desires

28 July, 1917

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How does on describe the scene and capture the emotions that envelope it? Charles stood there in awe. What started as one hundred black women, children and men, has now grown to a thousand. With notepad in hand he scribed quick visual descriptions of the solemn stone-faced marchers. Children and women led the march. In the distance muffled drums were heard. However, no one could see who was beating them. Not a soul spoke a word as the group past. Perhaps the signs said enough; Thou shall not kill, Make America safe for Democracy, 200,000 Black men fought for your liberty in the Civil War.

The patrons marching multiplied. This was apparently well organized. A sense of fear fell over Charles as he stood watching the children and women silently passed. Are they just going to march or break off into a riot? Who could blame them for being angry? Lynching and murders were out of  control. Charles was a reporter for the Times newspaper. Guilt gripped him as he reflected on how nonchalant he composed his reports. Death after death, lynching after lynching, he grew numb to the lack of humanity New York had shown these people. It wasn’t just a southern attitude. It was everywhere in America. And now, he stood looking at the faces of the families that were affected by the tragedies he reported. A single tear rolled down his cheek. The white dressed patrons turned into men dressed in dark suits beating muffled drums. These were the laborers, the men who went out and worked all day to provide a living for their families. They marched behind their children and women echoing their silence. He too knew the struggles of the times. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and if one was to survive they had to fight. But how do you fight for your family in a country that shows nothing but hatred. At some point the silence speaks louder than anything. And today, Charles witnessed the silent scream of a human race begging to be loved, begging for life.

Never in one hundred years will we forget this silent protest. The day the Black man said everything without saying anything.

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The Right Words

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One could eloquently state that Charles was no romantic. The well established 45-year-old district sales manager shined in the aspect of providing for his beloved family. With a concrete dedication, he held fast to a work-eat-sleep routine. Amidst his well-balanced life a problem stewed.

He and Dianne married in their mid-twenties and, like all well planned out families, they had two girls four years apart; making college preparations easier. Truth be known, both were accidents, but that another quaint story for another rainy day. Having the gift for gab, Charles excelled as a sales representative and with time he progressively gained his current position, stepping on the shoulders of his coworkers.

A clear view of his misguided perspective laid the foundation of his skewed reality. For you see, although he wasn’t the most honest, nor virtuous man, he did have righteous intentions. This is what’s brings us to our ambiguous hero’s current situation; standing perplexed as he desperately searched for the right anniversary card.

Seeing that Charles was not having the best of times, a sales representative inquired “May I help you?”

Looking over his reading glasses, he politely smiled. “Perhaps.” A quick glimpse at the card in hand allowed him finish his read. “I’m looking for the perfect 20th anniversary card.”

“Oh how sweet!” she exclaimed. “We do carry a wide variety of cards that suits that very occasion.”

Placing the card back on the shelf, his chin pointed towards more cards as he peered for more prospects. “Do you have one that says ‘Thanks for understanding’?”

Not clear on his statement she point towards a set of cards. “These are our ‘Thanks for being so caring’ cards.”

His lip pouted in discontent. “No. It needs to say ‘Thanks for understanding’. I’m a little off schedule, as one may put it.”

“Oh I see. Are we talking a day or two late?” she asked.

Turning his attention to the sales rep he quickly muttered. “Nope. It was last year.”

Stunned and speechless the lady pick up a card and handed it to him.

Opening it, he found it to be blank inside.

“Wait, there aren’t any words in this one. I need a card, with words, right now.” Charles demanded

With raised eye brows and an honest look, the rep replied, “Sir, there are no words.”

Closet Creature

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Lightening illuminated the room as Kevin began to count,

“One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…”

A roll of thunder signaled the approaching storm. The ten-year old boy wasn’t as afraid of storms as he use to be. However, lightning always brought an eery view to his room. Perhaps it was the split second revelation followed by the sudden darkness that led to his overactive imagination. Was that shadow my coat or a dark creature? He was certain that it was his jacket hanging in the closet. He clearly remembered hanging it there.

Another flash of lightning revealed his jacket was indeed hanging there next to an unknown shadow that seemed to be staring at him. All features were hidden, but he was certain something was standing in his closet. The thunder crackled as the creature moved, ever so slightly. It moved! I saw it move. There is something in my closet and it just moved. Focusing his attention to the closet he could hear the creature breathing. But, what is it? Kevin slowly slid out of his bed and slipped across the carpet; taking care not to make a sound.

The creature appeared to be short like a goblin. No identifying features were revealed as Kevin got close.  Holding his breath he got within inches of it. He could still hear it’s rapid shallow breathing. There’s no such thing as monsters. If there are, I’m about to catch my first one. Raising his hand towards its head he slowly began to exhale.

“Kevin.” a small voice called out.

A fear struck him as the creature seized his hand with its cold pale fingers. Lightening struck illuminating its screaming face. Kevin’s scream was eclipsed by the explosion of thunder. His backwards leap pulled the creature from the closet. The two fell to the floor as fear gripped them both. Before Kevin could move his unknown fiend wrapped it thin arms around him.

“I’m scared.” his sister whispered.

A flood of revelation brought an onslaught of relief to Kevin. Realizing it was his little sister the whole time, he hugged her back.

