My Writing Space

I sit alone under the punishing heat of the midday sun. I wait. For what do I wait you may ask? It is a good question. One I wish I had an answer for. But I have been assured the answer will come to me when I am meant to find it.

What that is supposed to mean is a mystery men will never solve. It is taught to the mystics as a way to answer questions that they have no answer for. They don't understand it's meaning anymore than we do. They just have more experience at looking wise. 

I personally think it is the eyebrows. I am sure that they are taught to raise them meaningfully on command. All while nodding wisely. I personally believe that this means they have no idea what we are asking or talking about but they know they are supposed to. So, to save face, they nod sagely and raise an eyebrow at appropriate times. . .  All while muttering things like: "I cannot give you the answers you seek, For you must find them within yourself" or "You will find the answer within patience and time. It will come for you when you are ready"

What a load of horse shit. They know no more of our situations then we do. They just happen to be trained to say these things that sound wise and they know healing herbs and the proper things to make the angry spirits run away. If I were taught such things I could do any of those things just as well and better than some of them.

Ta'areesh sits atop a sand dune musing such things to herself. Oblivious to the cloud of dusts arising behind her.  The dunes between her and the raiders muffle the sounds of their horses. The midday sun bakes away their words. They are on top of her before she realizes their existence in her world.

With a cruel smile and an ironically raised eyebrow, one of them reaches down to her. With one strong hand, she is lifted to the back of the horse and secured there. Her screams lost to the desert heat and waves of sun as they crawl across the dunes toward her camp.

(not completed as of yet.)

Have you ever looked into the face of death? I mean really looked. Seeing a dead body does not count. Being in the room when someone dies does not count.  I mean sitting right there, knowing he is coming and waiting for him. Holding the hand of someone, listening to their cries, stroking their bloodied hair, their breath raspy and quick, feeling the chill fill their body, and waiting. Knowing at any minute, you will look up into that darkened cowl, and see there the truths that all men seek.

Some say that only the dying see him. But I know better, I have been there. Even the dying, sometimes, get away without a visit. You always hear about the tunnel of light, the loved ones coming to escort you to the next place, wherever that might be.  But sometimes, you hover there, waiting for something or someone to show you the way. Then you decide not to go, or that there is no where to go. So, you decide to live. Then you just wake up.

The priests, the men of Gods, they tell me it wasn’t my time. They tell me that when it is my time, HE will come for me. I say, He will come regardless of whose time it is. I believe he comes for everyone. But for some people he brings along help. If you have lived a good life filled with love, He will bring your loved ones to you to ease your passing. But for those who are alone, who live beneath society. Those like me, he comes…

So, I sit here and I wait. In my lap, lays a pretty woman. She was the life of the party, before her accident. Her wallet filled with money and pictures, numbers exchanged. She seems like she will be missed by many people. I grieve for them. I have never understood grief, the sorrow of someone passing. One minute they are here and then they are not. It is life. Nothing else in nature grieves like we do. But I have always wondered. What comes next? Where do we go? Why are we not here anymore?

The woman on my lap cries out, as her pain rippling through her. Her eyes roll wildly in her head as she fights to keep consciousness. Her hands grasp at me desperately, pleadingly. I make soft reassuring noises.  My hand absently runs through her hair, her blood plastering it to her head. My fingers gently avoid the large gash in the top of her skull. My eyes are searching the shadows around me, I know that she is close to death. I know HE is close. I can feel HIM.

I can feel his breath hot on my neck. Every hair I have stands on end. I begin impatiently moving my hands through the woman’s hair faster and faster. My hands catch her hair and pull it slightly across the open wound. Her scream startles me out of my paranoia.

(Not yet completed)