Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part IX

They said very little as the drove around the town. She just turned the car wherever she felt like it, and he did not say a thing. Then, she turned down Faulkner street.

“Hey,” he said, “this is my street.”

“Oh,” was all she could think to say. She never knew what to say to comments like that: I flunked the test, I got an A, That’s my car, This is my street. All of these comments were based on things no one had any real control over: intelligence and, she would even include, wealth. Wealth was accumulated by intelligence, cunning, ruthlessness, or inheritance. These were things people were born with. No one can avoid the fate of their genetics. She wondered how much she really believed that. How could anyone know what they truly believed. It was so easy to deceive yourself. The mind’s oldest self defense. But what was it defending: sanity or vanity.

He looked at her and tilted his head slightly.

“You want to come in, we could get something to eat.” Her stomach had made a noise a few minutes ago and she had hoped he had not noticed. Not like that was something she could help either. Now her heart jumped into her throat so hard that she thought it was trying to make a noise too, striving against the muteness imposed upon it by Darwin or whatever god you wanted to supplement.

“Um,” her thoughts whirled past her mind’s eye before she could decipher them.

“No expectations,” he said. His smile was captivating, welcoming, trustworthy.

“Alright” she said in a subdued voice, not quite believing she had actually acquiesced. He indicated a driveway and she pulled in. It was small house, and the single room sticking up from the middle that made up the whole second story made it awesome. She had no idea why that was of course. However, she knew that it was in the modern sense not in the awe-some as in the sum of awe.

The inside the house was like every other. Faded and hooked leather couches. White refrigerator. Straight edged coffee table. White clock. Fake wood bookcases filled with ancient encyclopedias that were not ancient enough to be valuable. Stained Wal-Mart tablecloth. Everything was pretty tidy though (if you don’t count the dirty plate and silverware on the table, the shirt crumpled in the corner, and the movies and CDs in random stacks around the room). Still more neat than one would expect from a 19 year old who lives by himself.

She sat down at the kitchen table. He opened the refrigerator and perused a few cabinets.

“Well,” he said, “we have ramen noodles, easy mac, and crinkled fires with canned cheese.”

The last time she had had fries at home was the night before she had left for New York for a overnight yearbook field trip. It was the first time she had gone on a trip without her parents.

“Fries sound good,” she said.

“Alright.” he smiled. just what he had been thinking.

He went to the far left cabinet and brought out an old frier, got the fries and cheese out of the refrigerator.

“Um, can I help?” Lovey asked, starting to stand.

“No, no I got it,” he said, motioning with one arm for her to sit down. When the fries were frying and the cheese was in the microwave, he sat down across from her, after glancing at the chair at her side. He pulled out his cell phone.

“Graduation in an hour,” he said.

Expletive.

“O my gosh, I’ve been out that long!” she stood up quickly, knocking the chair against the wall, loudly.”

“hey,” he said, “no big deal.”

she ran her fingers through her hair, then put her head in her hands.

“my dad’s going to kill me,” she said. suddenly she felt hands on her shoulder blades.

“don’t worry about it. you’re graduating tonight. he’ll be so proud he’ll get over it in a second.” she met his eyes. they were wet.

he didn’t understand. when she said her dad was going kill her. it meant he might actually kill her. he was probably home already. drunk and stoned out of his mind. she had disrespected him.

“hey,” he said. “what’s wrong?”

she felt her throat closing. she must meet this Spirit.

“my dad’s going to kill me” she whispered.

“i’ll drive back with you,” he said.

what? why? she thought

“what?” she said, “why would you do that?”

his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head again.

“cause we’re friends right?” he asked

“oh” just friends “yeah” she said.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part VIII


Lovey kept her guitar under her bed, and every once in a while she would kick it, and it would make a beautiful noise. that was one of her favorite things. she had once heard that if a guitar is perfectly in tune and someone is playing another guitar in the same room that guitar’s strings will hum along even though no one is playing it. so awesome. guitars are one of her favorite things.

she walked home the feeling of the swing slowly fading. it was noon. She put Spirited Away on, and climed into bed. Spirited Away was her favorite Japanese anime movie, and she had to watch it in Japanese with English subtitles. she wished she could trade places with the main character. Chihiro is a far better name than Lovey. It means 'a thousand questions.' she definitely had those.

