Itareña: Chapter Two

Hey everyone!  So despite my hellish production schedule, I'm going to catch up here.  I'm going to post today and tomorrow and the next day to be sure I've caught up.  I've also gone back and responded with just a little something to everyone's stuff that I've missed so far.  Oh, and as for today, now that I've got my computer back, and have recovered this document too, you get more of this story!

**************************************

James stared in wonderment as the giant, sleek metal dropped its cloak and slid into visibility over the neighboring fields. It pulled down onto the track adjacent to town. Who would bring a spaceship to Zerhu, he wondered? Only the richest of lords, royalty, and divinity were able to own such things. James was fairly sure only those on the farthest reaches of the world owned spaceships.

James imagined for a moment the life of one who would own a spaceship- to have so much and be restricted by so little. Most people in Zerhu and surrounding countries would never travel as far as the other side of the world... it could take up to twenty years by train to reach the Holy Lands, for instance. Even if someone decided to travel a fortieth of that distance, it was usually for life, and communications with those they'd left at home would be few and far between. A spaceship could cut down on travel time considerably. The fastest could travel to the other side of the world in a few months or so. Yet those ships were only owned by divinity. Being extradimensional entities themselves, and aliens to the material plane upon which mortals lived, only they were capable of controlling the forces which would allow a ship to manipulate timespace well enough to be able to travel faster than light. James could halfway remember a story- he wasn't sure if it was a myth or not- of a demigod human entrusted with his godly father's ship. The human had forgotten to pull out of non-space in “time”, when he was “close” enough to his destination. He forgot to spend a few months traveling in actual timespace. As such, when he arrived, he arrived years too late, his mother and everyone he knew were dead, and he caused such a distortion in the timestream upon arrival that everyone in the immediate vicinity of his landing immediately aged five years, which caused all manner of bodily tragedies. The boy himself disappeared, some say back into non-space, some say to another dimension and to another planet, never to be seen again. Either way, James thought that living with less or more dimensions would probably be hellish.

James felt excitement swirling in his abdomen as he considered the possibility that the ship was owned by a god from the Holy Lands. He wondered how to find out. He could follow it... or he could do the smart thing and stay home, and wait and see if anyone mentioned a foreign dignitary's arrival on the news. If he followed, it could be dangerous. But hell, he could hang back far enough that he'd be safe, yes? Yes. Besides, maybe no one else had seen it arrive. It was a sleepy little town, after all. There may not have been a single pair of eyes cast in the direction of that road at the time James' were. But no. He could see a few rubberneckers already walking down the street toward where it had gone.

James knew he had to act quickly. He ran back through the orchard, into the backdoor of his home. He looked around. His family was playing cards at the kitchen table.

“A spaceship just landed!” he exclaimed.

His mother snorted. “Yeah, the Queen of Ildia decided to take an interest in my complaint against our mayor since our own government wouldn't.”

“No, really,” he said, as he moved quickly to gather a pack and put his important things in it. Luckily he'd usually had that satchel with him at school, and it was still mostly packed from the trip home. It was all he could take for now, on such short notice. “I'm going to check it out. I'm going to walk over down East Street. I'll be back later.” Or not, he thought. But he didn't want to worry his mother, or she might delay him. She wasn't the type to usually worry about him, and luckily, she wasn't now, either. She'd always let him stay out as late as he wanted, no questions asked, anyhow. Why should she stop him now?  Besides, she didn't have much of a chance- he wasn't going to allow her one.

He burst out the door and started trotting over toward East Street. Others were doing the same. He followed them to where the spaceship had pulled in just a little ways outside of town. It had parked by the lagoon. As James arrived, a very small crowd had gathered nearby on an adjacent side of the lagoon. As he neared, he saw people standing around a structure in the center of the lagoon which everyone had always called “The Grotto”. It was nothing special, just some old creepy mausoleum no one ever visited. These people were dressed in exotic finery- James couldn't be sure, but there was a flutter in his heart as he thought it might indeed be a style from the Holy Lands.

A hatch on the spaceship was open, and stairs led down to the ground by the bridge to The Grotto. A woman stepped out of the ship and began descending the staircase to join her company at the mausoleum.
As this woman stepped out into the dusky light, illuminated mostly by the neon-colored lights aglow upon the ship, which cast strange colors and shadows in many directions across her pale skin, James finally understood what his grandfather had once told him about how he'd quit whiskey. It had become a bit of a problem for the old man at a certain point. The kind of problem that interferes with life and causes you to do low things. So James' grandfather saved up for awhile, and after a year, and auctioning off a few possessions, he had the money to send away for a fine, fine bottle of whiskey. A rare, aged bottle very few people had. It wasn't the best bottle in the world, but it was damn close. It cost as much as good farm equipment, or more. James' grandfather had savored that bottle. And after that, he never wanted whiskey again- because nothing else could compare to the taste. It was all just a pale imitation, nothing but disappointment.

