They must meet this Spirit.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part XV

Lovey opened the door just a crack. The room was dark, and her shaft of light showed a cut out of the slope of Alaric’s back. He was still asleep. She crept back to her room, and sat down on the bed, pulling the covers over her lap. She reached for the pad and pen both inscribed with ‘The Green Fountain Inn’ in gold flowery lettering. The pen wouldn’t write. She traced it in circles on the edges of the paper until it produced a speckilish line.

My father is worth no more than a dead dog. Then, what am i worth. I am his daughter. Are we defined by our fathers?

She glanced at the Gideon Bible still laying open next to her on the bed.

“but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and on the children’s children, to the third and fourth generation.”

She stopped and held the pen close to her eyes for a moment, studying the words on it.

I have to admit, God came through for me today. my father and my love are still alive. But perhaps it wasn’t God who allowed it. Perhaps nothing is withheld or allowed. Things just happen. Period. No animal determinism, no cause and effect traced back to some big bang. Things just happen. After all who wants God anyway.

(After all, does God want us?)

She drew a line through the last sentence.

Beauty is all that makes us matter. Beauty in the little moments that become eternity. This has been said before, but if it is true it should be said again because no one has learned it. Beauty in the seconds it exists gives us eternal life.

If you keep on taking a moment and dividing it in half over and over again when will you ever reach the piece of time that is truly the present? For is not there always a nanosecond before and a nanosecond after? How long is the present? If you can always keep dividing time into smaller and smaller pieces, does that not make the present eternal? Does that not make a beautiful moment eternal?

(What then is this beautiful moment but God?)

She drew a line through the last sentence.

But then again beauty is not eternal in its effect on humans. People like to throw around the term ‘beauty in brokenness’ but come on what beauty is there in the cutting off of the head of a baby. Only the joy that it is not your own head. If evil things don’t just happen, should we worship the God who watches them, not intervening.

She must meet this Spirit.

The Great Spirit of Wonder

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part XIV

It felt like someone’s fingers were grabbing the mind matter behind his right eye and twisting it: his master. Preston Glover had found Alaric and Lovey. He was right now on his way to the Green Fountain Inn. They were practically dead already, in his master’s bosom. The twisting stopped, then began again contracting tighter and holding there.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part XIII

The Present

Wet, red blood looks so good on pink. He had ditched the cream BMW, and come back to the scene. He waited until a TV camera finally caught him amongst the rubberneckers. He hissed. He might be grey-haired now for how long it took for them to film him. He had almost confessed on the spot just to get their attention, but he had resisted that impulse. Thank God. He chuckled at his own joke, and the man next to him had looked at him strangely. Creepy. Then, he woke up.

Preston Glover lived the whole scene in his dream. Now he sat in his comfy leather seat watching horny teenagers go into the party. He clicked his fingers against the steering wheel and began a long hiss, but cut it short when a scene popped behind his eyes. If they were fashionably late it would make for an even better last act. Since they weren’t here yet it would probably turn out exactly like that. Thank God. He chuckled. During his musing his shoulders had slouched, he rolled them back, straightening his spine. He soon began staring at the vehicle’s digital clock, observing the glimmering patterns changing. How did that thing work? Things that ticked always fascinated him. He still had nothing to worry about, the last stragglers were still trying to stagger into the already block-busting party. His eyes darted from the house’s door to the farthest reaches of the streets leading to it. Leading her and the lovely Alaric to it. And their doom. He chuckled raucously at that. Who needed TV with networks owned by the Moulin Rouge (after he saw that movie he said everything he hated (which meant things that insulted his theater ideal (which meant theater that didn’t involve him)) was owned by that place (he still didn’t know why he hated that movie so much)) when one had a sense of humor like his; he didn’t quibble; anything that was slightly funny he found terribly funny because how long would it be till his master called him home. When he finally finished ruminating on his humor and the accursed Moulin Rouge the porch of the colonial house, which was literally rocking from side to side if only slightly, was empty. He would give them two minutes. He stared at the clock. 8:05. 8:06.

His breath held at the bottom of his diaphragm. It began to vibrate up to his vocal chords, through his throat, over his tongue, and out his trembling lips. He snarled. They. Weren’t. Coming.

