Go Home Charity

Juanita_Story4Go Home Charity

by

Juanita Story

Charity begins at home. What if you don’t have a home? What if every door knocked upon denied you respite? What if only the soles of your feet could tell the story of your departure?

Where then is charity? Where is she when only the painful comfort of blacken asphalt remembers your name? Where is she when black eyes and crows call you cousin and friend? Where is charity when the dew of night’s fallen mist is your blanket?

Come now to me lover. Explain your absence. Explain my broken heart.  Come now to me my champion.  Pull my hair and release my darkness.  Explain your travels.  Explain the means of your great escape.  Take me down and reveal my tear.

If the sounds of her Nubian experience frighten you, disarm you, make you pale with regret, then charity has found her home. Open wide and welcome her in. Her chains rattle for but a moment. Her back is yet unbowed. Glistening is her many sorrows but she has found her home. Pull back the curtain and watch her dance in the firelight of a new tomorrow.

Charity begins at home and home is where her heart was.  She is out there, somewhere.  Her heart is at home, out there, somewhere.

Charity is home. Her company is well fed. Their beds are warm and well slept. Charity is alone.

Night Cries…Part 5

Fear of Dark 7Night Cries Part 5

By

Timotei

 

Soft echoes rang against the inside of his skull, bouncing vague thoughts and memories through his cluttered mind.  Erik felt himself shaking back and forth, a still yet small voice calling his name quietly at first and then with increasing panic.

“Erik, wake up son”, he heard his mother say…his mother?  Erik opened his eyes slowly, fearfully, not sure of what he was going to see.  His mother’s soft smile greeted him.  Erik launched himself into her arms, trembling as he clung desperately to her.

“Mom”, Erik gasped.  “Are you ok”?

“Erik, of course I’m ok.  Are you ok”, she responded.  “You’re drenched.  Why were you sleeping in my doorway?  Where you sleep walking?”

Erik paused; his mind began processing the night’s events.  He had to remind himself that his earth mother was not aware of Cold World, or for that fact who Erik really was.  To her, Erik was just an eight year old, curly headed boy, who likes to play all day and tell fantastic stories.  In truth, Erik was a 25 year super genius from an alternate world known as Cold World.  He had effected his greatest invention in a quest to save himself and his world from the after effects of Divestiture.  Divestiture was the process wherein the citizens of Cold World cut off all social and emotional development in pursuit of pure knowledge.  Children were indoctrinated at the earliest to shed emotional contacts including parental ties.  Everything in Cold World was driven towards the development of pure knowledge and technological advancement.  The sages of Cold World had long ago reasoned that human emotion hindered evolutionary growth, that society could never outpace its suicidal tendencies unless it divested itself of all human emotion.

Slowing his breathing and regaining his composure Erik said, “I don’t think so mommy.  I think I had a dream and it scared me, but I don’t remember what the dream was about.”

“Let’s get you back to your room then.  How about I make you some pancakes and maybe some of the dream will come back to you.  If it doesn’t then don’t worry about it because the bad dream is gone and you never have to worry about it again ok”, his mother soothed.

“Ok, pancakes, yes”, Erik feigned excitement.  Pancakes always fixed everything and they were his favorite so that would help distract his mother.

She carried his little body securely back to his own room and sat him down on his bed.  She brushed his blond hair away from his eyes and said, “Get yourself cleaned up and ready for the best pancakes ever.  They should be ready in about fifteen minutes ok.”

Erik nodded his head with a bright smile.  As his mother departed, his mind again started racing through the images of last night.  His earth mother was alive.  She had not killed her.  He must have been dreaming but was it all a dream?  His earth mother didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary in his room.  The stench was gone.  His bed was dry.  He looked at Fran.  His brother was still asleep.  But it was all so real but there were no signs, nothing that he could detect lingered from her.  Erik rubbed his eyes and headed to the bathroom.  As soon as the bathroom lights came on he saw it.  On the medicine cabinet mirror just over the sink, scraggly writing stretched across the entire mirror surface.  The words, I’m not done with you boy” dripped eerily across the mirror as though a boney finger had traced the words through a hazy, frost covered surface. 

Fear of Dark 3

Erik started to make a sound but nothing could get through his constricted throat.  He was suddenly paralyzed with fear.  He started to turn when the bathroom door slammed shut so hard the floor vibrated.  The lights began to flicker when Erik heard his earth mother shout up to him, “Erik, what was that?  Please don’t slam the doors this early. You might wake your dad.”