Icing is like antidepressants. Icing has the most perfect texture of any food. think about it. and it is probably one of the most appetizing looking foods. the problem is you can’t just sit there and eat cause you’ll get sick. even more important you’ll ruin your appetite for icing and for anything else sweet. antidepressants are like that. they ruin your appetite for seeing beauty in little things. beauty in brokenness. all this ran through Alaric's mind though in a more manly fashion.

then, unbeknownest to both of them, they thought at the same time, “will i ever find someone as crazy as me”

have you ever felt worthless. alone. both belived that a person is meant to be with other people. a human is a social being. a person needs other people. people need to have a home where they are accepted for who they are. where they can be themselves. most believe this without being able to articulate it but both Lovey and Alaric had thought all this out. how much easier would life be for both of them if they could stop believing this? they could be content in being alone. with being a solitary tower far outside the city. but they could not stop believing and because of that they felt like there was something wrong with them. they both belived that on some level they were worthless and unloveable. neither of them had thought this all the way out. what person has the guts to articulate their own hatred of themselves. and what good does it do the people who do know exactly how they feel about themselves? very little. perhaps just a little pride in their courage. but it doesn’t really help to fix the problems. the greatest problems in our lives we cannot fix ourselves. someone else has to reach in and love us until we are healed. that takes even more guts. this thought they only allowed to flit at the edge of their minds. the move ended.

she had to get out of the house again even though it felt like she had just got back. graduation was in three hours: at six o'clock. she got her keys and slipped on her shoes. she carried them in one hand and in feline stealth she stole out to her car. she turned on the ignition and drove away. her father wasn’t home yet and it was an unspoken covenant between her and her mom that if she was able to turn the key in the ignition without getting caught she could drive away without hindrance. her mom wouldn’t say anything to her dad and he usually didn’t notice she was gone so she could sneak back up to her room after he was asleep.

she blasted To Leave A Trace from her car speakers with the base turned all the way up. she was still amazed that the sqeakers worked as well as they did in her antique Volkswagen. it was a small miracle she was sure.

She must meet this Spirit.

"FARTHER THAN A VISIBLE SKYLINE

There’s a whole world under my feet

And I’m standing just in one place here

Longing to move farther

To step on a new ground

Breathe new air...

But the walls around me are pressing my lungs

Choking the life in me, the life

How easy’s to get used to be tied up

To have a tied up heart thoughts and dreams with heavy rope

Yeah it’s easy to be like this when you give up

Don’t wanna fight this,

Come on the whole world is waiting for you to come

And help them get out of that labyrinth of walls

I need to stand up and go

We need to embrace the whole world

The lack of possibilities and hope cannot bury me here

I see the land that is not yet seen on a skyline

I take the heavy tool in my hand

And break the walls every day

I’m not afraid to loose my conscience

My hope is the flames burning inside of me all the time

And no one can take it from me, my dreams, no one

How easy’s to get used to be tied up

To have a tied up heart thoughts and dreams with heavy rope

Yeah it’s easy to be like this when you give up

Don’t wanna fight this,

Come on the whole world is waiting for you to come

And help them get out of that labyrinth of walls

I need to stand up and go

We need to embrace the whole world

To embrace the whole world, to embrace

I’ve been given a second chance to live

And I promise me stay true in this

I’ve been given a second chance to live

And I promise me stay true in this

I’ve been given a second chance to live

And I promise me stay true in this

I’ve been given a second chance to live

And I promise me stay true in this

How easy’s to get used to be tied up

To have a tied up heart thoughts and dreams with heavy rope

Yeah it’s easy to be like this when you give up

Don’t wanna fight this,

Come on the whole world is waiting for you to come

And help them get out of that labyrinth of walls

I need to stand up and go

We need to embrace the whole world

The lack of possibilities and hope cannot bury me here"

she pulled over at an overlook at the lake of innisfree. a truck with a bunch of guys drinking was about a hundred feet away. her doors were locked so she did not care. she liked the danger it added to the view.

she wondered if Alaric was with them. she settled back in her seat and admired the view. a knock sounded on the window, scaring the crap out of her.

it was Alaric. she lowered her window.

“hey. enjoying the view?”

“yeah” she smiled.

his breath smelled lightly of alchool but he was clearly not drunk or even tipsy.

“mind if i join you” he asked. acting the gentlemen. he had always seemed a gentlmen towards girls at school. that’s not to say he was by any means a puritian.

she nodded. he went around and got in on the passenger side.

 she turned the music down.

