Tradition Part 1

The sun peeked over the earth, and its light covered the ground like a gush of water; the meaning, however, was that of a youthful infatuation: as the wind poured from the east cutting its teeth on my face, and my eyes fought back with a salient defiance. The absence of warmth bent my back and hunched my shoulders. In spite of its brutality, the day did not lack beauty. The new snow, untouched, resembled the warm comfort that then lay rumpled on my bed. The comparison made my mind jovial just before I realized I was then wrapped within the day’s cold fingers and not my beds warm embrace. My feet crunched through the ice with each step, and as the barren trees grew closer, they towered above me in their skeletal majesty. I caught my first full breath as the wind receded for a few short moments, and my lungs quaked from the cold of it.
I broke the tree line and slowed my pace.

Snow covered much of the forest floor, so the dangers and beasts were now equally hidden and baring their teeth. I wove between the trees my ancestors planted, treading a path they had worn through bloodlines and tradition. The dawn of the first snow is the time; the cave of the beast is the place. An appointment made by the souls of the first born sons of my people and kept by the second born.Tales of the massacre and first born extinction had been told to me throughout my life by the wavering voices of the elders and by the tears of mothers who still mourn. Though years have been removed, the pain stays fresh on the surface. On the anniversary, it was a smell in the air, like the embers of a fire or the blood of birth. That anniversary was tomorrow. Today was our insurance that the fires would not be filled with bodies, and the wails would be only for the past.

The elders had expressed how important this walk would be, to absorb the peace of it and commit all of the sounds and sensations to memory. I would need them, to replace more terrifying moments later. Instead of breaking bones, I would hear snapping twigs; instead of hell born roars, bubbling brooks. This process was as vital as its end would be. It was the only way to come out of it alive. I listened to each branch cracking from its burden of snow. I watched the rabbits dart from their homes, bounding confidently through the forest floor’s thick coverage. I felt the cold air stick to me with each step, as if the layers of the snow itself were stuck to my skin. I reveled in all things natural, for soon, in spite of its harshness, it would be a comfort I would long for, even beg to be with again.

As the sun reached its peak, it sent shafts of light through the bare thick branches of this dead forest. I could hear snow, as it melted, drip upon the stones on the ground. I stopped for a few minutes to eat my last meal in the fashion which the elders had instructed. I divided it into 3 portions: one for me, one for the forest, and one for the hope that I would return. As I trekked on, the sun slid down the sky, turning the forest into a museum of shadows. One might see them as dark beings waiting for you to turn your back, so they can take you away. I saw them as those who had made this journey before, the ones who didn’t return. They knew what the result could be and still stood in support.

The sun settled on its haunches; red and orange light alighted from the horizon. As I got closer to the cave, there was an unnatural warmth in the surrounding area. The ground at this point was wet from the melting snow and slid beneath my feet. Each time I lifted my foot, it made a sucking sound, each footfall an uneasy splash. My shoes quickly became caked with the thick mud, adding weight to my already realized trudgery.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the cave appeared like a looming threat. My heart tried in vain to depart from my chest. I drew in a startled breath; the gasp echoed into the mouth of the cave, and footsteps echoed back. I scrambled behind a rock and shed my bag and coverings, so that I could move more swiftly. A beautiful young woman emerged from the dark opening: a woman I had loved in my dreams for many years. Her skin was a light brown but seemed to shimmer with a gold hue. Her eyes , a dark brown, emanated an unrivaled warmth and welcome. Her mouth was broad, smiling, and surrounded by perfectly shaped lips I had kissed a million times, in my slumbers over the years. Her body, that I had held countless times, was soft and shapely.
Then with a voice I knew as well as my own, she called to me “Aza, come to me.” I turned the corner, ready to run to her. She smiled even more broadly, and I saw her eyes sparkle at the sight of me. Then a claw shot from the mouth of the cave and tore through her throat.

Song lyrics: Getaway Car

You know my soul is wearing thin with each and every passing day
And I don't belong in the place I'm in you know I've got to get away
Jump in my car and start to drive can't go below 55 the breeze don't feel as good
Today's a day just for myself won't do what anybody else keeps telling me I should

Things have got to change
before I go insane
I'm wiping off the slate today

The air's much sweeter when the strain is gone I almost forgot to breath
I'll just keep driving til dusk or dawn I'll take all the time I need
pick up my baby then we'll go the destination I don't know and I don't really care
We'll go the ways we've never been until we find ourselves again until we're happy there
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This song is great for singing at work when your stressed. No one listens to the words and you sound happy!