A bitter syrup flooded his mouth as he raced through the streets, his car swerving from the solid yellow line in the middle to over the white line on the edge and back again. He cursed, spitting syrup at a car in the opposite lane who laid on the horn as he passed. He finally swung across the street to park in front of an internet café succeeding in blocking both a 250 pick-up truck in its spot, and the opposing lane of traffic. If he had realized he had done this it might have him given a slight flicker of happiness.

He sat down at a computer and began his search. He would find them. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part XII

7 Years Ago

A girl with Auburn hair like redeemed blood was walking along a sidewalk. School and social life and home life were a weight above her shoulders. Some thin string like a silver hair kept it from crushing her. Every once and a while the string would slip and the weight would make her fall to her knees. She was waiting for the day when the string would sever and be reeled back up to heaven and the rock would crush her into hell. She was twelve years old and perhaps had not thought all of this out, but her feelings were no less real from not being articulated.

Only few things helped her forget the Juggernaut: her best friend’s older sister's notes from her college Old Testament class, hardcore music, and photography.

She did not understand most of what the OT notes meant, but that was exactly why she liked them. The words and concepts were so foreign from her atheist-barely-literate-family that they were marvelous; wonderstruck. it reminded her that the world was bigger than her problems. people were living who thought completely different from her. that meant her tragedies could not last. she could keep going. once again she had probably had not thought all this out, but she still would have known what you meant if you had told all this to her.

Hardcore music was a more obvious medicine. It was loud and energetic and raw, and it brought outside what was inside, giving her release. Allowing all the combustible feelings and thoughts to escape before they ran into each other a little too hard and exploded like a grenade or even a hydrogen bomb.

She loved light. She loved watching movies and looking at and taking photographs where light was shown in all its glories. She saw this in black and white pictures and in the movie Pride and Prejudice and even in anime films and T.V. shows where light and shadows were enhanced; in M. Night Shamylan movies like Signs, Unbreakable, Lady in the Water, the Happening, the Sixth Sense; in Alice in Wonderland. In the Matrix. Nothing was more beautiful than the living light glimmering from the viridescent leaves.

The concept of beauty making life worth living was not alien to her mind.

A crimson leaf flitted down in front of her alighting on the sidewalk like a first kiss. She reached down and was about to pick it up when she yanked her hand back. Someone had written on it in very small letters with jet black ink. After she realized it was writing and not a spider she picked it up.

“Beloved Eleora, reflect the Sun”

Somewhat cheesy perhaps, but if cheesy was not sweet as well chick flicks would not be near so popular. She wondered if Eleora had ever seen this, or if she carried it with her always and it had got blown away. Who gave it to her? Or who meant to give it to her? Her father? Brother? Mother? Sister? Lover? Friend? What was the story behind this leaf and its perhaps cheesy but still lovely message. Any message with Beloved in it was beautiful. She knew that full well. She longed to be called that.

She tucked the leave into her pocket. Later she encased it in wax paper so it would stand the test of time.

Forest by Number One Gun

As you take off your bandage
ask yourself if you're alright now
take a break from the world and all the ones you love
let it out as you yell it
might as well cause you're all alone
name in vain while you're at it
feels so good

I've said a lot of things, I've done it all, but not this
I got to figure out why the world is so big

While you hide in the forest
you engage w/ the animals
gathering all around you is what you wanted all along
through the secrets and knowledge
and opinions from all around
when the sky turns to water, you'll know what to do

I've said a lot of things, I've done it all, but not this
I got to figure out why the world is so big
I've gone way way out, way out of bounds
I'll do anything, tell me how

I'll tell you to get by, My side (x7)
I'll tell you to get by

I've said a lot of things, I've done it all, but not this
I got to figure out, why the world is so big (x2)
I've gone way way out, way out of bounds
I'll do anything, tell me how.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part XI

Alaric held the gun by his side, the safety on. He walked up the sidewalk normally. The lights were on in what Lovey had told him were the living room, and the kitchen. He considered whether to knock or just barge in, then chided himself. The door was locked. shooting the lock would just be incredibly stupid. he pushed the gun into the back of his pants. he knocked.

The woman who opened the door was brunette, petite, and had a desperate smear of make-up over a still purplish bruise on her cheek. He saw another bruise peeking out from the rim of her shirt. a wet stain lay over her stomach. Lovey’s mom.

“Hello, Mrs. Michel. I’m a friend of Lovey’s.” She looked nervous. He was wearing dark jeans, and a black t-shirt with a chi-ro on it that most people mistook for a gang sign.