“so ready to be free of high school tomorrow?” he asked. its an obvious trick taht most writers use to show the good characters from the bad: the good ones avoid small talk. but how many people actually do that in real life. especially at the beginning of their stories when they have not matured or grown at all yet. a novel is the story of growth. it should begin with characters who are in some way sick, in some way desparate, in some way fallen. the novel is the story of their healing, their coming into prosperity of a sort, of them discovering strength and of gaining strength, of them becoming content and serene in a way, of them being redeemed. every once in a while someone will right a tragedy in which the opposite takes place. the main character starts from a place of strength, prosperity, wholeness (if not in the perfect snese of the word), and then they lose everything. Hamlet starts out of prince and end up a dead man body and soul. Macbeth starts out as a lord and ends up a evil beast more dead than Hamlet.

“as i’ll ever be” she replied.

“that’s the best answer,” he said.

the sound of a bottle being broken on the ground followed by raucous laughter interrupted their conversation.

they both looked out the window and were unimpressed. 

“any particular reason to stay here,” he asked.

“nope” she said. her heart picked up speed despite her calm face. she hoped she would not run over a curb or pull out in front of someone or something. she put the car in reverse and backed out. so far so good.

“where to?” she asked.

“just drive,” he said. is this real life or was she dreaming about some movie? she had this sudden urge to watch howl’s moving castle. best movie ever. Alaric reminded her a lot of howl.

a man in a cream blazer in a cream BMW watched them drive away. what a romantic moment. well acted Alaric. a sudden burst of admiration for the boy flared in his chest. he wondered what dastardly reward he was expecting for his gentlemanly-howl’s-moving-castle performance.

he ran his fingers through his hair. tomorrow. tomorrow the play of his life. his fingers trembled. a redden globe rested in the hand of his master for him. the red carpet was being layed out. he could not screw this up. but what was he thinking. he was good. he was soo good at what he did. he would have no problem. this was his moment of glorious glory. john wilkes booth had nothing on him. perhaps he might steal his line.

Sic semper tyrannis!

God was a the worst of tyrants. he left his fold of rules and regulation and went to a master who let him do whatever he wanted. yes. Sic semper tyrannis!

the little girl had no idea who her Great Spirit of Wonder was. may she never know.

May she never meet that Spirit.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part VII

we’re not in september anymore. Lovey would write a book and that would be the first line. she had always thought that. the line had come to her as when she was walking down the street her house was on. she had been looking at a house that had once been grand, beautiful, stately. now it was in shambles. the ceiling of the wrap-around-porch had been painted sky blue. that had been in november. she wondered what it had been like in september. it was the walk she had taken after the first time her father had come after her. she had hit him with a frying pan. i’ve already told you this but its worth repeating for it was her, is her, and will be Lovey. neither of them were in September anymore. we’re not in september anymore. in september there had been peace, but a creamy devil had appeared and with him the first of november.

yesterday had been the first of september, not on Earth of course, but it had to be on some distant planet. it was the day she had met Alaric. the star could see that blessed planet from where she stood in lyrical stillness. it was a perfectly viridecent orb. a gas giant the antithesis of jupiter. no storms. only affectionate winds like invisible cherubs playing in the elemental colors. yes for the best days are always in September.

Lovey walked away from home in the bloody cold. she knew that the only cold that could harm you was the cold you acknowledge. this held true with most things people like herself were afraid of. she should write theses of words of wisdom somewhere in her book. these words were hard to live out though, because sometimes acknowledge the cold gave her a sort of twisted pleasure, if only in saying, "it’s bloody cold," out loud to no one in particular. there was a lesson in that. anger never gives you as much power as you think. perhaps. perhaps her book should be about passions or what the philosophes call emotions. she could divide the book into sections, for each passion a picture of a harlequin cherub. Cherub made to look the ones that glided through the airy atmosphere of the planet that had facisnated her in astromony class. what was it called? oh yes. Shekinah.

She must meet this Spirit.

A man watched her walk away from home and these were his thoughts, for, at the moment, there was no audience to witness her death and that act must have a perfect, enraptured audience:

In the great literature of mankind, there are two characters bearing the name Absalom. The younger is a blue catepillar who manages to offer some sage advice while being addicted to opium. The older is far more terrible. He was the son of the famous Jewish king David, but was not very happy about it. He dethroned his father and forced him to flee his own capital. What did him in was his long hair that weighed five pounds altogether. it got tangled in a oak tree and a guy came along and killed him. Our Absalom modeled himself after the latter minus the long hair. He kept his hair in a shorter Edward Cullen style. He honored his predecessor for succeeding as far as he did, but even more so he honored him for not repeating his mistakes. He appreciated the younger-caterpillar-Absalom too, because people connected his name to him before they connected him to his actual ancestor, so his true character could stay unnoticed longer.