James knew, the moment he saw that woman, that he could love no other woman in the world. He could try, but it would be a pale imitation of love- never the real thing. Never the full thing. Some part of his heart would always be missing- because the whole of it belonged to her, he knew, without a doubt. He stared upon her in awe and veneration as he felt what he knew was his soul latching onto her. He didn't even know her- how creepy was that- but he knew he would be dedicated to her for all eternity. The space between them, all the distance, all the empty air and floating dandelion seeds and fireflies blinking, all of that translated into some kind of sweet pain for James. He knew that he could never be satisfied until that distance was closed and he was one with this woman.

He heard a gruff voice behind him to the right break him out of a daydream of doing just that, a daydream so vivid it had made all else in reality melt away for a moment. But this jarring noise brought him back. “Agckh. Itareña.” And with a sinking heart, but a heart he was still unable to retrieve from her, James understood.

Water or Meat

Stretched out on your back
on the side of the road
with nothing to protect you
from the bone-chilling cold
but your tattered red coat
and worn boots on your feet,
you hear a voice whisper,
“Water or meat?”

You struggle to focus
and turn your head to
see the old man
looking down at you.
He steps closer and
drops down to one knee
to ask you again,
“Water or meat?”

Around you, ragged soldiers
trudge on through the morning,
each one assuming the others
must know where they are going.
Former rebels now faced
with the uncertainty
that comes from no longer
having an enemy.

Few chose to stay behind
in the court of the king
who once rose by the sword
but then fell to its sting.
Out of his robes,
the king was just an old man;
beneath crimson satin
were sallow flesh and weak hands.

Your own hands are cold;
your lips so chapped they bleed.
You lack the strength
to voice what you need.
As the old man leaves you,
your tears freeze on your cheeks.
The ragged army moves on.
Winter is unkind to the weak.

Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt

Ta da!

They all came out
even though they had been
stuck there
for a while.
I pulled each one
out.
A letter, a voice, a movie
a picture, a thought, a phrase.
I sunk them all down the river
and turned away.

It seemed all too real.  I was standing at a crossroads with several many splits father for each one.  I saw memories past them, floating above each one, laughter and sadness, all of the misery and hope scattered evenly.  I didn't want to choose.  But that was a choice in itself.  "I'm dreaming," I automatically said.  "Or am I really?" I replied just as fast.  I pushed and pulled trying to break free, out of this box, but instead I fell again.  This time I saw the same routes, but I was sitting at the lunch table, surrounded by familiar faces, eagerly awaiting my decision.  I sighed, trying to escape again.

She was a naive fourteen year old girl skipping under hollowed white branches.  Her hair was a shiny black, almost black as the contrast of the night sky against the moon.  Under the starlight, her eyes were a black, a encompassing black that seemed to leave you devoid until she turned her eyes away again.  She was singing a nursery rhyme.   "I hear thunder, I hear thunder.
Hark don't you? Hark don't you?
Pitter, patter raindrops,
Pitter, patter raindrops,
I'm wet through; so are you.

I hear thunder, I hear thunder.
Hear it roar! Hear it roar!
Pitter, patter raindrops,
Pitter, patter raindrops,
I'm all wet! I'm all wet!

I see blue skies, I see blue skies,
Way up high, Way up high!
Hurry up the sunshine,
Hurry up the sunshine
We'll soon dry! We'll soon dry!"  Every so often she laughed, as if she was simply skipping through a meadow of flowers but the harsh reality was that she was skipping through a minefield of explosives.  No matter though, for she did not care.  She simply kept skipping through as one exploded after the other, the sparks causing no alarm or excitement or speed.  Perhaps she couldn't feel it at all, in her happy little meadow as she skipped to her death.

There Is No Time

Some free verse for you all.

There Is No Time

Pristine crystal and expensive paintings decorated the walls
of that overpriced timeshare you always took for the winter. 
You made sure it was filled with the finest of everything,
but you didn’t realize that you had nothing of real value.

The only significant thing you could lose now would be your ignorance.  
You think you’re a master, an old pro who’s seen it all,
but you see nothing, and if I ever believed you did,
then I was as ignorant as you. 

Call me ungrateful, but I wasn’t the one
who never did a thing for anyone else,
who always had an excuse for where he was and what he did  
with “best friends” that I somehow never met. 
They were probably all criminals.

