Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
         In a kingdom by the sea,
   That a maiden there lived whom you may know
         By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
   And this maiden she lived with no other thought
         Than to love and be loved by me.

   I was a child and she was a child,
         In this kingdom by the sea;
   But we loved with a love that was more than love-
         I and my Annabel Lee;
   With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
         Coveted her and me.

   And this was the reason that, long ago,
         In this kingdom by the sea,
   A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
         My beautiful Annabel Lee;
   So that her highborn kinsman came
         And bore her away from me,
   To shut her up in a sepulchre
         In this kingdom by the sea.

   The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
         Went envying her and me-
   Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
         In this kingdom by the sea)
   That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
         Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

   But our love it was stronger by far than the love
         Of those who were older than we-
         Of many far wiser than we-
   And neither the angels in heaven above,
         Nor the demons down under the sea,
   Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
         Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

   For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
         Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
   And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
         Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
   And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
         In the sepulchre there by the sea,
         In her tomb by the sounding sea.

===Edgar Allan Poe

Change Again

Why can't it ever stay the way it is? Why does it need to change? With every change it feels wrong. It feels like dealing with things all over again. It feels like drifting apart and coming together. I can't seem to solidify anything now.

This is a sudden outburst, I'm sure you assume. This is the way the day went, cruising along and then suddenly off a cliff of realizations. Of changes, subtle and frustrating. Maybe I knew the cliff was there anyway. Maybe I drive off of them because there is nowhere else to go. The road always leads here. I never think to stop and ask for directions away from the cliff. I just drive off.

Now where do I go? Circles don't seem to work for me. I love groups of personalities, and somehow can't seem to coexist with an entire set. Some fall out of the car, others just decide they're done. Some keep riding, not really paying any attention to where we're going, who is driving. Nothing matters because something else has filled them with curiosity. So I drive the car, full to overflowing and completely empty, perfectly alone..

It's like waiting and moving. Always waiting for the moment to change again. Always waiting for the perfect, knowing the perfect was never there, and never will be. Struggles that seemed so worth it, conversations and shared emotions that seemed so crucial all disappear. Changing again into pointless, unrecorded history.

This is the end of another piece. For me. For them. For us. For the circles and the squares and the directions that have made up my life. I'm looking back on those directions I came from and all I can see is beauty and happiness. If turning around was even an option, I might try. But then I'd never see the future. No matter how bleak, existing for tomorrow is all I have left.

Story - Fiberglass Figurine Part 2

I died when I was 24. I was living in the city, working, being twenty-something. I had poker games with the guys and one night stands. I made enough money to party. I loved coke and crystal meth almost as much as I loved sex. I worked for a guy named Alex. Alex worked for another guy who worked for someone else. Somewhere in the mix, at the top, was a mob boss or something. I didn't care. I picked things up. I dropped things off. I made a lot of money. I snorted it, smoked it, fucked it away and my life was good.

I did the one thing you shouldn't do in the city. The one thing you shouldn't do when working for the "family". I pissed off someone important by accidentally telling them to go to hell and shooting them in the chest. Whoops.

I was hopped up that night. I remember it so vividly. I was dropping off a package to someone in the hills outside of town. At the time I had no idea who he was. I only knew that he was important to someone. He was well protected, well funded. He had a two-hundred-fifty dollar hair cut and a ten thousand dollar suit. No one knew his real name. Everyone called him Bobby.

When i got to the house, that night, I was escorted to a parlor. I had been instructed to deliver the package directly to Bobby. So I waited there, the heavy package in my lap, my eyes darting across the room in subtle paranoia. I could feel my high waning and longed to get up and grab my stash from the car. Instead, I ran the back of my hand across my nose, sniffing, trying to ease the urge.

When Bobby appeared he was all business. He took the package, handed me my package and I started to leave. He stopped me and asked if I wanted to see what I had brought him. I said no, it wasn't necessary but he wouldn't listen. He ripped open the padded protection and pulled the object from it's interior. It was silver plated. He showed me the engraving. The etching on the side burned itself into my memory. Adelaide.

I left. I drove straight home, doing lines in the car. When I got home, all I could do was lay there, the world around me still buzzing with intensity. Something about the entire evening felt wrong. The gun, the guy, the whole deal felt messy. I had done a lot of drop offs and nothing had ever felt so sketchy, drugs or not.

Next day, I called my connect. I asked about the job, knowing I wasn't going to get any answers. I was right, so I decided to find out myself. It felt wrong. I needed to know. I decided to head back to his house. The house in the middle of nowhere. I stopped, first, to pick up a daily dose of my favorite cocktail. My supplier worked a newspaper stand in the city. The swap was always the same, and easy after so many times. Today, though, it had to be different. Today I happened to see the paper. I saw the headline. I saw the name. I ran, without my cocktail, without my money. I ran because the words were there, behind my eyes.

Teenager Found In Local Motel
Adelaide Stevenson, daughter of local DA, was found yesterday, apparently murdered in the Lakeview motel...

I drove without seeing. The car could feel my urgency and flew down the road. When I arrived at the house, I buzzed at the gate and said I had a package for Bobby. They let me in. I walked into the parlor and he was sitting there waiting.