He smiled as he remembered standing up in a Bible study and reading his own story. He had chuckled at the end and walked out. You could have heard a pin drop. Sometimes it was so good to be himself. He smiled like a politican. Joe Biden. he wondered if that perfect slick man had ever met his master. his master didn’t tell him everything you know. but he had certainly told him that, that certainly didn’t mean he didn’t know everything. his glorious master. the son of the morning. feared enough by his enemy to be called the father of lies. we will see who's lieing when god-like Lucifer takes his place on the highest throne and YOU are proved a liar.

the little girl will never start your revolution. she wasn’t lovely enough and when she finally would be devastatingly beautiful her soul would no longer be able to move her hand to grip a pen or move even a single finger to tap tap tap a keyboard.

he would meet this Spirit some day. but right before that day he would smile and his master would swallow him into his own stomach where he would become the wellspring of his power. he, this lowly-john-wilkes-booth-type, would empower his master. did that make him more powerful than him?,

she reached the the swing set and sat down. she loved swings. it was the closest a human, who was afraid of heights could get to flying. she sometimes marvled at the mind’s capactiy for random thoughts. she defintely wouldn’t want to be a telepath because her thoughts were probably only cherishable by her. she hoped she would one day meet a guy who would cherish them in all their weird, silly, wonderful madness. perhaps she overvalued them and everyone elses thoughts were more original than hers. she hoped not. she prided herself in being able to think thoughts more artistic than everyone elses. that was the thing about art. art had two faces. one face should be cut off. that was the face of art that just allowed for some people to be better than othes. she wished she could cut that face off of herself. it only led to misery and half happiness that was perhaps worse than none at all. her thoughts on that changed everyday. the other face of art was the face that was just beautiful. as plato would say, the form of beauty. its pure essence that was never ugly but beautiful eternally and that could be denied by no one. art should allow one to glimpse that beauty. that beauty that can only bring humily, but even more importanlty community. true beauty brings love that binds souls together. perhaps that’s what beauty is. an essence that everyone recognizes. a being that allows everyone to see into themselves and then see into everyone else with a sight that brings love and castes out fear because one realizes no one is that different from everyone else.

She must meet this Spirit. for if the above thought is true that essence is God for in order for everyone to be not that different they would have to be from the same Creator and He would put His image on us. the most convincing argument agaisnt God therefore works stands against this idea's premise. that in fact there is no true beauty. that we are animals and to the animals we shall return. if we are animals then life is pointless and nothing is transcendent. the proof for this idea premise is evil. the injustice the hatred. the terror in the eyes of a little girl as she is forced to submit herself to the lusts of man after man till her existence whithers away. the hatred in the eyes of lynch mob who can’t see the humanity in a man whose only difference from them is the color of his skin. how can God allow these things. and if He does how can He be adored. How can beauty allow evil. how can love. how can there be beauty in brokeness.  there is though. i have seen it. perhaps that’s where God comes in.

She must meet this Spirit.

She swung with her eyes closed. the wind brushing past her face and she soon couldn’t feel the swing beneath her. she was numb to it and the earth. she was flying. after a few minuetes of the kind of rapture that can only happen when one completely forgets that it will end she gets off and walkes to a hidden rock so she can read in privacy.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part VI


Alaric woke up just in time for school. he broke every traffic law getting there anyway. perhaps he was letting himself get out of control. he had to keep his focus. it was what made him worthy. it was what made him lovable. a will that always accomplished what it desired.

a star watched them. grieving for their confusion. her silver hair not willing to cover her eyes like she wished. she loved them both. Alaric and Lovey. they were dearly loved. they would see. they were protected. Lovey would not die like devil wanted her to. that was her prayer.

a man in a white leather jacket leaned against the back of his white bmw suv, watching Lovey head into the school. she would graduate tomorrow. he smiled. he pictured the scene again and again changing the details to see what was needed for the most beautiful theatre ever performed on this planet. for that was what he was: the director of the theatre, the set desinger, the producer, the costume designer, and this time he would even be an actor himself, like Puck before him. his fingers trembled. he was breathless with anticipation. he raised two fingers to his lips, kissed them, then smacked the american flag aplique that was in the back window of his car. it was a good day to be alive if that was what he was. he climbed into the car, and went back to picturing the scene. he needed to keep his focus:

she reaches for her diploma, her auburn hair perfectly arranged under her graducation cap, the black costume flowing out behind her as she runs towards the ticket out of her father’s clutches. bam! he shoots her hand off. then right between the eyes he places a silver bullet. no. no. no. too easily thought of. anyone could have thought up that.

