A matter of moments for her to consider…..

She had removed herself from his touch a long time ago. Even though his words had stained her. Even though his words had broken inside of her continually. She was only moments away.

She didn’t remember the clothes he had placed on her body. But she never would imagine hating the scent of jasmine any more than she felt now. The first time he dressed her, she chaffed underneath the touch of his hands across her nipples. The blind-fold was a significant symbol he had spent hours in design. His success gave him unlimited resources to devise his weapons of choice….

The room she never saw was kept clean by him. She heard his clean machines, no matter how silent they ran. No matter how he had programmed them to not disturb her; to not touch her; to not sense her as being there as a human being.

But he had told her, so often, she was more than Human……

In her Mind, she didn’t have a need for knowing Day and Night. When she slept, she would never dream in any settings of Day and Night. These were setting her subconscious had discarded like a sick person discarding a used tissue to the garbage bin.

….in her dream, she was standing on stairs kept stainless and White like Stars embedded into the long and full beard of Night. She was descending down the stainless, White stairs but her footsteps made no sound. Had she become a ghost searching for her misplaced Crown? Had she become a wanderer without a home? Had she become a name without any memory at all?

His voice was everywhere.

‘You are….everything…. You are…..everything…..You are….’

Was she crying…?

Was she screaming…?

Was she begging…?

What was she thinking when……

‘You are…everything….’

Over time, she had become the same as the specially designed blind-fold. In her mind, she was always blinded by something….

His voice was hungry for her. Each word spoken by lips warm and probing carved inside of her.

….in another dream she had chosen to hang on to, she was sitting with her Mother and Father talking to them about everyday type of thoughts. The sight of her Mother so beautiful and vibrant was the only time she had cried since being with him….

‘Say it ….I want you to say it to me…..I know you have to….’

While her thoughts stumbled over imaginary concerns, his fingers pinched hard on her sensitive nipples until the sound of her own voice felt offensive to her hearing. Unwanted by her. No longer trusted, and respected by her…..

….in her dream, her Father kept asking her if she was eating well.

‘…you know your Mother was about your size when we first met. And she hardly would eat anything whenever we went out…always too concern about how she would look….’

‘…i want you to Say it…do you understand what I am telling you….i want you to Say it…’

The food he fed her was always well cooked. Never too salty. Never over-cooked. Never too sweet. Never too cold. Never too hot, Never too much. Sitting across from her, his patient was like a child mending the wounds of a hurt animal.

‘…you haven’t eaten for so long. And I don’t need to force any food on you when you are not hungry..„’

‘Your Father was such the nervous gentleman. He kept asking me how the food was as if he owned the restaurant…..he wanted to make such a good impression on me…’

The first time he slipped a finger between her legs, she saw her parents’ bodies shatter like a cheaply made ice cream bowl. A firm, convincing hand twisted her wrist just enough for garner compliance from her as she felt his erect and hard cock demanding obedience from her.

‘…Say it…..Say it ….’

Instinctively, her hand stroked his erect cock faster and faster. The important and hungry words spoken were replaced by more meaningful sounds, as he removed his finger from inside of her wet vagina.

‘…..Yes…..Yes….Please….Yes….I….I….’

She was aching unexpectedly. Between her legs, she was learning to ache in unexpected ways.

‘….Yes…..Yes….Yes….’

….in her dream of the stainless White stairs descending constantly, a violence sticky breeze without any wings snared her mind. She wasn’t spared any reprieve. She knew she had to reach the bottom. She knew she couldn’t turn back. She knew she wasn’t suppose to look back. But the sickly heat made her feel lightheaded, and confused.

Many moments she had stopped counting would make the ache between her legs go away. The bindings around her wrists, like the blind-fold, had been a special design by him. She was given the room for natural movements but anything more produced an immediate hot searing granting her the unique shaped scar on both of her wrists…..

She wanted to touch the ache between her legs. Her voice kept asking her inside of her thoughts……

But he wanted her to say it…..He wanted her to say what she didn’t want to say. Inside of her thoughts, she was being asked to touch the ache between her legs. Inside of her thoughts, she was being asked to stroke the Reason for her ache between her legs.

