In the Seams Of Being – Part Two #Suspense

My body feels like it is being cupped by something cool but heavy with a sour musky scent. Did I fall asleep in the tub again? My head tips to one side but only for mere millimeters before it met resistance.

I can not see anything. Are my eyes still closed?

I order my right hand to rise up to touch my face, but it will not budge. It is stuck under something…it almost feels like either a thick pilty blanket, or dirt.

It is at this moment I realize how difficult it is to breathe. Something is sitting on top of my chest.

“Do not try to move,” the man’s back to my left ear, “it would be useless.”

A grunt emanates from my lips as I try to move my arms anyway. He’s right, it is useless. I try to force the eyelids to open, but it is like they are barred by something strong like steel.

My heart is pounding causing my chest to ache.

What is he doing to me? Why doesn’t he just kill me and get it over with?

Something metallic clunk heavily to the ground quite close to my head as I feel the breeze from it.

“Well, if you really must know,” more clinking and motion of some kind, “I just buried you in oh about three feet of clay, but left your head uncovered so you can still breathe.”

I hear him grunting with more clinking noises.

“I’m going to set up somewhere nearby, bring out some popcorn and watch the fun,” he let out a croaky laugh, “not so much for you I’m afraid.”

The crunching of rubber soles fill my ears as they tread over the ground quickly fading away until the only thing I hear is the sound of my shaky breathing.

I attempt to wiggle my body one more time to see if I could budge the dirt-filled cover on top of me, but a sharp, fiery pain shoots through my bowels causing me to cry out.

Gasping, I can feel the tears trickling down my face.

Damn! Damn! Why is he doing this?

The fire is burning so hot it feels like thousands of pins are ripping through my innards. My lungs are spasming as I try to gulp in air but just can’t get any. My head, spinning…spinning out of control.

Oh god, I’m not ready to die.

“Lexi.”

It came so faintly, I nearly did not hear my name being whispered.

“Lexi.”

That voice…why does it seems so familiar?

“I’m right here, Lex.”

For the first time, I finally am able to open my eyes. The scenery around me is different somehow. The tall pine trees now obscured by layers of mist. My eyes glance all around and zeroed in on a human form encased within the fog.

My mouth opens as I attempt to ask for its identity, but nothing would come. Just the shuddering wheezes.

“I am here. You are not alone, sis.”

My brows crinkle together as I ponder on the boy’s words. I’m the only child unless–no, that is not possible. Can’t be.

Jax?

The name forms a vivid image in my head of a boy with a shaggy blonde mop on his head and a face loaded with brown and red freckles. The green eyes mirrored my own.

You can’t be here. You’re dead.

To be continued…

Didn’t catch the beginning?  Here’s Part One.
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In the Seams of Being #Suspense

The breeze. Its touch on my skin is warm, the scent sweet and rich with pine and lavender.

The songs of robins, sparrows and blue jays fill my ears as they flutter from tree limb to tree limb.

I feel strange though. As if the world has shifted, unnaturally. There is nothing solid under my feet, but the smell of dirt is so close to my face.

If I really concentrate, I’d swear the earth’s under my back.

My nostrils detect another smell. One that’s metallic–like rusted iron. I’m trying to move my head but it will not budge. My body has become one solid leadening object that refuses my mental orders.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I move?

The lids of my eyes are heavy as they slowly slide down. Soon, all I see is the blackness which is being accompanied by an iciness that goes straight to the bones.

The chirpings of the birds are fading. I feel a pull in that I want to fly away with them.

Oh please, don’t leave me!

Instead, my head feels like it’s sinking while spinning around and around like some child’s toy top. Like a slithering blanket, a deep chill spreads through my legs, and soon it’s creeping for my hips.

Flashes of images filter through my mind. Of faces and places, I can no longer name.

Just as the icy tendrils slid towards the sternum area, a loud snap rang through my head as my eyes sprang open.

A moaning wheeze escapes my mouth and it is at this moment I finally realize what is truly going on…

I’m dying.

Confusion fills my mind.

What happened to me? How did I get here?

Only to be answered with images of shining metal objects as I heard my skin ripping like a zipper followed by fire.

