The Unknowing Person

You know all of those poem s of people being hurt unknowingly by people around them? Well, I just got ROCKED by an unknowing person. What greatness.

Child of the Sea

It has been a long while since I was brought to this ship, chained in a moldering hold amid the rats and rolling barrels of oil that leak fumes into the already musty air. Rusty chains bind my bloodied wrists and ankles, and I am covered with damp rags. What harm they think a girl of twelve can I do, I know not. Where they think I could run from this ship in the midst of the ocean, I know not. I believe they shackle me only to keep me from leaping into the sea and ending my life. Do they think that I can become so undone by what has been done to me? They know little. We Tuten-folk are strong and proud.

I don’t know how long it has been, or how many times the sun has tracked its journey across the skies, but I suppose I could count the days by the number of times the ship’s mate has appeared with my meal – a single biscuit and tin of water. Such rations must be bought, but I do not mind sacrificing my body for the chance to live and gain revenge.

No one will tell me where we are going, or why, but it is not uncommon for ships of the sea to carry at least one Tuten aboard, for we possess talents which the sailors find invaluable. My gift is the prediction of weather, and that, I believe, is why I am imprisoned.

I hear the familiar scrape of the hatching being lifted from the upper deck, and the foul presence of the ship’s mate. This is strange – I have already received my rations.

“Captain summons.” His voice slips out like a shiny lethal snake from a box, and he releases me from all but one chain, bound about my waist.

My heart is pounding as I struggle to my feet. Questions abound, but I do not utter them.

We reach the slippery ladder to the deck. A square of blue sky lights the space around me so that I must shield my eyes from the unfamiliar glare. Welcome gusts of fresh wind whistle through the hold, but above, the day is calm. The sea is rolling, not pounding. The sun shines directly upon us, aloft in his joy, as if nothing on earth were wrong.

A man stands at the starboard fore-railing. He holds an air of authority, and it is he who the mate pushes me toward.

“Captain. She tells me she needs wine.” Again, that slimy voice, but I barely notice, entranced by the sights and smells and colors around me. They are carrying on a conversation, but I do not heed.

The captain leads me to the rail at the fore of the deck. A cup of wine is handed to me, but it is not for drinking. Each Tuten has a stimulant which triggers entry to the walks of time. Wine is my personal charm.

The wooden cup is brimming, the dark red wine appearing eerily as fresh drawn blood. For a long moment, I hold it beneath my chin. I breathe in the heady fragrance of sun-ripened grapes and wooden presses. I close my eyes and feel the cold spray of the ocean spatter my face. The taste of salt mingles with the sun-smell, and I imagine I am free. The weight of my chains and filth of the hold falls away as I feel once more the green grass of Tuten beneath my bare feet and the cool, dry breeze twine through my hair. I hear the laughter of my brother. My brother.

The Captain, his cruel mate, and the dingy cargo ship fade into the murky grayness of time. I walk these familiar roads - not with ease, but with revenge and resentment blossoming amid the sweet nostalgia of a once-innocent gift.

I remember my father, strong and wise; my gentle mother and the industrious village-folk. My young years wandering the berry-filled forests.

I remember when the raiders came that last time, tearing through our village like marauding boars. I had eluded them before, but this time I was taken. My brother, taken as well, struggled fiercely, shouting indictments and curses at his captors. O son of a noble chieftain, I thought. Give up thine pride, inheritance of generations.

He was taken away, as was I. We were sold in the harbor city of Culera, a string of my villagers herded through the streets like cattle. There were no laws to protect us, to acknowledge our rights as citizens of the empire. Perhaps there had been in the past and perhaps, someday, there would be again. But now we were just sheep. Sheep with far-seeing eyes and bartered souls.

I was sold to a merchant to foretell the weather for his caravans. He preferred to use my body instead. I learned to hate.

Eventually I escaped, searching through the winding, hilly streets of Culera for a way back to my lost forests of Tuten, for any sign of my brother. I found the sea instead, and was taken captive by sailors from a ship.

