#MWBB 31 : LA Song

I helped her pack her suitcase. I helped her fold all her clothes, carefully picking the ones she wanted to take with her, leaving the ones she no longer wanted neatly folded, placed in boxes on the closet floor. We put a small makeup kit together for her, with her favorite nail polishes, lipsticks, eye shadow, blush. We put her favorite jewelry in little boxes, and stacked them neatly between her clothes and the side of the suitcase.

We talked. About where she was going. She had so much to say. She told me of all her heart breaks, all the men she’d loved and lost. How she’d cried countless tears each time, and wondered if her heart would ever heal.

She told me again, all the stories of the girls at work. The way they treated her. The way they tortured her. Always talking about how they were all engaged, or married, or had a baby on the way. How she wasn’t one of them. I calmly wiped the tears of anger from her eyes, wishing I could find a way to stitch her cut and bleeding soul back together. Wishing God would give me a way to take those wounds from her, make them mine, so she didn’t have to endure the way her heart ached, or the tears I knew her soul cried every night.

She told me how the men of LA were heartless. Soulless. Colder than any ice. Harder than any stone. How all they wanted was another bitch they could lay. Another trophy on the mantle. Another name in their black books. She told me no one slept with her because they loved her. But because she had boobs, and an ass, and her vagina. And that’s all they wanted. To get into her vagina. And I held her again, as she cried more tears of rage, and tears of pain.

The tears of a child. A little girl. Whose world got destroyed before her eyes. Whose dreams got crushed beneath the boots of a world that wasn’t at all like it she’d hoped it would be.

I carried her suitcase, and makeup kit to my car. Put them in the trunk. I opened the door, and let her in. Knowing it wouldn’t do for me to cry. It wouldn’t do for me to say anything. Knowing she trusted me to help her.

Knowing she was walking out of my life. And I might never see her again.

I wanted to kiss her. To beg her, “Don’t leave me!” I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. How I wanted to make her happy. Make her smile. Do everything I could to bring her dreams to life. But I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t have the courage, or the heart. Because I knew, my heart knew, she needed to go. She needed to escape.

I knew. I had to let her go.
I drove to the bus station. I paid for her ticket. “I promise not to follow you.”

She handed me her phone. “I can’t take this with me.”

“I know.”

I wanted to tell her she was leaving for all the wrong reasons. Because she was hurt. Because she was afraid. Because she was running from herself. From her life here, in LA. Trying to escape herself. Trying to blame LA, work, the men she’d known, for her inability to live with herself. That it wouldn’t work. She was taking what she was afraid of with her. She couldn’t escape herself.

I didn’t. It wouldn’t have worked.

Instead, I let her go. I watched the bus disappear into the traffic of LA.

I let her go.

And I prayed, one day, she’d find herself. And remember me.

627 words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for week 31 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.

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Perhaps

A bench by the lake at Norfolk Botanical Garden

There is a place I know.
A place I visit
Time and time again.
A place that speaks
To my heart.
To my soul.
That heals wounds inside of me
About which
I don’t even know.

I would take you there.
To that bench.
By the lake.
Ducks swim there
Frequently.
Pure white herons fly
Just above the water
Every now and then.

There are trees,
And flowers,
Azaleas,
And Rhododendrons,
Surrounding that bench.
Every now and then
They are filled with colors.
Reds,
Pinks,
Whites,
Violets,
And ever blues.

I’ve sat on that bench myself.
With my pen in hand.
My notebook in my lap.
Listening to the words
My heart spoke to me.
Trying desperately to hear
The song my own heart sings.

I would take you there.
To that peaceful place.
And let you rest.
Let you watch the water
Of the lake.
The birds as they fly by.
The squirrels
In the trees.
The robins
On the ground.

Let you close your eyes
And listen.
To the sounds
Of life.

And perhaps.
Just perhaps.
Some of your own wounds,
That I see
Every time I look into your eyes,
Will begin to heal.

Perhaps,
Some of the hurt
You feel,
And live with
Every day,
Will fade.
If only for a time.

And perhaps,
You might begin
To once more hear the music
Of your heart’s own song.
A song you forgot
So very long ago.

#12DaysBop : Day 8 – It’s Only Water. Nothing More.

It’s day 8 of Stacy Hoyt’s 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop. Today, the prompt is seas…

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They say the ocean doesn’t care for anyone, anywhere. Like the land, the sky, the rocks, it simply is. That without the animals and plants living in its depths, the ocean is just water. Cold. Unfeeling. And uncaring. Only water. Nothing more.

They say people see what they want to see. They have given the ocean a personality. A name. And a behavior. Calling it the harsh mistress of the sea. A dangerous place that’s taken countless lives. A graveyard for ships through the centuries.

But I know when I walk upon the sand, down by the water’s edge, it hears every whisper, every voice. It hears laughter and tears both. It knows, and it hears. How else would it know when to make a wish come true?

Like when its waves form fractured mirrors, reflecting the sunlight, like the sun was striking diamonds floating on the surface of the sea. Or when it rests just calm enough so you can see the dolphins as they swim along the beach. Like when the crashing of the waves upon the shore can soothe the aching of your heart, and calm your fears, so you can sleep at night.