graduation over, she heads across the street to a party. by this time she has shed the purple robe and is dressed in a pink and black sleeveless dress that ends high up on her thighs. she would be the desire of every guy for once in her life. he rubbed his finger in circles on his temple. yes. she wanted to be desired even more than she wanted escape. she would be crossing the street in her pink and black checkered heels. he would hit her. blood looks so good on pink and white. such a vibrant red shining off of the lovely pink. all the guys would be watching her cross the street, fantasizing. she would see them. then she wouldn’t. dead before she could live. before she could find her purpose. before she could be desired and possessed. yes. blood looks so good on pink and white.

‘I graduate tomorrow,” thought Alaric and Lovey at the same time though neither knew that. Alaric hadn’t given it much thought. He had never needed a permission slip for him to do what he wanted, as many considered a diploma to be. Lovey, on the other hand, had thought about it a lot. But both of them had spent many hours thinking about the after-party. a bunch of kids had rented the house right across the street from the football field, where graduation was always held, to have it in. that had been the tradtiton since 1920. a bootlegger had lived there and had opened up the house on graduation night so the kids could get drunk. there were still secret passages and storage where one to this day might still find moonshine. some said the principal kept an old still in the basement. others said he was just having an affair on the greasy couch shoved against the one earthen wall. no one really cared.

the party was going to be the best one since the original. mostly because there wasn’t going to be any beer at this party. just vodka, burbon, scotch, etc. though both Lovey and Alaric hated the rich kids, this time they were coming in handy.

this last day of school passed on without event, as both of the star's beloveds left after attendance.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part V

alaric slammed the pedal down to the floor. it was time for a revolution. he was a gladiator. an anarchist. but he was God’s.

He must meet this Spirit.

he drifted like a rush-seeker into his driveway, the clock on his dashboard now reading 6 am, June 2nd.  he walked through the door, and was greeted by no one. his parents had given him this apartment and his allowance. they loved him in their own way. and he loved them for it. in his own way. he dropped the bag with his cut of the cash on the sofa. and headed up to his room, shedding his shirt on the stairs. behind the mirror of the bathroom was a first-aid kit and he nursed the bleeder that spilt his olive skin from the curve of his neck halfway to the end of his shoulder. some people claimed that the divine had healed them. he healed himself. he was a gladiater. a hedonist. a rush-seeker untouchable by the law. but he was God’s. he lived in a dream that he must wake from. he knew it better than most.

he lay in his bed, and fell asleep. safety. he didn’t mind being alone. he saw Lovey's face behind his lids. he loved her. he chose to love her. he believed the dream that had visited him night after night for the past three months. he would protect her. he chose to. he was God’s.

He must meet this Spirit.

he didn't know why he had made this choice. he barely knew her in the conventional sense. perhaps he wanted to saver her because he had screwed up so many times before he wanted to get something right. perhaps he was delusional and needed to feel like a savior. he didn’t think that was so. he would see what would happen in the morning. if it was meant to be it was meant to be. he was God’s. perhaps he knew that. perhaps he didn’t believe in God. some days he knew Providence. years ago he knew without a doubt. now he refused to think about it.

He must meet this Spirit.

her hair was auburn. her eyes were green. diamonds adorned her cheeks. her mother was crying behind her door, the heavy make-up that she had put over the bruise on her cheek pounded off. her father was crying on the couch. he didn’t know how to stop. couldn’t help himself. did she believe that? was it true?

how much did people actually control. what is free will? is everything controled by genes and environment. just cause and effect. just cause and effect. or did some people choose evil. what would make them do that? why would they beat their wives knowing that in the end their fists were pounding their own faces. that they would regret it. that it would kill. perhaps not on the outside. but on the inside. she didn’t know if she believed in a soul. but she was sure that evil killed it. but how much of that evil was controlled by man. for how much was man accountable for. for truly the only way we are to blame is it if there we have choice uncoerced. how many choices do we get to make that are completely uncoerced. how many choices can I make. will i make the right ones. or will i end up with a dead soul like my father.

she wanted him to come alive. it would show her all things are possible. that she could be saved. his progeny. flesh of his flesh. bone of his bone. could she avoid his mistakes. be loveable where he was only hated.

was he worth saving. was she worth saving.

who would save him. who would save her.