Through the billowing fog, I quickly become aware of the burning pain in my gut as my mouth fills with the thick salty liquid.

“I see you’re still hanging on,” a man’s voice whispers near my left ear.

Choking on my own blood, I’m trying to find this man. He has to be standing right beside me, but my eyes no longer see anything. It is as if I’m in a tiny room and someone has turned off the lights.

Something hits the ground disturbing the dirt just enough that I felt the movement under my left leg. Then I catch a whiff of him.

Rotten fish.

“No one will be looking for you,” I hear him say, “they all think you’ve gone on your retreat in the mountains!”

He guffawed as sounds of metal and wooden objects clinking together echoing over me, and another rumbling thud to the ground.

“Your boyfriend won’t miss you either!” I can hear the creaking of rubber soles, “he’s fishing with his Army buddies the next state over.” He lets out a sigh that tells me just how sick this man really is, “Yeah, it’s just you and I — soon to be just me. Ha!”

Suddenly, an awful stench washes over my face as I feel him pressing against my shoulder.

“You know the longer you hold on, the more painful it’ll be,” he pauses for a second, “but, I hope you do ‘cause I have special plans just for you!”

 

 

*End of Part One*

Ramblings and Current Happenings #Writerslife

For being nearly the middle of May, 2019 thus far has felt like a very l-o-n-g year.

With at least eight blizzards (between middle of January to early April) which kept us buried in several feet of snow, and then hubby was furloughed by the Federal gov’t for over 30 days, and then the near historic flooding of the Red River (thank goodness it was no where near the magnitude of the 1997 Flood, but bad enough)….

And even though it’s officially Spring, it still doesn’t feel like it up here.  Temp during the nights still bottom out in the upper 20s, and daytime highs rarely reach above 60…

Guess I am hoping for a nice change in the current pattern of things.

I’m ready for warm weather and lots of sunshine.  I’m also ready to get out of the house and interact with people.  These would be so good for my mental health as it has tanked in recent weeks.

Currently, I do have some potential outings coming up.  In early June, I will be spending one full week at the School for the Blind for their Adult Week (will go more in detail at a later posting).  The Fall will bring opportunities to fly out of state; one, to attend a Buffalo Bills’ game (either in Buffalo NY, or wherever we can score three affordable tickets), and second, with my hubby at one of his training sessions (San Antonio is a distinct possibility, or maybe even San Diego–yippee!).

The past several days I’ve been mulling over whether or not to apply to a few writers residencies. The one I am most interested in is at Hedgebrook -located on Whidbey Island (near Seattle).

I love my guys, but I need to spend some time away for a while and be me, the writer and mingle with other creatives who truly get me.  Now it’s a matter of sitting down and figuring out what my next project should be.  At this point, I know I want it to be a collection of essays; just have to decide on a theme.

Next week, I am hoping to check out a local writing group in Grand Forks, Northern Ink.

For me, a busy body makes for a healthier mindset.

Let’s roll.

Stepping Out of the Comfort Zone #Poetry #SpokenWord

Now that I’ve declared I was a poet (much more so than just a fiction writer), I decided to really put myself out there.

By recording poetry as “spoken word.”

This was a huge thing for me as I absolutely HATE the sound of my own voice. This mainly stem from a history of speech problems due to my hearing impairment.  So, after listening to other poets’ recording their poems, not to mention some hard-core loving encouragement from Susan Richardson, I took that leap.

Quiet was my very first attempt.  This poem was actually inspired by having listened to so many of Avi Kaplan’s music:

 

Once was a poem I wrote years ago, but it’s a story I feel is still very relevant today:

 

I may do more in the near future.

At the Crossroads #IWSG #Writing

Have you ever gone through a period of time when no matter how hard you tried to do something, or in my case – complete a novel, you just can’t quite get there?

For years and years, I believed I was meant to be a fiction writer especially of suspenseful (and at times, horror) stories.  I still enjoy writing these stuff, but there’s a growing part of me that keeps telling me to shift my focus/attention to poetry and essays. I’ve resisted, well I tried to anyway, against this quiet tugging until recently.

