Musical Musings 5/20/2016

Evening Musings: 

I’ve been staring out the window at night a lot, of late. The sky replete with her wondrous and vivid mysteries. Our clandestine meetings…. Playing coy with her shades, her colors,  muted, but breathtaking. Teasing. Beckoning. Speaking.  What will she tell me, tonight? 

The moon shouted my name across a cloud,  reaching me as a whisper,  saying things; haunting things; beautiful things. “What is music? “, I dared ask. It was the question on my mind. A star twinkled, and made a discernible sound- the voice of a small child’s glorious giggle, peeking around the seemingly vanished embers of the sun. 

“You tell me?” The voice searing lightly across  constellations had countered. I searched my cerebral Thesaurus. I needed intelligent, mystical verbiage for this conversation,  but nothing. “Come on! You’re smarter than this”, Crystal said to Cryss. I acquiesced, thinking, “maybe not”.  The thing I love, the thing I crave,  the thing that is…. I can’t find the words. The lexicon I’ve loved had failed me. 

A silent and melodic breeze played my vertical blinds like Brahms’ Lullaby. Lillith perched angrily by, a silenced Banshee, still stewing over the one she couldn’t get. The one covered in the Blood. 

It started in my chest.  A tickling,  as buzzing sensation. Working its way through every nerve,  every pore, every fiber; bone, cartilage,  sinew-  flowing like liquid joy.

You see, I was singing all along. We were singing a harmonious duet.  Ah, sky,  there’s your answer.  See you tomorrow night.

Vizionairee Jones-2016

Rain, With A Chance of Happy

The rain beckons me like a siren

One only I hear

Each drop a musical note

The showers a melody

Drench me in harmonies

Envelope me, blessed downpour

As I dance joyously, face toward the heavens

Soaking wet, simply happy
Vizionairee  2016

An Excerpt from The Shepherd Into Hell. Upcoming Horror Novel by Joseph Norris III

Excerpt from upcoming Novel,  

     The Shepherd Into Hell,

                 by Joseph Norris 

(A Collective Press Client-@CollPressCJ)

“The miasma of death filters from the car, along with the werewolf’s triumphant howl, warning and announcing the horrors yet to come.”

Check out his Facebook pages 

@The Shepherd Into Hell 

@Writetoscare on Facebook and Twitter

My Exquisite Pain

Daylight chased me, again

Caught me Juggling universes in my head,

So I put it upon the pillow to rest

It was sweet, and awful, and blameless, and contrary.

Red hot fire, and sun.

Candy coated relief, sweetness suckled.

What an illusion!

The chase continued, undeterred.

Goose down and feathered warmth

Provided no security from the psychic soldiers.

Planetary casualties, abound, and lying around, beseeched me.

Why won’t you fight for me?
The hairs on my neck singed,

I’d been caught, again. Hope for rain.

Who could have known

My universes were so vast, so quick to replicate?

Juggle, juggle, spin the plates.

Red hot fire, and sun.

I beckon you today, with whispered invitations that shout.

“How exquisite you are, my pain”.

I shall carry YOU for awhile

In all my beautiful agony, in all your effete arrogance .

I dance inside the raindrops, searing and cheering.

Daylight in my crosshairs.

Vizionairee

©2017

TheWriteContest.com 2017 Winner: Horror Genre

                

                                                    PEELERS 

       BY JULIET STAVELEY

 

She sat against the laundry basket in the bathroom, holding a piece of birthday cake. It was a good room, she thought – no windows, a sturdy lock on the door… the old-fashioned bolt kind. Nothing in, nothing out.

She tried to block out the unnerving gurgling sounds coming from the garden by focusing on her hands. Apart from the trembling, they felt normal. Maybe she’d got away with it? Maybe that was the gift from mama and papa: Her deformed DNA wrapped in shiny paper.

Her mind could not, or rather did not want to process the events of the last few days. Just days; that’s how quickly it had gone from Tatiana Orlova’s history lecture on Tuesday afternoon to, to this. She smiled faintly, remembering half-hearted notes about the Revolution and flirting with Leo; everything so beautifully bland and steady. And then the scream. A scream so loud it bounced off the corridor walls. They all ran out to see Erik Belinsky, recognisable only by his Gorillaz satchel, trying to… she forced the image away, down the plughole of the cracked sink. Keep it simple: cake, hands, patience. She would know soon for sure.

According to the newsfeed on her phone, special forces were continuing the shoot-on-sight policy; it was more humane than watching the ‘slow peel’. Yet the savage shadow had grown, stretching its merciless edges across the globe. Their own Ministry still didn’t have a clue. A nation of brilliant scientists, and all the remaining boffins could do was fumble about with petri dishes, failed antidotes and desperate measures. She had a theory though. And every way she looked at it, it made sense. She just needed to test it and social media the hell out of it.

But first, a better memory floated in. Her first time in hospital, fussed over, feeling special, bloodworks confirmed, epinephrine delivered, along with a Sony PSP from babushka. It was a good trade: a few minutes of swelling and deep panic for a lifetime of the Sims. Her reaction had been so severe that mama had obliterated the apartment before she came home, removed all possible suspects, scared that even one pernicious particle would set it off again. The cutting irony of that was not missed on her now.

Things settled down afterwards. Normal for the rest of the family at least, much to her brother Pavel’s delight. Mama had made two versions of everything, every day, even the birthday cake. Why had she never thanked her properly for that? For all those hours of love proved in the kitchen? Her shoulders slumped in a mix of self-disgust and sadness.