She must meet this Spirit.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part IV
     
some dreams are beyond our power. like the inexplicable desire in a little girl to spin round and round until she falls to her face and feels sick.
     Alaric could only stand there and watch as Lovey walked across the street in a beautiful pink and black dress. as her lips formed a smile an formerly unlit car flipped on its lights and gunned its engine. it hit before she had even turned to face it. she spun over the hood across the roof and plummetted onto the asphalt with a crack of bone that made his whole body ache. creamy blood made rivers on the black ground.
     he woke up in his bed, paralyzed. he hadn't been able to stop it. he sat up and held his face in his hands to keep it from being pulled apart as it tried to expel the anguish that perforated him. by a singular chance one eye saw through his fingers to the clock on a small table at the foot of his bed. 3am June 2nd it said. his body froze again. it was the early morning of June 2nd. the party was still to come. she was still alive. and fully alive she would remain.
     as Alaric climbed out of bed for some nefarious late night activities, Lovey was awakened by the sound of her father screaming. she put in her headphones. rain and metal made her happy. was that mad? her fingers caressed a leather blank book that she had fallen asleep considering. she had had it for seven months and yet the pages were still unmarked.  she let her fingers go back and forth along the cover running over the edges of pages lightly. no paper cuts to interupt her reveries. she didn’t know how long she stayed like that. knees up to her chin. arms crossed against her chest. lips a hard line. only her fingers daring to move. it could have been minuetes, but it wasn’t. three hours. finally she heard the door slam. safety. if all the world was made of men and women like those who gave her birth perhaps it would be better to be alone.
     she opened the black blank book. pulled out the black ribbon that had never before been touched. she paused her pen above the page. her favorite pen that left soft unrevocable lines across the cream page. she wrote carefully in scripted letters in middle left of the first page:
     “Dedicated to the Great Spirit of Wonder”
     She had heard that in a song once. by Secret & Whisper called Warrior.
            “Dark Spirit. Dark Spirit. will fear me cause I’m a warrior. a warrior. a warrior ventures on his own. a warrior.”
     THE DARK SPIRIT WILL FEAR ME CAUSE I’M A WARRIOR. She would be a warrior to be feared. She closed the book and brought her fist down like a hammer on the leather cover. this book would be worth reading someday. it was time for a revolution.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part III


She had seen ocean’s 11 many times before and did find it quite entertaning and enjoyable, yet she soon found herself looking out the window. A single minded wind was carrying a few choice leaves around and around like a mini tornado of love and affection. Like a mother with her beloved children. She hated cliché and knew it was cliché to say that God was like the wind. She wasn’t sure she believed in God. Couldn’t really see how a God worth devotion would create a world like this one. Still if God did exist and if it was like a mother or a father, God would truly be like the wind. the most obivious similarity is the fact that both are unseen. From that observation it can be noted that while both are unseen they both have great power to move things and even people. Powerful winds can pick up houses, and tractor trailer trucks and cows and yes people. God could certainly do the same and even more so because he could move the hearts of people. Also while the wind can be destructive and have great power it can also be affectionate and pleasant. Few things are as pleasant as the feeling of a light breeze caressing your face and playing with your hair. some people claim God is affectionate and delights with his people. Cries when they cry. and laughs when they laugh. this is all assuming God exists and is worth adoration, that he is all-powerful, that there is a good God like the wind.

she must meet this Sprirt. 

He watched her get lost somewhere outside the window. he wondered where she was. what kind of dream. a composition book filled with poetry and philosophy rested in the bottom of his backpack. He was shocked he admitted that to himself in a place as unsafe as this. school was no place to be yourself. he chuckled softly. keep the status qou. expletive.

Suddenly she must have felt his eyes on her and she looked back at him. their eyes met and held. he knew then why he believed some crazy dream that she was going to die. he knew why he actually cared to save her. she had a touch of destiny. destiny. yes he believed in destiny. in fate. but whether he believed in Providence remained to be seen.