He stood up and leveled the gun at me. The silver plating was unmistakable. I tried to ask him why. The words wouldn't come. I realized i couldn't do anything. I didn't have a gun. I was high, angry and completely useless. I growled under my breath in frustration at having not thought this through. Bobby cocked his head to one side, looking like a curious dog. Then he lowered the gun and told me to leave. He turned to go and I lunged at him.

I managed to knock the gun from his hand before he had a chance to react. When he did react I realized what a mistake I had made. This man was not just rich and well protected. He was a killer. We rolled on the floor, he made contact over and over until i was only defending, my arms crossed in defense. When he had the opportunity, faster than i could see, he pulled a knife from the small of his back and jammed it into my chest.

He stood up, over my now immobile body, panting there on the floor. He started walking away. He yelled out to someone to go clean up the parlor. I had, in those few seconds, gotten my hands on the pistol, and gotten to my knees. Using the arm further from the knife blade still sticking out of my chest, I called out his name in a hoarse voice.

When he turned around I told him to go to hell, and shot him in the chest.

His boys came running. Some attended to Bobby. Others came to me. They picked me up, leaving the knife in my chest. I could feel myself fading as the carried me. Bobby told them to dump me. I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in a trunk. The road bounced beneath me. I tried to move my arm to pull the knife, still in my chest, out. My hands were tied. I tried to scream. I was gagged. All I could do was stare into the blackness, praying to a god I didn't believe in anyway. Until the finally opened the trunk and threw me off the bridge. I passed out before I hit the water.

I died. Not too many people can say that in the past tense. I say it all the time. The last thought I had before hitting the water and sinking to my death was of Adelaide, a girl I never knew. When I woke up I was washed up on the shore below the bridge, still tied, knife still sticking out of my chest.

I was breathing. I managed to get my hands undone, tearing the skin of my wrists in the process. Once my struggle got me free, I lay there on my back, looking up at the few stars visible through the smog. It dawned on me that I should be dead. I reached over and grabbed the hilt of the knife in my chest and pulled it out. It slid out with a soft sucking sound. It didn't hurt. I lay there, in shock, and could feel the tissue knitting itself back together. What the hell was going on? I still don't know. It's been a year. The knife left a scar. Every wound, except that one, heals perfectly.

I can't die. I don't know why yet. I haven't bothered to figure it out. After that night, I left the city and traveled on foot for months. I couldn't wrap my head around it. All I knew was I couldn't die. After a year of trying to find answers and coming up with nothing. After a year of wandering, searching for something, I returned to the beginning.

I took a cab to the front gate of Bobby's place. I buzzed. I told them I had a package for Bobby. They let me in. He saw me and his eyes almost cracked from the strain of his face. He laughed and said he was impressed that we'd both survived. He told me how foolish it was to have come back. Then he sent the boys after me.

This time he shot me in the head. No mistakes, I can imagine he was thinking. Then they drove me to a junkyard outside the city and threw me out like the garbage. When I woke up, or whatever it is, I made my way back to the hotel i had been in. I changed and called a taxi.

Finally, we have arrived. I get out and pay the man. I walk up to the front gate with the gun in my hand. I buzz at the gate. When the voice comes from inside I look into the camera...

Tell Bobby I have a package for him.

Story - Fiberglass Figurine Part 1

Tonight, I feel like a fiberglass figurine. I feel ready to burn in the blood red moon hanging over my head. This tension has me wound up tight. I need a cigarette and a good fuck. Unfortunately, I can't smoke in the cab and the only chance for any action is miles away.

I told the driver where I was going and he gave me a strange look. I didn't bother to try and explain, I only reassured him that the address was correct. He grumbled something under his voice, tapped the meter and as the red LED numbers lit up his face to match the moon, we pulled onto the street.

It's 20 minutes to my destination and all I have to do is think. I can feel the cold metal of the gun nestled beneath the shirt. I can feel my pulse beneath the metal. It's always a strange reminder. Sometimes, like now, it feels unnatural. Living feels wrong for a few days every time. Then it goes away. Then I feel whole again. Until next time.

They had tied me to a chair. They had pistol whipped me until I bled from gashes on my head and my face. They had broken my nose so many times it had looked like a crushed coke can glued to the middle of what was left of my face. Bobby had stood in the corner and chuckled the entire time. I knew it was him. I could smell his cheap, convenience store cologne.

When his underlings were done playing, Bobby told me why. He told me about her, and the silver plated gun with "Adelaide" engraved on the side. He told me how he'd raped her. How he had danced around the room, naked with the gun in his hands. The gun he'd had made to kill her. Then he explained killing her. It was more like an execution, bent over, whimpering into the cheap carpets of the motel room. When he was done with his explanation he pulled out the pistol. The silver glinted under the bare light bulbs above his head. Through the eye that was still open, I could see the engraving. Adelaide.

Through the broken parts of what had been my mouth, I managed to tell him that I was going to kill him. He just laughed. Then he shot me in the head.