“She’s not here,” she said, jerking her hair out of her face.

“Oh, she borrowed a CD from me, and I would like it back.”

She glanced into the house, in the direction of the living room.

So Mr. Michel was home.

“We actually don’t have any idea where she is.”

“Well, I don’t know where she is or otherwise why would I be here.”

He heard heavy footsteps from behind the door. Mr. Michel appeared behind his wife.

“And why are you here to pick up a CD an hour before graduation,” he said, the alcohol almost palpable on his breath.

“Cause it’s an hour before graduation, and it’s my favorite CD.”

Mr. Michel shifted his weight.

“What CD is it?” he asked.

“We Are Not Alone by Breaking Benjamin.”

“Go get it.” Alaric stepped forward.

“Not you.”

his wife disappeared behind the door. alaric heard steps on the stairs.

if he was going in now was the time. suddenly he realized how stupid this was. she could get new clothes. everything she held dear she kept in her purse. the only reason he was here was to put the fear of God into her father. to throw some terror back at him. walk away Alaric

He must meet this Spirit.

he turned and started walking across the lawn.

“HEY!” he heard heavy sloshy steps following. he grabbed the gun, and pistol whipped Mr. Michel on the temple. he fell. the grass was higher than his nose. Alaric was surprised he hadn’t thrown up a copious amount of booze.

it was a ten minute walk to the mcdonald’s where Lovey was waiting. when he got there she didn’t look suprised that he was empty handed. she looked beautiful leaning against the wall outside.

“did you?” she asked. her eyes glassy. even if he is an expletive he is still her father.

“no,” he answered. he reached up and touched the back of his fingers against her cheek.

“did you really want me to?”

“Not really.” he is still my father. after everything i can’t say i wanted him dead. what’s the world coming too.

Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part X

he unplugged the frier, and guided her by the elbow to the door.

what was happening to my mom? he would blame her. he would beat her.

she felt horror clinching her stomach and her throat like she had asthma.

she climbed into the car only vaguely aware of Alaric holding the passenger door open for her. a thought dropped into her mind more terrifying than any proverbial stone she had ever heard of. there was a part of her that was glad he was beating her mom. it horrified, terrifed her. most of her heart was crashing in her chest, her limbs and skin aching as she imagined what her mom must be feeling. but part of it, a few might label it the right atrium, thought she was getting what she deserved. what she had wanted to do herself. her mother had never stopped him. never tried to. not once. her teeth ground together in anger. how could she think that? how could she wish death on anyone? she was a good person.

“Lovey, can i have the keys?”

her eyelids fluttered.

“huh?”

Alaric smiled at her. he was sitting in the drivers seat, looking like a model in a bmw commericial.

“i need the keys,” he repeated.

“oh, yeah” she dug around in her purse, and got them out and handed them to him. she thought nothing of it. she just looked out the window, feeling a headache starting at the back of her neck, in her brain stem, as a few might label it.

“what are we going to do once we get there? i don’t really think you want to get involved in this,” she asked. she grimaced. she wouldn’t if she were him.

he kept his eyes on the road. she wouldn’t believe him if he told her about his dreams. without them he might never have noticed her, but now that he had, the thought of living without her tormented him. how cliche. life could change in a moment: beauty or misery could drop from heaven like a dime.

he must meet this Spirit.

“when we get there you’ll tell me what you need out of the house, and i’ll go in and get it for you.”

“what?!” she couldn’t believe he or anyone would do that for her.

they were at a stop sign.

“which way?” he asked.

“um,” she glanced out the windshield. “right”

“if you go in there he’ll kill you,” she started.

“and what would he do to you?” he asked.

she looked out the window. he might kill her.

“and no, he won’t hurt me” Alaric replied, calmly.

“look, i know my father. he’ll flip out,” she cried.

he was still calm as ice.

“open the glove compartment,” he said.

Lovey did. a gun was nestled in some mcdonald’s napkins on top of a few old cds. her heart stopped altogether.

“don’t worry,” he said. “i wouldn’t use it of course, but it’ll keep him from coming after me.” not that the old man wouldn’t deserve it, passed through both their minds. as it would anyones.

she closed the compartment, and looked out the window. the sun was just over the trees, and reflected like the glory on the steel pieces of the houses. God I need You today. if You don’t come today You never will. I will hate You forever if You don’t come today.

she must meet this Spirit.