But she had chosen to wait for him to touch her between her legs again. She had chosen to believe in patience. She had chosen to smile as best as she could when he fed her. She had chosen to hum a song most pleasing to his ears when she was given her baths. She had chosen to make herself an object of pure delight with her voice firmly kept inside of her thoughts growing more and more impatient,

Between her legs, the ache grew wider. Inside of her head, the thoughts grew anxious and obsessed.

….in her dream, the stainless stairs of White grew dirty and filth as her soundless steps struggled to descend towards the bottom. She felt her lungs heavy and small; like two small children trapped underneath the damp callous onslaught of a landslide.

The meals and smiles past. The baths and the hummed songs past. The thoughts inside of her head grew more anxious. The ache wouldn’t stop between her legs. And soon, an out of place fatigue started to emerge from her. The more the ache between her legs wouldn’t stop, the more she wanted to sleep..

In sleep, she was only left with one dream to visit.

…in her dream, she had stopped feeling desperate. Sitting on the soot and wet filth of the stairs no longer allowed to gleam stainless and White, she could feel the ache of a new pain rising from her. Rage had tainted her outlines. Rage had blurred her confidence and patience. Rage had made her thoughts grow hatred and full of bitterness. The more she slept, the more she sat quietly on the stairs of soot and wet filth and inhaled the heat deeper and deeper into her new lungs….

His words fell on her shores like the slaughtered flames of moths.

‘….Say it…..’

For many days, she stopped eating and stopped smiling. For many days, she stopped humming when he bathed her. For many days, she would sleep and sleep when he was in the room watching and studying her as she slept with her hands bound over her head. She had stopped feeling. She had stopped caring. She had stopped acknowledging him….

‘…Say it….’

The usual fierce hand failed to move her into action. Her thighs would not yield to his advances. Underneath the blind-fold, she was unable to contain her rage towards him. Outside of the blind-fold, he grew heavier and heavier with desperation. Fingers offered finally solution as he unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, prior to grabbing her long hair into a taunt line of tension and immense pain…

‘…Say it….’

He pushed his solid over-sized cock deep against the back of her throat. The taunt line of tension grew deeper inside of her as her eyes watered and her air passage was unable to gain a foothold.

‘…Say it….’

He surrendered the taunt lines of her hair long enough to bring both of her hands together into the bindings. He surrendered enough of his momentum to allow her the advantage, the opportunity, and more than a passing glance at a chance to exact her revenge…..

The rage grabbed her. The rage inspired her. The rage surrounded her with the pure religion of fury as her jaw muscles and teeth gained momentum and bit into his penis until his lungs burned from the thorns and slings of his voice trapped underneath tall resonating heights of his pain.

…in her final dream, she was swept from the wet dark filth and soot. No one around, and no other sound to become her crown as she felt herself buoyant beyond her thoughts and body. Her senses were made made sharper as she was resolved from the rage and the ache she had hardly remembered as being important or necessary any more. A nameless thought tried to encircle her, wanting to describe something meaningful, and something simple to be understood but she was rinsed away too rapidly by the moments unable to offer her any other reason to remain awake for much longer.

On her lips and chin, the dried blood had taken the shape of a significant tattoo marking how endings and beginnings still do matter, to everyone and anyone.

Copyright 2010. A HZAR Worth Productions.

He was standing away from the crowding of other children……

Their murmurs, their voices, their excitement caught his attention. His Mother had told him to stay away from the boys. She didn’t like them. She didn’t trust them.

‘…hey…can you believe this…?’

He was wearing the clean clothes his Mother was always dressing him in. A very clean white shirt irritating his skin; black pants with specific and neat creases. The smell of soap was always apparent. Each time she dressed him in his clean clothes, she made him talk a bath.

‘We will not act like common animals. Your Father doesn’t work so hard to have either of us act like common animal. Your Father spends many hours working very hard. We will not act like common animals, do you understand me…?’

