#AtoZ2016 : O Is For Outside

There is a place I wish to be.
If it were left to me
It’s a place I’d be most every day.
A place that’s part of me.

A place where I feel whole again.
And so very much alive.
A place where I feel everything
The air as it flows past me,
Across my palms,
And through my fingers.
What an amazing thing.

If I close my eyes,
And clear my head,
I can remember what it’s like.
And I want more.
So much more.

There is a place I wish to be.
A place that’s filled with color.
Greens, and browns,
Blues and reds.
I have no words to name them all.
They are more than I can count.
And I know my eyes long every day
To see them once again.

There is a place I wish to be.
A world filled with the sounds of life.
The songs of birds,
So many kinds.
Frogs,
Crickets,
And other things.
As they sing their songs of life.

I long to hear the sounds of the trees
As the wind moves their branches,
And rustles their leaves.

There is a place I wish to be.
A place that’s real.
So much alive.

That place isn’t here,
Inside this room I’m in.
This room where I write.

It’s not the place I work at.
Filed with artificial light.
And filtered air.
Where nothing moves.
Nothing breathes.
Nothing is alive.

It’s not some place
Made by mortal hands,
Of all to mortal men.

There is a place I wish to be.
A place I feel alive,
And free.

I wish to be

Outside.

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It’s April 19th, and I’m a still one day behind on the A to Z Challenge for 2016. Only 11 more letters to write stories for this month.

Please, go explore the A to Z Challenge, and the sites of others who are participating in this adventure.

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#MWBB 45 : Runaway

Shelly saw him sitting at a table, by himself. “Damn, he’s cute.” So, she wandered over. She knew what she wanted. What she always wanted. One night. One chance to feel alive. To feel real. No strings. No repeat. One night.

She walked up next to him, “I don’t want to drink alone.”

He pulled the chair next to his out, but said nothing. Shelly took the seat. They both sat there, listening to the band, watching the bodies on the dance floor. She started tapping out the rhythms of the music on the table. He watched her.

“I wanna dance!” She stood up, and grabbed his hand to pull him to the floor. He resisted for a moment, as if thinking. Then, let her lead him to the floor. She didn’t know if he could dance. She didn’t care. All she wanted was an excuse to touch him. To put her hands on his shoulders, back and chest. To bump her hips into his. An excuse to feel alive for the night. Before she returned to reality tomorrow.

He let her lead. Let her do what she wanted. Touched her shoulders, her back. Met her hips with his.

They danced. Shelly loved it. Loved the motion. The contact. She loved being touched. She loved to touch. To feel. Alive.

When the music changed, and a ballad started, the floor filled with couples. He grabbed her, pulled her close, pressed his chest to hers, his hips to hers. She drank in the smell of him. The feel of her head on his shoulder.

They danced until she needed another drink. She led him back to the table. He ordered her drink, and his. She drained it. Leaning into him. Letting her hands move. To his thighs. To his stomach. To his belt, and more.

“Let’s leave,” she whispered in his ear.

They went to his place. Shelly got what she wanted. One night. To feel. To be alive. She wanted everything. She did everything. Tasted every inch of him. Felt every inch of him. One night. To lose control. To groan. To moan. To whisper, “More. More. More.” To cling to the motion. Back and forth. In and out. One night to feel whole. One night her emptiness left her. One night she wasn’t alone. One night she felt alive.

Spent, she pretended to sleep. And waited for him to sleep. Then, she slipped away. Got dressed. Left. One night. That’s all she wanted. One night. To feel alive. To feel real. Before she ran away again. To hide in a world where nothing was real. And no one felt a thing for anyone.

No one would ever hold her again. No one would ever touch her heart. No one would ever make her cry. No one would ever hurt her again.

Like he had.

She’d always make sure of that. She’d always run away.

485 Words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for week 45 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

Hearts Of Stone

I’d finished walking.
The first walk I’d taken
In four months.
It had been a short walk.
Between 2 and 3 miles.
But I’d needed it.
To break the ice.
And get me moving
Once again.

As I walked,
I couldn’t help but see
The birds
Up in the sky.
And in the trees.

I lost count
Of all the bunnies
Munching out
On grass,
And new grass seeds
That so many of my neighbors
Put out by the bag full
Every spring.

I’ve always wondered why
People seem to think
They have to have
A perfect lawn.

When I got back
From my walk,
I cooled down,
And took my shower
To get cleaned up.

And I wound up standing there
With the water on
For just a little while.
As I tried to catch my breath.

My breath had abandoned me
When a picture
I had never seen
Snapped into view
Inside my mind.
And my heart told me,
“It’s true.”

I’d realized
That almost no one knows
What’s going on.
In the world we live in.
And the lives we lead
In these cold, dark days.

Almost no one knows
How many hearts
Have turned to stone.
How many souls
Have become cold.
How many people
No longer even know
What’s real
And what’s illusion
Any more.

And my heart ached
In my chest.
And my soul
Cried out with pain.
As I stood there
In the water
Of the shower
Wondering.

“They just don’t know.
My, God.
They just don’t know.
How can they
Just not know?”

I’ve come to know the difference,
In the past few years,
Between what’s real,
And what’s artificial.
What’s man made.

I’ve learned that what’s real
Will be here always.
It was here
Before the human race.
It will be here
When we’re gone.

What’s real
I can touch
With my two hands.
I can see
With my two eyes.
And can hear
With these ears
I’ve been blessed with.

When I walk
Out on the sand.
I know the ocean’s real.
And the sand is too.
I can taste the salt
Upon the breeze.
I can feel the heat
Of the summer sun
As it shines down
On me.

When I walk
Through the flowers,
Or through the trees.
I can reach out
And touch them.
I can feel the life
In them.

When I reach across
The sand that isn’t there
And touch another’s hand.
Or hold someone
That needs holding.
When I dry another’s tears.

I know what’s real.
And what matters
In this life
I’ve been blessed with.

When I go to work,
It doesn’t matter where,
I know that work’s not real.
It’s part of something
We have made.
Part of the economy.
Part of our society.

And if I look at history,
I can not help but see
That every society
That’s ever been
Has come
And gone.
Not one of them
Has lasted
Like the things
That are real.

I remembered
As I stood there
With the water flowing,
That I’d written
Words of truth
In 2010.
When I spoke of walking
On the sand
On my break at work.

And the way
That my heart ached
When my walk
Came to its end,
And I had to return
To the land of work.

Where nothing was real.

When the memories
Had come and gone.
I turned the water off.
Dried off.
And then got dressed.

Wondering if anyone I knew
Would ever understand this world
The way that I now do.

Wondering if anyone I knew
Still knew
And understood
The difference between their work,
And the lives they let other people see.
And who they are beneath
The surface we all see.

Or if the truth
Of the life we live
Has become lost to them.

Like it was once lost
To me.

Knowing there were many
That did not.

That so very long ago
So many people
I have known
Turned their hearts to stone.
So they could fit within
The artificial world
That we’ve created.

And that even now,
When they look
In the mirror each morning.
And when they go to bed
Each night.

The have embraced the lie
That everything’s
Alright.

So that they don’t have
To face the truth
That our way of life
Is broken.
And not real.

I’ve spent several days
Since then
Trying to find the words
To share with my friends
What it is I saw
That day.
After I had my walk.

But I know.
I know a simple truth.
That no matter how I try
To find the words to say.
I’ll fail.

And so very few
Will ever learn
What I’ve learned
In this life.

About what’s real.
And what is not.

About the many
People of the world
Whose hearts
Have turned to stone.

And you wonder
Why I speak of
My Soul’s Tears…