Beautiful Anxiety

Beautiful anxiety

Courses thru my Spiritual veins

I anticipate the draw,  the vessel

That will capture that precious essence. 

That will release the life-blood of positive change. 

Into my here,  into my now. 

Spill gently,  over my lifetime,

That I may one day leave this place

Peacefully,  joyously,

EMPTY

 Vizionairee 
Copyright-Steal it and I’ll kill ya! 

5/13/2016

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!

An Abusive Shadow

On fighting my shadow:

It wins. It always wins.

How is that possible? What does my shadow know of me, that it can strategize so well? How does it render me helpless with such ease?

The punches are brutal. Fast. Quick. Painful. Lingering. 

My shadow smiles knowingly; teasing, bullying, taunting….

Sometimes, I don’t even fight back.

I’m In Love

I don’t usually get super personal on FB, but…. I’m in love. It’s such a heady and beautiful feeling. I’ve been swept off of my feet. A gift from God, no doubt. Gosh, I’m blushing. 

Anyway….

We’ve known each other all our lives. Save for GOD, he’s actually, my first love. A part of my DNA, I suppose. Yet, I let him go. Not all at once, just a drifting of sorts, you know… until there’s nothing.

Life happens, you grow apart, you have different experiences, but you NEVER forget. You just can’t seem to forget. 

Those moments that creep up, when you least expect. You think of him, and hairs on the back of your neck stand out, because you’re taken by splendid surprise. Your knees are weak, and you close your eyes, just for a moment. Your senses transport you back to… back there, back then; at that time, in that space. You literally feel, hear, see, and smell EVERYTHING, just like it was. 

Then, you put it out of your mind. 

Maybe, when it rains, and you remember – droplets landing on your skin, creating perfect rhythms, to which you danced joyously- carelessly. You composed songs no one heard, but the two of you. Then you put it out of your mind. You have to, right?

Funny thing. When God has a plan for you, it WILL come to fruition. 

A visit, or two. Randomly ( no such thing) having to come in contact with one another, for this reason, or that. Chit chat that turns to talk, and then to conversation.  Quiet glances turn to meaningful stares. Feeling the past and present collide, and knowing a future was inevitable. Being grateful.

I am most fortunate to have been afforded the opportunity to be joined with my love, once again. I’m never letting go. Where we’ll go together? Well, I’ll leave that to God. For all we’ve done in the past, this is new, and scary, and glorious. 

We’re in this for the duration, and I’m happy, again. 

Music, I love you.

Random Musings About What I’ve Learned in 2016

​I’ve learned quite a bit, this year.  QUITE A BIT!

GOD LOVES ME MORE THAN MY FINITE MIND CAN COMPREHEND! 

I am valuable. Go figure.

Quiet has a most beautiful melody.

Life is short, so cherish and make time for those whom you care about. 

Pain has depths unknown, and unfathomable variations.

I’m getting my “weird” back. I love it. 

Never allow your peace to be disturbed…. AT ANY COST.

Don’t allow others’ behaviors, responses, expectations, etc.,  change your character. 

Transparency can save lives.

When you are most broken, God can really work on and in you. 

Humans are full of surprises.

Humans can be so predictable.

It’s okay to be happy. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, or it will.

When God prepares you for something, He has to purge you, mold you, bend you, stretch you, shape you…… Not always pretty, sometimes quite painful, always enlighteningly wondrous, and definitely necessary.

WHEW, 2016! Whew!

I AM CHANGED! I AM EVOLVING! I don’t have to explain, defend, or apologize for it.

I have NO IDEA what God has in store for me, in 2017, and that’s okay. He’ll show me.

Whatever it is, I’m ready, Lord. Empty me, that I might be a vessel.  Humble me, that You get the glory, and Your people are blessed. USE ME TO DO THY WILL.

It is my prayer that whatever it is that He has me do, will cause a ripple effect of blessings that we’ve not seen the likes of.

I’m praying the same for each of you. That you will receive an overflow of blessings, find peace and joy, and pay it forward. 

I love u all, no strings attached.

Just Write

Write it. Just write it. Write it on receipts in the car while you wait for your kid to finish their piano lessons, scribble on napkins at lunch with friends. Type on crappy typewriters or borrow computers if you have to. Fill notebooks with ink. Write inside your head while you’re in traffic and when you’re sitting in the doctor’s office. Write the truth, write lies. Write the perfect spouse. Write your dreams. Write your nightmares. Write while you cry about what you’re writing, write while you laugh out loud at your own words. Write until your fingers hurt, then keep writing more. Don’t ever stop writing. Don’t ever give up on your story, no matter what “they” say. Don’t ever let anybody take away your voice. You have something to say, your soul has a story to tell. Write it. There is never any reason to be afraid. Just write it and then put it out there for the world. Shove it up a flag pole and see who salutes it. Somebody will say it’s crap. So what? Somebody else will love it. And that’s what writing’s about. Love. Love of the art, love of the story, and love for and from the people who really understand your work. Nobody else matters. Love yourself. Love your work. Be brave. Just write.

Melodie Ramone