I first abhorred the sickening swell of tides, the hammering of waves, and the rolling of the ship. Then I learned to tolerate the movement, the noise, the smell, and even the rats. But then the ship’s mate would come down into the darkness to grope my young body and sate his carnal need. I never learned to forgive, but perhaps, with time, I could learn to forget.

My clothes were tattered, and my skin stained with dirt and broken where the chains dug gashes into my wrists and ankles. My will was bending but I would stay alive, I determined, if only for my childhood memories and the fading hope that I would return one day to my beloved forests of Tuten.

Blue children of the forest, they used to call us. But for now I am forced to be a child of the sea - the foaming , choppy sea with walls of murky water and unknown fears below.

A spray of salt again whips across my face and the ship bucks into a valley between waves. I keep my eyes closed, willing the dream to last for a long as I can while my senses slowly register the rolling deck, the thunder of waves, the warm rays of the beaten-gold sun on my head, the grip of the mate’s cruel hand on my arm, the feel of splintered wood beneath my bare feet.

The wooden cup has dropped unheeded to the deck, spilling blood-red wine over my feet and running in rivulets down the planking to where the sailors are watching.

I raise my head and gaze into the horizon.

“Storm coming.”

Character Sketch - Jolly Hobo

The old man shuffles along the sidewalk, rummaging in his plastic bag. He glances cheerfully from side to side, then down into his sack. What treasures have we here, my sweet? White hair stands out from side to side around his jolly, weathered face, a bit like Frankenstein gone mad. A grey jacket dangles over one arm, his paunch contentedly covered by a half-buttoned plaid shirt. Curly white hair peeks out from where the shirt buttons end. He shuffles some more, his feet shod in scruffy leather shoes. He peers out again, twinkles in his eye. Though he has no home to go to, he is truly satisfied.

Minnie

He took her by the water. It was his favorite place. He had taken her there first when she was seven. Terri was twenty-nine now, and cried as he led her to the sloped rock. She was only doing it to save Minnie, 14 and pregnant. Minnie was the baby of the family, with thick dirty blonde hair and old, innocent blue eyes. She was the catalyst that got her father what he wanted from everyone else – they didn’t want her to be subjected to the same harm, though apparently it had already happened and she was carrying his child. They all hoped it was a boy.

Terri had tried to escape – had moved all the way to Illinois City. But it wasn’t far enough, and since she was gone, of course he desired her more. She entertained dreams of leaving without a word and taking the Greyhound all the way to Sacramento, California, where she’d walk by the sea and imagine flying as one of the gulls.

When he was finished, he asked her if she wanted a ride back to town. It was a long way back to her apartment. She didn’t look up as she nodded. They walked to the house first. Minnie was there, setting out plates for the evening dinner. She smiled to see her, a tired old smile. Her mother was at the stove. She didn’t hear them enter. Terri walked to her side, touching her arm. ‘Hi Mom’, she signed. A bright smile broke across her face. ‘My darling’, she signed. ‘How have you been? Won’t you stay for dinner?’ She turned then, noticing her husband behind. Her smile faded, and she ducked her head as she turned away. ‘Stay if you want to.’ she signed back. ‘I had better go home’, Terri signed. ‘It was good to see you again. Take care of Minnie, and let me know if you ever need anything’. “That’s enough of that,” he declared. “Let’s go.”

He had never learned to sign, though he had promised his bride that he would. He had been translated through her tutor during the entire wooing process, and then when the knot was tied, he’d taken her back to his home, far away from anyone who knew. Terri had learned the basics at a young age from her mother, the rest from an part-time teacher in grade school, who had thought it was good education for children to know how to sign.