He must meet this Spirit.

he almost leaned in and kissed her. a lock of her hair saved him. it fell just out of place. he reached out and gently moved it back behind her ear.  she blushed scarlet and looked away. she had never had a boyfriend. she wasn’t gorgeous or charming or at least at ease talking with guys. she had plain looks, and was too reserved for most. he knew all this. but her green eyes and auburn hair were beautiful. even more so because they were so little noticed by others besides himself. she had a touch of destiny.

the movie ended. he stood and looked down at her.

“you’re going to the party after graduation right?” he asked

“yeah” she answered.

“i’ll see you there then” he said “save me the first dance”

she blushed and smiled and said “i’ll be sure to”

he smiled. her cheeks were rosy red.

as she walked to get her books and headed out to her car. she realized she had barely taken a breath. her lungs burned. she had to think of something else despite the fact the most attractive guy in school wanted her to save the first dance for him. he was probably joking. she had to think of something else. he hadn’t seemed like was joking. she had to think of something else.

she was reading a book called i am number four. it was fairly well written, but the plot was good. twilight was better written. the one part she really hated was the fact that the female protagonist had to be good looking. why? why really? most of the girls who read books weren’t the gorgeous popular ones. that was not a stereotype it was the truth. i mean really why? expletive. at least bella swan wasn’t the gorgeous of the gorge. expletive. i mean really.

she sometimes wondered if she was adopted. i mean she had auburn hair and green eyes. her parents had dark brown hair and muddy eyes. she loved them in a way but she would be glad to not be under the curse of their progeny.

he touched my hair. he smiled at me. he asked me... got to think of something else.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part II


Lovey wasn’t sure what she was going to do after the party. she had once said she was either destined to be an evangelist or a witch. it was true. all her exams were done, and today would just be spent watching pop culture movies like ocean’s 11 and zoolander.

ocean’s 11 was entertaining at least and brad pitt is pretty hot so she decided to watch that one instead. the classrooms desks and lab tables had all been hauled out and replaced by couches and a cart filled with cookies, capri-sun and fruit snacks. she found a empty couch near the back, and settled in. the room was filled with noise of gossips and couples, who wouldn’t last past the party, making out. ew. she might consider herself a bohemian but she was also a lot like bella swan. she wouldn’t go with a guy for the sake of it. she would have to be able to at least picture herself committing to him. expletive. she was a romantic. she prefferred the term bohemian. truth, love and beauty are all that matters. the only escape for a broken heart in a broken world. perhaps she was a contradiction. no. a paradox. like the Great Spirit of Wonder.

She must meet this Spirit.

as she was musing and taking pride in her own special character, someone sat next to her. she turned, and instantly looked away when a pair of masculine blue eyes met hers. well. this was something new.

“hey” he said. his name was Alaric. the baddest expletive of the whole school. also one of the most attractive. but that was very besides the point. ha ha. yeah right. just kidding. it was the whole point.

“hey” she replied.

“your names Lovey right”

“yep. and yours is Alaric”

“yep.” he looked her over. “i like your shirt.” she was wearing an underoath t-shirt. she was a bohemian metal head. oh yes. sometimes it was good to be herself.

“thanks” he was wearing a black button-up and grey jeans. They kept up some surpisingly pleasent small talk until the the movie started. She hadn’t expected him to be so easy to talk to. She felt almost like he had already decided to like her and wouldn’t ever be swayed from that opinion. That was on the of the most admirable traits anyone could ever possess. If not the most admirable. In a moment she herself decided she would like him and never allow herself to be swayed from that opinion. they were fast friends by spontaneous uncoerceed decision. This has rarely happened in the history of the world.

What wouldn't I do

There are only a few things that even today no one would think of doing. The principle of those being to run over a gravestone with toyota camry. I mean really, if one were to think of doing it at all it would be with some massive, diesel Dodge Ram super duty. After all gravestones are made of granite, and even more importantly to run over a gravestone is to run over death itself. Most people don’t even like to walk across graves, and even grave-robbers won’t disturb a headstone. There is something sacred about those memorials to those who are no longer a member of the human race. For a theist, they are monuments to the Resurrection, and to an atheist they serve as foreboding mementos of loved ones who have ceased to exist and who one day they will join in the nothing of eternity. Hence, neither would ever think of running over one with a toyota camry.

This is perhaps why it is important to note that our beloved girl, with her auburn hair and living green eyes, was neither a theist nor an atheist. She was an agnostic. Her foot was on the brake of her cream toyota camry and her right hand around her neck. She didn’t cry. Her lips were parted and she held her tongue to the roof of her mouth where it stuck, dry from dehydration. She could still read the script, knife-like, on the granite marker of her little-girl.