In February and April of this year, I’ve participated in various month-long blogging/writing challenges where my original intentions were to focus on flash/micro fiction (suspense/horror kinds) and maybe sprinkle a few poems in there.

Well, I ended up writing mainly poetry. It wasn’t planned. It just happened that way.

As I wrote these poems, it occurred to me how the muse had tricked me (by the way, I’m nicknaming her “Trickster” from now on). All through these two months, whenever I picked up a pen (hovered my fingers over the keyboard), my first instinct was to write poetry – not fiction.

Wow…it hit me then (specifically, during the last week of April). I might have already said this in a guest post I wrote for another blog, but never truly believed in my heart at the time — I’m a writer of many things, but the essence of me is a poet.

Okay, I will admit that the Trickster (formerly known at “muse”) had been right all along — but…

Now what?

X Marks the Spot

Nearing the end of April, I find myself reading over the poems I’ve written for both NaPoWriMo and A to Z Challenge, and it kind of struck me how dark some of them sounded.

This must be me in some kind of funk (aka depression). The poem, Lonely, kind of nailed it on the head –

I sit at the window
And watch

As the world
Leaves me
Behind

This is exactly how I feel. Long story short, my hubby works long hours and travels out of state much of the time, and a son who’s busy with high school, sports, and hanging with his friends, so I am alone at home most of the time.

When I “retired” in 2015, I was looking forward to being home, and to be able to write without any time restraints. That same year we left the hectic city life that was Raleigh, NC and moved up to a farmstead just outside Grand Forks, it was just what I needed. I’d been battling anxiety which was steadily worsening and meds were not helping. With wide open spaces, I felt I was finally able to breathe.

Nearly four years later, anxiety is almost non-existent but depression is starting to take over my life. I mean, I am only in my 40s, and I feel I still have much to live for.

Everything that has happened to me, all the crap I went through, and the losses I’ve experienced, and they all come down to this—me, sitting at home, alone with just my laptop and nine cats.

I write, a lot. I interact with people via internet. But, I want more. I want to get back out into the world. I no longer want to hide and be left behind.

But, I am hampered with limitations of all kinds.

I don’t drive. There is public transportation but it’s limited to certain days and to certain places (none of where I’d love to go).

In the time I’ve lived here, I haven’t been able to establish any real friendships within the community (they tend to be quite “clicky” when it comes to “outsiders”).

Yet, with my hubby and son who practically can fend for themselves, I have no limit as to what I can do and where to go as far as time and availability. How do I narrow the chasm and break through to the other side?

As I sit here typing, there is a window next to the desk where I can watch birds pecking away on a pile of seeds my guys threw down weeks earlier, I am struck by how free they are to fly wherever they want yet they are limited. Limited by weather conditions and availability of food. These two determine where and when they fly. These limitations though do not seem to affect their attitude as they sing and flitter to and fro. Why? They take what they have in whatever condition things are and fly and sing anyway.

Yes, they have limitations but these do not stop them from being birds who still find ways to fly and sing to their little heart’s desire.

I want to do the same.

So, I will start with what I have and where I am at, and go from there. It’s time that I fly free regardless of my current limitations, and see where the sky leads me.

Wonder #Poetry

These feet
Stumble up the white
Mountain

My eyes
Teardrops like icepicks
Stabbing

This heart
No heat will ever
Unfreeze

Until
A song I hear in
The wind

Blue bird
So vocal and strong
Nestled

In the
Majestic black spruce
Teeming

Winter
Cannot stop a life
This small

Its eyes
Sparkle like a soul
On fire

Nature
In its truest form
Can heal

Broken
Hearts and shattered lives
–like mine

Voice #Poetry

*Note: still a work in progress

 

Just because
You don’t do certain
Things well, you know
Like the rest of them

Does not
Leave you without a say

Feeling inferior
Caused by others
Tends to leave one feeling,
Well, like a dung beetle

Makes you
Wonder if what you say
ever matters

From one
Outsider to another,
Hear me

I say–

Release the dam
And let it flow
Freely

Those who thirst
Will drink every word
gladly

Your voice
-Its uniqueness-
Is power

Let it fly free
And be heard