He walked out the front door, heavy boots knocking dirt onto the floor. Terri followed. No one waved goodbye. She sat in the front seat, silent, for the entire drive, then when he parked in front of her door, she got out and shut the door without looking back. He drove away, and she stood at her door. Inside was a bottle of aspirin, a half-empty bottle of wine, and a glass, if she chose to wash it. She didn’t, drinking straight from the uncorked top. She showered, then dressed in her favorite pajamas and took a blanket to the couch where she turned on the tv. She wondered if Minnie would end her pregnancy as she had her own, two years older than Minnie. Terri had run away after recovering from her self-inflicted abortion; had run all the way to Illinois city and stayed there, dabbling in drugs and men until one day, at the age of 26, she realized she had better get her life straightened out if she were to help herself or her family.

Most Disturbing Dream Ever

Probably my most disturbing dream (and I've had many lately) was set in Oklahoma at our old house in the country. There were Nazis (there always are, in dreams of that house), and a big green dragon that had taken our land hostage. It marched back and forth between the trees in the front yard and where the garden used to be. I was hiding way up in one of the trees, watching it. Eventually, I escaped down the tree and ran around to the back porch. I was intending to dash inside, grab some things and vanish into the woods, but the monster thing found me. I had to grab a stick and jam it up through the top of its mouth and into its brain. In the middle of this, the monster turned into Parker, my cat. She just looked at me... I realized that she wasn't dead yet, and in horrible pain, so I cried and jabbed again and again until she died. I pulled the stick out and tapped the mangled brains on it into her mouth. She woke up and ATE the brains, and then died again.

I woke up extremely disturbed.

Mom on Ecstasy?

Last night I just had to wonder if my mom was on ecstasy while she was pregnant with me. (seriously, I'm joking)

I was sitting there, thinking about some serious stuff, and out of nowhere, pranced this cow/horse thing - a horse body with a cow neck and head... it was pink and purple and was prancing through the AIR. It pranced away into the sky (yes, there was a rainbow), and I was completely distracted and let myself follow it for a way before jerking myself back to reality.

Nail in the Head

This nail in my head
brings me to my knees.

Desperate weakness...

You know what to do,
how to take it out.
So do it, please.

Desperate grasping,
Desperate weakness...

I dreamt that I had a nail in my head, in a house in the country. Lots of people were around, panicking, arguing about how to get to the emergency room... getting weaker... feeling it go deeper and deeper, staring death in his empty grey eyes, feeling my body die slowly...

And then the nurse pulled it out, leaving just a tiny hole with no blood, rejuvenated body, and a weird, weird dream.

Gypsie

Everyone said that she was the one who would leave the clan, who would fall in love with man or adventure and one day, be gone. She couldn’t say she disagreed, but today, of all days, she felt the urge to fly. The tall bedecked plains were beckoning with their waving bluebell stalks bending in the breeze, a hill dipped tantalizingly near, hiding the view behind. A brook tinkled nearby, the crisp water dinkling over the pebbles and stones in its way, moistening the red clay banks and stalks of grass dipped their royal heads into it. She imagined the coolness as the spring sun warmed the dark hair on her head, casting a tint of pink color into her bronzed cheeks. Spring was here, at last, and she wanted to follow the brook, fly after the swans, and run through trees just sprouting their baby green leaves over the dampness of the forest ground. How good it felt to be alive! She gazed overhead as a lone vulture circled overhead, no clouds to hide his soaring flight. Soon, she thought sourly, the Spring Festival would be upon them, and all of the men would pick their women for the night… she remembered how last year she had snuck away and hidden in the forest, watching the proceedings with distaste. Men, she thought. No, not just men. Gypsies, with their overly simplistic lives and old traditions… she, she wanted something different. Something new and modern and exciting. She wanted to belong among cities and buildings. Though, if you want to belong somewhere, don’t you already belong there in your heart? She thought so, before she remembered that she was supposed to be bringing back a bucket of water from the spring and that she had loitered long enough for a scolding.

plot development?

Handsome man takes her on spring festival night, takes her away on an adventure. Why? I don’t know yet. They go to cities, and she doesn’t belong like she thought she would. She likes the guy, but he’s indifferent. Then she meets another one, a man from the forests and plains, who understands the beauty of the plain, but who can also mingle within cities. Slow attraction. She runs away and goes back to plains. Danger? He finds her.