Song lyrics : Scrutinize

What a time for me to start over again
got too much riding on it now
trying hard to be the person I've been
Don't want to be found out

You don't know what you've done to me
Can't explain how this came to be
I close my eyes and you're all I see

All these dreams have taken a hold of my head
Sucking out all the pain
Try to light the candle at both ends
But getting burned by the flame

I wouldn't call it affection
Maybe just a connection
Then why all the dissection
Scrutinizing down to the inflection
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Go sing along here!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ais6wHr80X4

Fresh Snow

The bite of a breeze,
The wet of the air,
The crystals that freeze,
in your uncovered hair,
The blanket of quiet,
The eeriest calm,
The canvas a riot,
When it's tread upon,
Heartbreaking steps,
on its unbroken face,
The distance and depth,
that remembers your place,
Each footfall now minted,
within a cold cage,
Your wanderings printed,
upon it's white page

Beyond Survival

When life itself plays that perfect chord,
When no more cuts the rusty sword,
When eyes reveal that they understand,
When even fate is a helping hand,
When crushed insides begin to heal,
When circumstance won't make you kneel,
When weight is shed from tired shoulders,
When gravel sits where once were boulders,
When the words means joy instead of pain,
When the maestro plays a bright refrain,
When escapes your heart rather then chances,
When the you inside now preens and prances,
Let it in, this glorious arrival,
and enjoy the world beyond survival

Ember: Part 1

I always want to start in the middle. That's where the action starts. I don't want to wait, the waiting was the hardest part so why would I put you through that fair readers? So should we speak of the sword first? The one that split their skulls and severed various limbs from various foes or do you really want the beginning. Why would the woman becoming the destroyer be of any interest to you? Do you need to know why? The proverbial straw, the accelerant to the ensuing inferno explained? I suppose it's important that you can understand why an executioner became such. If not to make sure you do not tread the same cliff's edge then to make sure you can at least understand and stop the next bringer of doom. Ember is my name, they chose it for the black hair with a tuft of sparkly red at my widows peak. They did not yet know it would also represent the smoldering that would occur within me. The explosion that would level a town. Now at that moment it was a long way off, but the flames had already been fed. You see they did not name any girl in the village until she reached the age of 5. You may think it was due to disease or just perchance unfortunate deaths of the young citizens of the village. Notice though that I said girls. There was reason that we hardly made it to 5 years. That reason was the men of the village, well, the men's brutality and the women's acceptance of it. Now I've already told you that it was the girls that died in great numbers before 5. I suppose now you'd like to know why. As if it matters. Would it be easier to accept a wholesale slaughter of the girls when the food grew sparse, or sexual brutality by sick men that often went too far too fast. In ways that a toddler girls body couldn't handle. Perhaps it was just that the girls, upon ability to walk, were given the gathering jobs in woods thick with perils and hungry beasts and frequently didn't return. It could have been any one of these things or all of them but I'm not going to give you the pleasure of knowing so that you can reason yourself into tolerance. I was named at 5, as I said, and was given a broom in the ceremony. This was the ritual. What did this symbolize you ask? Servitude. Not magic not a clean slate but servitude. That was the woman's role in this village. The only one. One day I was sweeping with my new broom at 5 and 1/2 and a beast approached me. It tried to grab me it tried to hurt me. I beat it with the hard end of the broom until it lay on the ground in agony still trying to move towards me. The stick was dull but I still managed to drive it into the beast through a hole that it already possessed but when I felt resistance I kept pushing until it was dead. My mother found me and the now deceased foe and quickly urged me to drag it into the woods. Women were not the hunters. Women weren't allowed to kill things. I asked here what I was supposed to do let it kill me? She only nodded. We cleaned the broom and though streaks of red still lived on it, it was hardly noticeable. Still she urged me to rub it with rocks to try to remove the stains. She locked me in the vegetable hut for 3 days so I could complete this task. When she returned the broom handle was clean and the garden spade was sharpened and hidden within the folds of my skirt. I would not be caught unaware again. She smiled with a smile of relief and told me excitedly that she doesn't think any one has caught on to what had happened. She said it as if our vegetable yield had been double what was expected. I asked her why she was so excited by that, why it wouldn't be better for the village to know. Perhaps this was a form of protection we could exploit, fear. It seemed a popular one amongst the men in the village. She beat me and threw me back in the vegetable shed. By the time I reached 11 I had racked up a total of six months time in the vegetable hut for saying things like that. So when I once again slipped up she sent me to the local inn instead, to help clean up there for 3 days. I shortly realized upon arrival what that meant. This is where the adventurers and hunters from other nearby villages would stay while on their trek. It was all men, of course. I had my trusty spade with me but the risk of being in a building full of men that all believed that same things was perhaps made it too high a risk if survival was my intent. The gods however smiled upon me. The man I was paired with was a drunken fool. He passed out swiftly and harmlessly the first two nights. On the third night he made a move but could not deliver on his end of the tryst. As he cried himself to sleep I settled in the chair in the room. As he left the next morning he complained to the woman who managed the Inn and just before my mother came to pick me up and she beat me. Just as my hand reached for the spade my mother arrived. I still wanted to slice her a good one but just as I had been spared, I supposed she could be as well. Besides I had this growing feeling that I should wait until It was absolutely necessary to reveal my defense. I felt the danger growing each day. I felt the band stretching tight and soon, it would snap.

The Whole Story

An overlooked detail,
a loose thread, that part that is just ever so slightly off.
That is what I seek, as if a keyhole to help me unlock your mysteries.
I want to unlock you and pore through your dusty boxes.
I want to pick all the locks.
You say that's me in a nutshell but I want to crack it open.
I want to see everything from kept receipts of what you've sold,
to the annals of history that form the story of you.
The giant sign on the wall is nice
but the fortune you saved from a cookie long ago that's tucked into a tiny box in the corner is just as telling if not more so.
Do not relegate yourself to a summary,
you are so much more.
That clever blurb eventually becomes you, clever but limited.
Present the whole story and keep the ones who are clapping and crying with you at the end.