Like now. As I stand here. By the water’s edge, as the sun slowly inches into sight far to the East. Its light melting away the blackness of the night, and bring back to life, the colors of the world. As if it’s reminding me there’s always hope. Dawn always comes. And life moves on.

I think I’ll stand here for a time. And reach out with my heart. And let the power of the ocean heal the wounds deep in my soul.

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Please go enjoy the rest of the stories in the blog hop. There are some really gifted writers out there. It’s well worth reading their work. You can find the other entries here:

The 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop, Day 8 – The Gift Of Seas

#TimonySouler #DiabolicalDeeds, Day 5 – Zagan

War is a special kind of hell when you die endlessly. I’ve died after being shot in the head, blown apart by a land mine, breathing in nerve gas or roasting in the firestorm of a fuel-air bomb. And always, I wake up. And always, Zagan sends me into battle.

My wounds never heal. I always smell of zymosis from the infections living in them, slowly eating my flesh. I am not zoic. Far from it. I pray my next death will be my last.

But this is Zagan’s Hell. And I always wake up to die.

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This is what leaked out of my mind for my fifth and final entry in ‘Timony Souler’s #DiabolicalDeeds flash fiction challenge. I do apologize for not finishing this on Friday the 25th, as the challenge planned. I simply did not have time to write on the 26th. Please go read all the other entries in ‘Timony’s challenge. They are all good. And, have a happy Halloween.

If I Could…

There is a friend I have.
She’s been married
Less than one whole year.
She’s a Navy wife.
And the Navy called.
And he’s been gone
Since nearly April First.

He’ll be gone
For months yet,
Before the Navy
Returns him home.

She misses him.
I know.
I’ve seen that
In the pictures that she’s shared.
In the words
She writes.

The worst part of it all
Is how people treat her.
“It’ll be OK.
It’s just part of life.
You’re a Navy wife.”

Makes me want to bitch slap ‘em,
Knock their brains out of their heads.
They ain’t using those brains
Anyway.

She’s one of those I know,
Whose heart aches every day.
Whose soul cries tears of pain.
Until things just go numb.
And everything turns gray.

If I could,
I would.
Take that pain from her.
I’d carry it
As my own
For a time.
So she could have a break.
So she could catch her breath.
So she could finally smile.
If only for a little while.

There is a friend I know.
That denies she’s hurt.
She goes to church each Sunday.
And throughout the week.
She prays to God each day.
Religiously.

There’s nothing wrong with that
At all.
Never has been.
Never will be.

But she doesn’t see
The way the hurt she feels
Colors everything in life
For her.
She doesn’t see
The fear
That drives her every day.

There was her divorce.
When the one she loved
Betrayed her.
And abandoned her.
To raise their daughter
On her own.

Her Father
Whom she loved so much,
She still misses him.
Talks about seeing him once again
In Heaven up above.

“I have problems of my own”
She explains.
“Things I have to deal with.
Responsibilities in life.”
Then she smiles and says,
“I’ll pray for you.
That’s all that I can do.”

Did I tell you that she’s gone.
Avoids me completely.
I could speculate on why
For several days.
If that really mattered.

Would you stick around,
Call someone your friend,
When they wrote things on their blog
That you felt,
And believed,
Were attacking you,
And your faith in God?

I don’t blame her at all
For walking away
From someone like me.
She’s not the first that has.
She won’t be the last.

But I have to say.
‘Till my dying day,
If she ever asks for help
From me.
She’ll get it.

And if I could.
If there was a way.
I’d take away the pain,
And all the fear
I know she carries
In her heart
Each day.

Who would let a friend
Hurt that way?

Another friend of mine
Never lets you see
Anything she doesn’t want
For you to see
Of her.

She hides all her scars.
All her hurt.
And pain.
Behind a façade.
An image.
That she want’s you to believe
Is really her.

And everyone around her
Plays along.

She’s one of those
Social butterflies.
And all you ever see upon her face
Is a smile that says,
I’m fine.
I’m happy.
I’m OK.
Don’t you wish
You were as happy
As me?

But what happens to a wound
That’s left untreated?
A broken bone not set?
A cut left open and bleeding,
And never cleaned
Bandaged,
And healed?

If I could,
I’d set her broken bones.
I’d clean and dress the wounds
That I see so clearly
In her heart and soul.

I know that time heals things.
It’s true.
But I also know
That things ignored,
Or buried in the past,
Have a way of one day
Coming out
On their own.

And I know from from my life
There’ll be hell to pay
When that happens.

Oh, if I could
I’d show my friends
The lessons I have learned.
In the hope,
And with the prayers,
They would not have to hurt
The way I have.

But I know
Each of us walks
A path through life
That’s unique.
That’s our own.

And I can’t change that.

But there is one thing
That I can do.
And after all the years
I’ve been granted
In this life.
I’m finally learning it.

I can let them know
They’re not alone.
That I understand the hurt
They’re in.

And I will always
Be their friend.
Even if they never
Speak with me
Again.