You would say “God loves a winner” to justify always getting your way,
as if success could prove your manipulations were good and right. 
There was nothing you couldn’t twist to your advantage,
and you thought you could smooth over anything and anyone.

Smiles and friendly handshakes may be tools in negotiations,
but they never provided any answers when I called out to you.
I was only damaged goods for you to hide,
and any ill effects could be glossed over and forgotten. 

You never wanted to know a thing back then,
and your money kept me on a string for long enough. 
But the devil won’t sleep forever,   
and my antisocial openness can’t be eliminated or ignored. 

Maybe you mean it when you say you genuinely care now,   
but I think you still just want to make the problem disappear. 
Why do you think knowing me now will change anything?
It’s not meant to be; there is no time.

Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt

Easier.

It's really short, but I hope you like it.
http://questionableexclamationpoints.blogspot.com/2012/05/long-time-no-scuff-scuff-scuff-polar.html

Poems - Part 2

Second batch of poems to get myself up-to-date.

The Ground Is Rising Up
Certainly the ground is rising up
around the old men
while the sky remains
as still as it has always been.
The rodents hurry to dig down  
in fear the clouds will touch the ground.
You don’t know when you’ll be there,
but you can smell the changing air.

Perhaps tomorrow you’ll start
doing nothing more for yourself.
It doesn’t mean that you care more
or you need less or anything else.
Soon you’ll find that you need more
than you ever thought you would before.
The best-laid plans don’t often stand
when ignorance can play its hand.

Who can you trust when
the kindest have the cruelest intents,
when the healthy are diseased
and no gods will not let you repent?
Experts clamor to fill you in,
but nothing ever seems to begin.
You can hear things in your ears
but don’t know whether to interfere.

Who can say for sure whether you are
a cause or merely an effect?
Will finding out the answer
make you happy or upset?
There is so little we can control,
so we bury ourselves inside our holes.
If you ever go, give it your all.
Get as far as you can before the sky falls.

He Wrote No Letters
He lived out his last days alone   
at the end of a dirt road in Tennessee.       
His nearest neighbors were miles away
and his children never came to visit.
He had no phone
(but then he was half deaf)
and he wrote no letters.

He always kept silk sheets on his bed
because he wanted to die on silk.
He had a bomb shelter in his basement
because he thought the world was not safe.
He tried to grow his own food
and ate just enough to cover his bones.
His face was creased from always frowning,
and he wrote no letters.

His walls held no pictures or mirrors
because there was little he wished to remember.
He stopped keeping a calendar
or making plans for the future.
He could no longer hear the trains
that passed by up in the hills.
He had no one left to call friend or enemy.
He wrote no letters.

Picture A Wounded Child
Picture a wounded child
laying on the ground
crying out for its mother
and the mother walking away.

Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt

Poems - Part 1

To make up for falling behind on submissions, I'm going to crank out some poetry this week.  This is the first batch; more will come later in the week.


Ice-Covered Houses
In your front room, there was a picture of ice-covered houses.
You thought I never gave it a second look,
but I’ll always remember it.
It made me feel like I was standing on a steep hillside,
about to slip and fall down an endless slope.

You believed we could stay in an endless winter
and keep ourselves frozen as we were forever.
But I could see and hear the ice cracking,
and I had to climb out
before I fell any further.

Not Long

Feel these yellowed hands   
with veins the color of a frozen sea.        
So cold to the touch;                              
you can’t hold on for more than a moment.          
  
Thin blood now runs dry,     
sedated by a dead heart.
The last traces of vigor were
shaken out of this aged body.   

It has not been long.   

Stand alone and listen.
Do not speak in this silent room.    
So few times you’ve seen   
life and death in front of you.  

Raise the curtains now.
Maintain your resolve for the ones who watch.    
They’ll believe anything you say.   
Now is not the time for starting fires.  

It will not be long.

Dreams of Being Chased

I often have vivid dreams in which I am being chased,
sometimes by monsters, but mostly by people.
Many times I escape, but then I go back
and allow my pursuers to chase me again.

What does this say about me?

A Young Girl in the Middle of the Road

A young girl stands
in the middle of the road
during morning rush hour.
Her eyes reflect light
from the yellow sunrise,
and her ears are deaf to the drone
of traffic waiting at a standstill
in the hot morning air.
The lights are green
and the engines are humming,
but the strange girl in the street
will not be shaken.
Doors begin to open
and questions are shouted.
The heat steadily rises
along with the sun.
The girl hears something else,
and all at once,
her frozen feet move
and she begins to dance
in the middle of the road.

Things Change No night leaves the world the same as it was                          
All things self-destruct and reconstruct themselves
Space sheds its old face and replaces it with newness                        
Very few normal people truly stay the same

Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt