The wind was sucking on Danโs shirt tails as he dove into the tornado shelter. Quickly, he slammed the door shut and spun the wheel to lock it in place.
Climbing down the ladder, he fumbled for the light switch. Nothing. He had forgotten to charge the batteries.
โWonโt be but a few minutes,โ he said to the pitch and settled in, his back against the wall.
He listened, but it wasnโt the sound of the storm that caught his attention. Instead, it was a slurping squelch as something else moved in the dark.
Cautiously, he felt around until his hand fell upon a short metal pipe. He waited. Moments later, something grabbed him, and Dan started beating away with the pipe. He quit when he felt the skull of the intruder give way under a heavy blow.
โDamn zombies,โ he said and went back to listening to the storm.
You knew it was the cry of my breath and you knew you would ignore there were so many cries for life but none that gave you breath
I came from a distant place a place of horrors and peace where the demons shout with glee giving us flight, while we run in terror โโโbleeding in our lost souls
Chase me in the absence remember me when the clouds break I’ll not be there in the lightning in the cacophony in the… hmm โโ… I might be there.
Short life bleeds into years no sense in setting clocks all read the same all chime last call
A monkey churns a tune grinds on I pop when time is… โโ….. time is โ ….. time is โ ….. time is… when you have become the dancing monkey you dance โโit rains โโit plays the sounds of the carnival โโโโโโโโand if you dance the dance โโโโโโโโ โโโโโ ah!
โโโโ”Have a nibble. It won’t last โโโโโbut it will bait you along.”
I watched the sun my eyes wide open blistered my vision opened my mind and if it mattered we’d all play the violin and pretend the world was flat
As it is I’ve forgotten my name (thankfully, the Son remembers) fifty-nine years and the plague of our dreams โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโSai, we know not why skips past and dreams of a better day.
Bring me my life. Bring me my breath. I will live โโโโโโโโโโโโyes โโโโI will live
YES
Black, white, and other shades of gray. These are the colors of our mind โโโthese are the color we see….. โโโโโโโ….. I am blue.
To hoot, or not to hoot, that is the question: For to hoot is to speak in hopes of being heard, To not is silence amongst the trees, Meditating upon the moon and the leaves. If perchance I see a friend, a hoot would surely invite them in, Whereas a foe might seek me out Only to harass, harangue, and steal my house. So, I perch wide-eyed in my hollow oak, Prudence shepherding my unspoken note, Equivocating on whether to hoot or not.
A snap, a twig, a scurrying in the night, My dinner moves cautiously out of sight. Unaware of my presence and eyes so bright, Nor of my taste for furry gray mice. I swoop, I dive, I see my mark. I reach, I grab, I clasp thin air. I sit, I frown, no wages for work, Iโll go hungry this night, my soul in despair.
My first trip to the International Space Station would be my last. Not because I wasnโt qualified or because I was planning to retire. No. This would be my last mission because I had failed to securely fasten the tether that anchored me to the station, and for the past thirty minutes, I had been drifting away. The station, now no more than a dot in the distance, would soon pass beyond the horizon of Earth, and I would float in this blackness forever.
โRobert? Colonel, this is ground control; we are working toโฆ.โ
Click.
I turned off my communications link. I had approximately thirty-two minutes before I was out of oxygen. No matter what they were working to do, it would not change my fate. I choose to enter the Greater Silence while listening in this lesser one. Perhaps I may hear the door between the two snicking open.
Enid Writer’s Club April Roll Call. Must be 150 words or less. The prompt: “Jumping from a plane.”
The engine coughed, then died. No option. Quickly shouldering on the parachute, I made ready.
God knows how I would miss this plane. She had been good to me through so many dog fights, even having survived the Red Barron, but not today. Nothing more than a faulty engine and a soon-to-be-fired mechanic.
Racing to the rear of the plane and sliding open the door, I gently kissed the fuselage. โIโll never forget you,โ I said and jumped.
When I landed, my disapproving wife was standing there.
โHarold! Youโre an embarrassment,โ she said, hands on hips.
