more. All the monsters seem to have the same faces and same names these days.


He never wanted power. He just wanted to help people…. be a smiling face behind the badge. Now he couldn’t even help himself.

The dying boy continued to speak to the glowing woman with the man’s voice. Sam just didn’t care any more.

“She lied about her age! She was really 19, but how could she ever know you were at least a hundred?”