That was three hours ago. I can rub my head and still feel the skin working it's way back to normal. My nose is crooked, but it'll be fine. I'll only have one scar for the rest of this existence people call a life. While the car speeds down the last few miles to the house, I rub my finger along it's path on my chest. The last scar my body ever let me have.

To Be Continued...

Scenic

Over the next few posts I will be writing some vignettes. Short stories, actually more like short scenes that I've been mulling around in my head. I will title them with "Story -" first so no one takes anything in them as my own personal thoughts, only those creative thoughts of character or overall omniscient points of view.

This Moment

I feel like a fiberglass figurine

Torch Fire

What is it about my life that seems so clandestine? There are times when I am frightened of the significance of such random and beautiful events. One occurred just yesterday.

I went to the beach to meet up with my cousin and some of her friends in the early afternoon. It was a hot, slightly hazy day and the beach was crowded. Bodies laid out to catch the UV as it made it's way lazily through the atmosphere to their skin. Bathing suits in all sizes and shapes and colors. I sat with my cousin's friend and people watched, trying to take it all in, like those people and their suntan lotion.

Then we returned to the family's cottage and enjoyed the afternoon, barbecue and pina coladas. It was wonderful to do nothing, have no definite course of action except to relax and enjoy the weather, the company and the day.

Later in the evening, after food and showers all around, we lit some fireworks. Some were legal, some not so legal, but they were all beautiful. It struck me how destruction can be so beautiful.

Then, it was time for going out. Time for relaxation of a different mind set. Time to mingle and move and flow with the people. We returned to the beach from earlier in the day, deciding to go to one of the bars along the beach front. We chose the one with barely anyone there. On the patio, people lounged, sipping their cocktails and their beers. In the back, where the dance floor was, a barrage of electronic pulsation was beating itself across the room. When we got there, few people were on the floor. One or two lonely souls were trying.

We decided, as a group, to play some pool. Since we didn't want to jump out on the dance floor and the patio seemed to have a clique/group system we didn't understand. As we began our game of pool a group of people came in and glided across the dance floor, joining some others who had already occupied a pool table behind us.

I took a shot, missed and turned for a second before returning to the opposite end of the table to give up my warped pool cue to the other team. She was standing there. The yellow of her shirt was like a sunbeam compared to the rich darkness in her hair. She caught my eye and smiled, a big, beautiful, girlish smile. Then my memory clicked. This was my favorite barista from the coffee bar. This was the girl i had spent so many summers on stage with.

I laughed and shook my head at the randomness. She gave me a hug and we played the "catch up quick, we're out at the bar with other people" game. She had moved, she had found someone good for her. She was enjoying her work. She was dancing and learning to spin techno. She was happy. It glistened in her eye when she said it.

We parted company to our groups. I laughed and relayed who she was to the people I was with, as I'm sure she did the same. We continued our game and I saw her, a few times, on the dance floor. She was moving in the swirling, strobing lights like a post-modern ballerina, at once hitting the beats with her body and flowing through them on her toes. She was beautiful.

At some point, my group decided they were leaving to try the "other" bar. They wanted to see if there were more people, better "atmosphere". I could have stayed where I was all night. I consented, though, and said I needed to say goodbye. So I waited for her to appear again, as she was not on the dance floor. When she did appear, I caught her eye and made an "i'm leaving though I don't want to" gesture. She came over and gave me a hug. I told her how amazing it was to see her.

She looked at me, those eyes so sincere, and said to me, "I'm happy, happy to see you and happy with my life. I was just telling my friends how you had been there when I was the other me and how, all those summers, you had helped me become who I am now. Thank you."

I was dumbstruck on the inside. On the outside, I smiled and told her how beautiful she was when she danced. She smiled and we said our final goodbyes and parted. I followed my friends out and we made out way to the "other" bar. This place was crowded. It had a large patio. I wound up in the corner of the patio, near the beach. There were torches burning all around the patio, maybe for bugs, mostly for atmosphere.

My group was mostly scattered, some looking for men, others looking for booze, some just wandering. I stood there, looking out at the water, and my mind was reeling. Such simple words and such perfect timing. I closed my eyes and listened to the water hitting the beach over the din of the crowd behind me. The torch fires danced in front of my closed eyelids. Danced like she had, into my life again. In that small moment, I burned a little brighter.

Hand Me A Gun

I wrote poetry and such a lot when I was younger. It wasn't all good. In fact, most of it was horrendous. Sometimes, I stumble upon something I really enjoy. This is one of them. It's rhymic and rhythmic and not perfect, but it expresses a sentiment I still love to play with.

"Hand Me A Gun"
Run and hide
Shoot the bride
Dance the dance
Ride the ride

Find the village
Count the crows
Ride disaster
Lava flows

Watch the sun
Come up and down
Fight the villain
Let it down

Mass Confusion
Full Illusion
Let the image
Let you go

Tinted windows
Looming shadows
Stilletto heels
Reels and reels

Make it, take it
Blow it up
That's the way
It's done

And when the next one
Makes a run
Life's a movie
Where's my gun

---JonShado circa 1998