โThat may be,โ I responded, whisking my white silk scarf over my shoulder, โbut Iโve got three more quarters.โ
The kids standing outside the Piggly Wiggly waiting their turn on the kiddie plane groaned as I inserted my coin and waited for those magical words.
โBarron Killer Nine, you are cleared for takeoffโฆ.โ
Now that I have this picture, I suppose a… poem is needed.
I watched as the skin of my hand made these words upon the page They lied but they hoped
You are in the corner where they canโt see you where they wonโt see your face or know your name
but I know you are there Yes The lights in the room and the color of the message wonโt take that from me
Can you see your life Can you see the light flowing from the books that so many have written Isnโt it a shame theyโve all died and still we wait Wait Wait
Iโll continue to dance alone in the shadows of my own mind after all my shadows dance with me They know the song They know your name
Weโll keep silent for a time Weโll let the streets flow And And
I believe I played until about 1 a.m. this morning and did not take the time to write, although there are some jottings in my notebook that I may share here.
On this fine New Yearโs Day, it is pouring rain, washing the air and the streets, so it has been officially decided by the powers that be that today will be a true Sabbath rest day. Still, yesterdayโฆ 18,000 steps took me many places, the first of which was across town to the Cais do Sodrรฉ train station, where I boarded the train to Cascais, but got off on the third stop, Belรฉm. (FYI: it is really cheap to take the trains, ferry, buses, etc. I think yesterdayโs ride was 1,35โฌ.)
From the station, I walked to my first destination, The Padrรฃo dos Descobrimentos, The Monument to the Discoveries. As with all such sites, it was crowded, but I can only imagine what it would be like during the high tourist season.
The monument (170 feet tall) was originally only a temporary structure with a minimum of material for the 1940 Worldโs Fair, but twenty years later was reconstructed for permanence. It is Henry the Navigator (Dom Henrique of Portugal, his statue is 26 feet tall) at the front who was responsible for choreographing much of the early Portuguese maritime expansion. Other figures represent princesses, cartographers, clerics, etc., who participated in the expansion work. I took a moment to be in Oklahoma on the map in front of the monument.
A half mile further up the street is the Belรฉm Castle, the Tower of Saint Vincent, built in the 16th century. Its location was originally an island, guarding the entrance of the Tagus River, but the river did what rivers doโchanged courseโand the castle is now quite near the shore.
I then made my way across the main road/train tracks to see the Imperial Gardens (closed for remodeling) and St. Jeronimos (Jerome) Monastery (closed for the holiday), which was built in 1502. It is epic in size. To be able to walk through those doors would make it all worthwhile.
Then for lunch at Queijadas de Belรฉm where I had a pretty good steak cooked in olive oil and garlic. And, yes, that was an exceptionally generous pour of wine. The espresso following the meal helped me to recover.
From lunch, I found a nearby park and just sat and enjoyed while looking up at this handsome fella. Researching it back at the apartment, I discovered that he is Afonso de Albuquerque, 1st Duke of Goa and Viceroy of Portuguese India. To demonstrate the power he commanded, one hand rests on the hilt of his sword while, with the other hand, he points at the guns under his feet (under his command).
This is where I chose to sit and write for a bit. Choose for yourselfโฆ
Iโm sitting here thinking about how much/far Christianity has reached and helped the world to discover itself, and now that we have, we turn our backs on this faith. You cannot escape the symbols of Christianity, but like so much of the pastโthe world has thrown the baby out with the bathwater. It is sinful, but sin is no longer relevant in a world that chooses its own relevancy. It is out of fashion and has been discarded like last seasonโs dernier cri. We are dying, and we believe we are living.
Who is this man atop this pedestalโa pedestal supported by angels and the waves of the sea? Does his sword save him now, or has he become like us? Dead in shoes, going from place to place with no home or friend beside us. Ah! Now a seagull sits on his head and shits upon it! HA!
Children running in circles in playโarenโt we all.