Mae Everglow 2007-2011 The dearly loved light of our lives.

Mr. and Mrs. Everglow were buried behind her in the Serenity Garden section. But she was just as much Libi’s little-girl as she was theirs. She had been at her one year birthday party. And her two year, and her three year. She hadn’t missed one. Her left hand tightened on the wheel, and the right around her neck. She could feel Mae’s glass blonde hair against her throat, could feel again the weight of her in her lap. She wasn’t dead. She is right her with me.

She slammed the gas pedal to the floor and the car lurched forward. It shattered the stone and rolled over it like it was a trash can or a little boy’s tricycle. Libi braked and turned the key. She sat still in the seat, her foot on the brake, her left hand clinching the steering wheel, and her right around her neck with her nails digging into the flesh. Her breathing was even and she didn’t cry. Libi looked in the rearview mirror.

The entire top of the stone with its inscription was all gone except for the last line:

We will see you again.

Libi wept. She drove home, mad tears reddening her living green eyes. She would see her again.

He will swallow up death forever and...will wipe away tears from all faces.

Mae's Good Life

She was a tiny little girl, with bright blue eyes and glass blonde hair. Her name was Mae Everglow, and the one thing she loved most in the world was the sound of soft feet on a tile floor. It was the one thing she missed the most: the sound of her brother’s feet on the kitchen floor.

She wrapped her arms around her knees pulling them tighter against her chest. She was cold, shaking with it, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for her blanket. She felt that if she once moved the monster would come get her.

Her mother was upstairs. She could hear her footsteps on her ceiling. The steps stopped at the front door. She had promised she was coming back. She always said you had to keep your promises. Even in the basement, Mae heard the sharp creak of the front door swinging open. Her brother had said he was going to fix it, but he had never got the chance. Her mother screamed. Mae shot up, but froze on her feet.

Boom! A gun shot reverberated through the living room, down the stairs, to Mae. Then, more footsteps on the ceiling, heavy, deliberate ones. Mae’s father had been a pastor. Her second favorite thing in all the world was the sound of her father singing.

“Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong.”

Slam! The door to the stair slapped the wall. She sang in a voice just louder than the noise of her crying. Mom always kept her promises just like Daddy. The man opened the door to the basement, and saw Mae standing there with her bright blue eyes and glass blonde hair. She reminded him of God. He walked to her, and she stood perfectly still, entranced. He put his hand, soft as a butterfly on her hair, then on her shoulder. He raised his Gloc and shot her in the face. Her blood soaked his shirt to his arm and chest. His fingers were dyed crimson with it. He raised two and put them in his mouth. He left the way he had come. She lay on the floor. Dead.

Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?

My sentiments exactly

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

rain and metal made her happy. crisp fall days with a breeze that was fatherly in its affection. snow that fell from high branches. the best kind of mist. she closed her eyes, and felt the rain washing off her make-up. she once read a poem about make-up. what were woman not hiding who went in the clear. with an evident not so clear complexion. did she want to hide? she wanted to hide from the loveless but how could she know unless she first showed them herself? it was a hard question.

a man was looking at her.  he was a man though he couldn’t yet be twenty.  he had one foot on a long board. black bangs in his eyes. a radiohead t-shirt. and tooth and nail messenger bag. would he be her husband one day. he looked away. skate-boarded away. she had always wanted to learn how to do that. it was close to flying. gliding along the ground. taking to the air. she wanted to fly. so much. she wanted with everything to fly. God give me wings. fly with me.

she must meet this Spirit.

was he watching her right now. or were only the stars. she knew the stars had souls. were watching over her. hating those who hated her. loving those who loved her for her sake. she closed her eyes and felt the rain. liquid stars.

was God a star. or was only the devil.

she must meet this spirit.

he looked over his shoulder. she was enjoying the rain. it made her beautiful.

she knew that many of the things she did were solely so that she could make sure she was different than everyone else. so that she was weird. so that she was lovable. would he ever love her? the boy with the long-board and the radio t-shirt and the tooth and nail bag. she scrounged around in her purse and brought out her ipod. rain and metal made her happy. and owl city and taylor swift on a slight ocassion.

her name was Lovey. a nostalgic name from the roaring twenties her mother had never known. her father hadn’t wanted a say.

his name was Alaric. everyone called him ric. sometimes he didn’t like that.

did God give them their names?

they must meet this Spirit. later.