“It’s OK. That lightening was scary.”

Reaching up, he pulled his pillow from his bed for them to share and covered up with the blanket she brought from her room. The two slept on the floor as the storm passed over. Every now and then his sister would jerk from the thunder, and he would comfort her. He knew this was all part of being a big brother, even if she did scare the living daylight out of him.

Five A.M.

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Five a.m. came quick for Chris. It wasn’t a late night with the boys, or an argument with his wife that brought the morning on so quick. No, he was just worn out from his new carpentry job. Setting in his favorite chair, he realized he had fallen asleep with his work boots on. A small quilt covered him; a sure sign his wife took care of him.

Slowly making his way to the kitchen his body ached. Every joint popped like a bowl of milk and rice-crispies. Setting at the kitchen table, he untied his boots and kicked them off. Pulling his socks off too, he placed his feet on the cold hardwood floor. The cool flat surface brought relief as he made his way to the coffeepot. First the a precise measurement of grounds, then a pot full of water was added. As the first drip of coffee fell, Chris began to stretch. How could he be this young and feel this old? His hands still felt tight from gripping a hammer all day. Hand cramps were a sign of learning. Gotta let the hammer do the work. He told himself as he stretched his fingers out. The morning fog cleared from his thoughts as he stood there watching the pot fill. I could be getting ready for the day.

A quick shower and fresh clothes helped him face the morning. Moving with more ease, he poured his first cup. Not sure if it was his youth, inexperience or the excitement of learning a new trade, but he was actually excited to go to work.  His career choice was the foundation he was building his life on.

Life didn’t come with instructions. It came with those before us showing what works and what doesn’t. Like Chris, we have all stepped out with uncertainty. But our youthful vigor perpetuated us all to achieve our greatness. As our work kicks back with pain, we are reminded five a.m. comes quick for us all.

Levi’s Hairpin Passion

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The engine raced as adrenaline rushed through Levi’s veins. Tires screamed in horror, fighting to hang onto the morning asphalt of each corner. Machine and man danced around each chicane resembling two familiar lovers, knowing each other’s moves. This was not loved; this was passion. Cresting at the last hill, three miles of straight road filled his eyes. With ears tuned to each signature shift point, Levi was pulled deeper into his seat. The speedometer’s needle slowly made it’s way past 150mph. At the end of the straightaway, a hairpin corner waited patiently. Nerves tingles as a 20mph sign flew by in a blur beckoning him to slow down. Was this stupidity or just craziness? Whichever, he knew he was coming in too hot. This is where experience and reflexes demanded perfection. One hesitation, or one miscalculation could send car and driver to an early grave. Like four permanent markers, the wide tires marked the pavement in a howling pain. Levi’s body was pushed to the side making it difficult to move. Knuckles turned white, fighting to stay in control. The car careened sideways around the corner. A downward shift and the sound of an accelerating engine shot Levi out of the hairpin. A quick glimpse at the side mirror revealed no space between the tire marks and the unforgiving grass-line. Once again he escaped death’s clutches. However, an old oak stood six feet from the line, baring scars from the many drivers it had caught; a sacred reminder of past mistakes made with confidence. Such is life through the eyes of Levi and why he loved to dance around the corners.

Stormdrop

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When the consolidating cool air is upon me. I will ban with others, and bring the storm. Winds, thunder, and lightening will join in our crusade. Within this war we wage, I will fall. Plummeting at a chaotic rate, the winds of change will rip at the fabric of my soul. Though I’ll fight to stay together, fragments will be lost. Others around me will fall with me with no Calvary in sight. We are all fighting the same fight, but we are so individual.

A catastrophic amount of myself will be lost within the realm of my descending impact. I will only be a fraction of what I was. Yet, my days of demise are not upon me. For as the sun rises and brings the heat of the day, I too shall rise far above this earth, only to wage another storm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Girl, One Fairy, And One Wish

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Molly-Anne ran through the fescue field with net in hand.  Each swoop brought her closer to catching her prey. Laughing and giggling the six year old had to rest. Who knew butterflies were so fast? The field was full of little “winged fairies”, and with a bright clear day, she couldn’t resist such an adventure.

Her breathing slowed and she was ready again. Scanning the field through her brow, she lounged at her next target. Fixated on the fluttering fiend, she tried everything to catch it. The light blue opponent was bent on outwitting her. Tired and exhausted, she pushed beyond the limits of her legs. She was not going to give up.  Exhaustion overcame her legs until there was no more push left. Slowing to a walk she kept her forward progression. The butterfly landed. This was her chance. Lowering her body, Molly-Anne crept within striking distance. Poised, she slowly raised her net outward to her side. Quickly, she performed a horizontal swoop, and watched as the net engulfed her target.

Gently she slowly opened the net and with care she cupped the butterfly out of the net.

“I got you, my little fairy. Now you owe me a wish.” She whispered, recalling the fairy-stories her mother told her. And what does a six year old little girl with the power to wish for anything want?

Placing her lips close to her thumbs, she made her wish in voice so soft only the butterfly could hear. “My wish is for love.”

Releasing the butterfly, she watched as it carried her wish.

In a world filled with rampant emotions, and prodigal adults willing to kill over material meaningless values, there stood one girl, one fairy, and one wish.