With nothing else left, she took a big bite of her cake. Strictly speaking, it was not her cake, it was the other one. Chocolate oozed around her tongue; wicked satin richness. She realised just how much she had missed the moistness of the real thing – her alternatives were similar to chewing on an old rug. She closed her eyes and savoured the dark and the dark.

The gurgling outside was replaced by a howl, far too soprano, like a wolf caught in a snare trap. Not long now until the sinew stage. Oh God. Tears splashed down onto the willow green tiles between toes and crumbs. She prayed it would be quick for Pavel. Prayed he would find papa’s rifle in the shed and still have the strength to use it. Or a chain saw, hammer, even a large rock.

The tears kept coming – vast waves of shock and grief crashing around her, filling in the gaps in the grouting, trickling down the shower walls. She cried for her family, for the two, soon to be four victims in her home, for the fact she hadn’t had sex with Leo, or with anyone, for all the things she would never do or be, for all the people she would never see again, for the twisted piles of glutinous, pulsing waste that used to be friends and strangers. She felt sick but she knew she had to finish. One bite at a time, between irregular, sobbing breaths.

The itching came quicker than she expected. Perhaps her disease speeded things up. She hoped that was the case. Deep down itching. Hot, red, impossibly tempting. It felt so good to scratch until the skin split. She knew she didn’t have long before the pain arrived, pain so intense she would rip at her eyes, pull the muscles off her face, peel her entire body with blunted nails to make it stop. She forced her now-bloody fingers to tap on the Twitter icon and typed quickly as her mind began to smudge. She was halfway through a Facebook post when the spasms hit.

In a different room, in a different country, a keyword alert gave a chirpy beep and flashed on screen. Another one had worked it out then. Not many but still, no point leaving it there in case there was ever any comeback. One of the chosen accessed the mainframe and brought the Tweet up, deleting it as he read:

THE EVIL IS IN THE GRAIN


©2017

Author Juliet Staveley has enjoyed a career as a print Journalist, in various magazines and newspapers. She has also conducted several Workshops for potential, and new Authors.

Stay-tuned for more from this exciting Author! Like, comment and share!

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Random Musings and Bronchitis

​Random Musings, while fighting annual Bronchitis.

Those of you who exercise, walk, run, swim, etc., understand when I say I’ve hit the wall. Perhaps it’s this fever, and the lack of O2 in my lungs, but I feel like my mental, and emotional gas tanks are empty.

Fortunately, I’ve been known to run on fumes. 

Swimming and Figure Skating, sometimes on the same day, holding down a weekday, and weekend job, and still going to school, acting, singing, etc. Work, grad school, two businesses, blah, blah, blah. FUMES!

I remember being on the BCC swim team, like it was yesterday. I SUCKED! (LOL-SORRY, GUYS) My AWESOME teammates NEVER let me feel that way. NOT ONCE. During a meet, they would yell, scream, and cheer me right into fourth place (if I was lucky), like I’d won the race. I was swimming on their energy. When I got out of the pool, I got hugs, high fives, etc. It made me wanna go harder, and faster. I wanted them to know IT MATTERED, that THEY MATTERED to me, too. Every once in a while, I’d look up in the bleachers, at practice, and see my Daddy (between jobs), had come to watch. He saw me come in third at the MSA’s, too. He picked me up and hugged me, afterward, saying, “that’s Daddy’s Baby!”. One of his MANY sacrifices.

My Mom was at every play, recital, PTA MEETING, etc. There used to be an outdoor ice rink in downtown Baltimore, at the BGE building, on Lexington and Liberty Streets. One night, my Mom and I were downtown, it had to be 32°, 25°, with the wind chill, but the rink was empty, and open for business. I BEGGED, “PLEASE, MOMMA, JUST FIVE MINUTES. I’ve never been on the ice alone”. So, my Mom, with her thin coat, no gloves, no hat, in the freezing wind of downtown, let me skate for over an hour. It was the most amazing feeling of natural freedom I’ve ever experienced. Just me, no coat, wind in my hair, sailing across the ice. I recall doing a perfect spiral (finally), and I heard her saying, “Oh, Baby, that’s beautiful. I didn’t know you could do THAT! So graceful”. I think I even managed my first toe loop, too. I practiced even harder, after that night. Inspired!

Momma was frozen, when we finally got home. ME? I was as happy as a butcher’s dog. She said she’d never seen me “let loose”, and just skate, and that it was beautiful to watch. Our happiness. She also said that was the cause of my annual Bronchitis, me skating with no coat.  It was worth it. My version of the Olympic Dream. One of MANY examples of her sacrifice.

Well, I got thinking that any time I was running on fumes, one, or both of my parents were there to cheer me on. Someone was ALWAYS there, saying “You can do it…. just a little further… Try it…”  Things have certainly changed. I’m older, have more trepidations, my parents, and my Fred are with the Lord…. No cheers, just fumes. 

So, how does one keep going? How do u just jump, sans net? Moreover, why is it so easy to figure things for others, and not yourself.

God is now, and had ALWAYS BEEN my greatest inspiration. He loves me more than anyone, wants me to be happy, and can refuel my tank like nothing else. He places amazing people in my life. So, what’s the problem? What’s the point, Cryss? 

Glean what u will. Told u it was random musings. Should u get anything, know that I’ve always got enough to cheer you on, even if it’s fumes. Thanks to those who’ve patted my back, even when I didn’t realize.