Erik tried to reply.  He wanted to say something, anything, but the sounds wouldn’t come out.  The lights continued to flicker then they died.  The bathroom was dark.  The room was engulfed in silence and all Erik could hear, no feel, was his own heartbeat.  He reached for the light switch and flicked it back and forth and the lights again sprang to life.  The tub was full of water and in the water a form appeared just beneath the surface.  She opened her eyes and grinned at him.  She started speaking and through the bubbling water terror laced words burst into Erik’s hearing, “I’m going to end you boy”, and with that she started thrashing around in the tub in an attempt to get out…but she could not.  Her efforts splashed water all over the floor and walls.  She raised herself halfway but could get no further.  Boney, scaled fingers gripped the tub’s edges as she sought to pull herself free.  She stretched out her gaunt, encrusted hand, elongated fingers tipped with broken but razor sharp claws, towards Erik.  Her eyes blazed out pure and simple hate and she was focused on the boy.  She started screaming and howling so loud that the bathroom walls vibrated.

“I will have you boy, I will have you boy, I will have you boy”, she shrieked over and over again.  Her sunken chest heaved violently with every word.  Her face was twisted with effort.  Her eyes were red with bloody passion and determination.  She spun around in the tub, kicking and screaming until the tub began to rock itself loose.  The plaster and molding started cracking and falling to the floor mixing with the already splashed water and creating a white paste on the bathroom floor.

There was a pounding on the door.  Little Fran called to Erik, “Erik…what’s going on?”

Erik withdrew to the far wall and sank to his knees.  His whole body shook with fear.  He closed his eyes and started screaming as loud as he could…

Night Cries

Terror at Night 4Night Cries

by

Timotei

It’s midnight.  The moon is doing its thing high in the sky.  The streets are silent except for the mewing and cry of beasts seeking purchase upon one another.  There is a nervousness about the night, a kind of unsettling mood that wraps around the street lights like a damp blanket, cold and insensitive.  No one is aware of this moment, this break in time that captures the purity of waking nightmares.  All eyes are closed and breaths draw deeply in the warm embrace of blankets and comforters.  From house to house no one sees, no one is alert.  She creeps from yard to yard, leaping fences, gardens and alarms and no one is aware.  She tests doors, gently turning handles, testing for movement and the slightest stirrings from within.

One by one she is met by resistance at the door so she moves on, methodically, silently drifting from home to home, door to door.  One door welcomes her entreaty.  The light of the still silent night pierces the inner sanctum of the doorway as she glides through the threshold.  She pauses, listening, her blood dancing with anticipation and hunger.  She need not adjust to the darkness inside.  Darkness is her lover and she is home within its soft embrace.

She tests the air inhaling deeply the stories of a home at rest but unaware.  The smell of the day’s activities lights her imagination and stirs her animal passions.  She is alive and eager to begin the nights’ grim tasks.  She is not swayed by the thought of failure.  These hold no value or meaning for her.  She is on target and ready to do what she was created to do.

Terror at Night 2

Gliding, she moves without further hesitation to the stairwell, heart racing and juices flowing now with ever increasing fever.  Is it really happening she thinks to herself?  Is tonight the night at long last?  After so many eons of trial and error, failure after failure, one disappointment after another, can this be the night she becomes whole again?  The thought is almost unbearable.  She shudders in anticipation.

With one shaking hand she grips the banister, feeling her way, caressing the grooves and ripples of the crayon scarred wall as she makes her way to the top of the stairwell.  The moon’s light is her chorus now, breaking through the windows of the upper landing, painting a sheer but soft glow upon the juice stained carpet below her mishapened hooves.  The moon light flows over the fire truck and baby dolls left on the floor by little hands.  The abandoned toys seem to come to life in the moon’s eerie glow, shaking in fear as she approaches.  Oblivious to the approaching danger, the halls before her remain silent to her passing.  She is so close now, so very close.

Terror at Night 3

The door before her lithe form is ajar, beckoning silently, urgently…persistently.  The little bodies inside are huddled and cuddle close to one another.  Little arms and legs hang carefree in every direction, poking out from powder blue blankets and pink rose colored sheets.  The scent of innocence is stifling.  She pauses taken back by the sheer power of the moment.  Her eyes are fixed on the little blond boy.  His heart wants her.  She’s sure of it.  Her tools are unsheathed and gleam silver in the rooms soft night glow.  She paid dearly for these weapons of mayhem and despair.  She will test their full value this night.

She moves toward the bed, heart dancing and beating without restraint.  Little breaths escape from little mouths.  None is aware.  None sees.  She reaches for him.  His eyes open and …

To be continued…