I donโt know if those are good thoughts, odd thoughts, or no thoughts at all, but having spent my time out and about in this city without access to the internet, voicemail, email, text messages, Facebook, you name it, I have found myself once again thinking on my own and chasing ideas that have no bearing on the grand schemes of the world, but are enjoyable to let bounce inside my head. Enough of thatโฆ
The train took me back to my apartment and to the grocery store, which was jammed with holdiday shoppers and included a fight between a customer and store manager (when I say fight, it was more than words!) It was then that I decided to stay home for the rest of the evening. Iโve never been much on participating in these kind of holidays, but then I got hungry. I went in search of sushi (closed) so walked into the nearest restaurant, Taberna Da Baixaโฆ my goodness! Delicious.
For starters, I ordered Bacalao (I didnโt know what it was) and it wasโฆ amazing. Bacalao is actually dried and salted codfish which is then rehydrated and combined in other dishes. For the maincourse, I had the Sea Bass. Also amazing, especially when paired with a good wine, which the waitress was kind enough to do for me, because the only thing I really know about wine is whether or not I like it (oh, and how to make it.)
BeforeAfter
The restaurant would only hold about about 30 people and I was the only single person there (New Yearโs Eve and all). I must have been an oddity (or made one particular couple nervous) because she took a picture of me and then held it over for her husband(?) to see. He then kept taking these hard glances over his shoulder and staring at me. I have decided to immortalize their odd behavior in a short story. They will not like it if they read it.
I returned home after my meal and then at about ten minutes to midnight said to myself, โSelf, you are in Lisbon, Portugal and it is New Yearโs Eve. Theyโre about to shoot off fireworks and celebrate. What are you doing sitting here? Get yo bee-hind moving!โ I listened and I cheered with the crowds.
Feliz Ano Novo, meus queridos amigos.
FYI: I had checked schedules for when sites would be open, but they did not account for the holiday. My plan is to return later this week in hopes of getting in.
I left you last night anticipating the outcome of my adventures in laundry. I must report a slight failure in this endeavor. It turns out that hanging clothes on a rack in an apartment that dips to the high 50s at night and in a damp climate is not conducive to the drying of clothes. (My Dear Mr. Watson, Is this why weโve seen peoplesโ clothes hanging out for several days? Sherlock, your mind never ceases to amaze me!) So, this morning, I woke up to cold, wet clothes, which left me with a number of options 1) go out in the shirt I slept in and hear my grandmotherโs voice all day, โYou look like you slept in that shirt.โ 2) go out in a wet shirt and hear my grandmother’s voice all day, โYouโll catch your death of cold running around in that wet shirt!โ Or 3) find a way to dry the shirt. Option number 3) was the clear winner, but how?
I first hauled out the trusty space heater and had plans to lay the shirt across it and was, in fact, doing so (Sherlock was screaming in the back of my head the entire time) when I read the small print on top of said heater, โNฤO COBRIR.โ Iโm not sure if that is Portuguese or not, but Google Translate kicked that back as โNot Cover.โ Plan Bโฆ
Rooting through a bathroom cabinet, I found an industrial hairdryer, so for the last fifteen minutesโhad you been looking for meโyou would have found me in the bathroom with a hairdryer in one hand and an espresso in the other, patiently drying my clothes. I, at first, felt somewhat guilty about using the electricity in such a way. Still, seeing as Iโve had no use whatsoever for a hairdryer in the last fifteen yearsโฆ yeah, my carbon footprint in the hairdryer department remains small.
For the record, there was one other point when my grandmother spoke inside my head; it was when I set the hairdryer down in the wet sink (please remember that Iโve been lacking in the hairdryer doโs/donโts for several years). My grandmother said, โWho are you? Thomas Merton!โ I donโt actually know whether my grandmother knew who Thomas Merton was nor the suspicious circumstances of his untimely death, but I got the point and quickly removed the hairdryer from the sink.
My dear friends, I am caffeinated, have dry clothes, am eating a tasty breakfast, drinking one more espresso, and am about to head out on todayโs grand adventure. Iโll be back unless I run into that bearโฆ. hmmmmโฆ. maybe the hairdryer in the sink was todayโs bear? Sneaky bear.
Candle in a Cave 