The crowding of other children kept growing. His skin was burning but he dare not fidget sitting next to his Mother..

The children were all boys, he noticed. They were dressed in different clothes, he also noticed. One of the boys caught his interest. The tallest boy who seemed familiar to him but he did not know why or how come…..

‘Stop looking at those boys in the street. They are doing nothing. They are wasting their time. Do you understand me? Stop looking at those boys in the street, this instance….’

He noticed there were no cars around. The Sun was shining on his face, making his forehead feel tight and very warm. He wanted to rub his forehead but the dare not figet sitting next to her. Taking his attention from the growing group of boys, he noticed no one else were around him and his Mother..

‘….Did you hear what I said…? Stop looking at those boys..’

The white shirt was making his skin burn.

’..I need to use the bathroom….’

His Mother gave no response to his request.

’..I have to use the bathroom, please….’

The murmurs of the boys in the street grew louder. More and more boys were going to the gathering in the street.

‘…wow……. how do you think this got here…? any idea…?’

No matter how large the group of boys became, the tallest boy was always in his sight. For some reason, this made him feel more and more uncomfortable.

‘…Please…..I have to use the bathroom….’

His desperation made him look for his Mother. Turning his head from watching the growing group of boys, he discovered he was alone. Above him, the Sun felt hotter on his forehead.

Standing from the park bench, the pinching pain across his belly made tears fall down his cheeks and to the ground underneath him. He wanted to fall to the ground but his bladder was telling him to please hurry. He looked for his Mother again but he was still alone.

In the quiet street, the group of boys grew louder and larger. Through his tear taunted eyes, he could still see the tallest boy staring at him with such indifferent eyes, as if he was trying to recalling something important to remember or say…..

The legs attached to his body moved him someplace private. His belly had become his enemy. A bitter foe not satisfied with anything else but making him suffer. Somewhere in his throat, he didn’t feel any sadness but hatred. A type of syrup not unlike the medicine his Mother was always giving him every evening before he went to bed. The feel of the syrup in his mouth felt like stinging pieces of rubber and metal. His Mother didn’t tell him why he had to take this bad syrup and in return, he never told her about the nightmares he had every Night.

Before his mind could settle on recalling the images from the nightmares, his belly made him more pregnant with hatred.

‘….where do you think this came from..? i never saw anything like this….what can it be…?’

His arms felt useless. Like two old branches the leaves avoided. His fingers remembered how to find the zipper to his neatly creased black pants. Soon, his penis was in his hand as his patience had abandoned him like his Mother…..

The turmoil of his belly made him pull on his penis while the Sun still made his forehead feel tight and uncomfortable, although he was standing in a heavily shaded place away from the street where the noise from the boys was everywhere around him.

‘…Oh Wow…..did you see that..? did you…? did you see that…? Oh Wow….’

The more he pulled on his penis, the more he tamed his belly’s misbehavior. A sound approached his side but he knew if he stopped pulling on his penis, his pain was going to not be forgiving. Somewhere in his throat, he stopped caring about whether his Mother was going to find him. The taste of his slick tasteless hatred was biting at his tongue.

‘Stop hurting me…..stop hurting me… Stop It….Stop It…Stop…’

His words hated the boys in the street. His words hated his neat and clean white shirt. His words hated the Sun bothering him. His words hated the voice of his Mother always telling him things about everything and anything. His words didn’t stop him from pulling his penis harder and harder…..

‘Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it It iT iT It It…..’

His eyes shut tight around everything, like the lips and mouths of desperate Lovers. On his shoulder, he felt a hand stopping his words, stopping the sounds of the boys in the quiet street, stopping the turmoil of his belly.

In his hand, he felt a slick solid syrup. At first, cold and sticky but then slippery and very hot like muds somehow set ablaze by the Sun abandoning him for a darkness cool upon his face like sleep to the dying man…..

Turning his attention away from his hand, he saw the tallest boy from the group standing above him. Inside of his mind, the tallest boy was talking to him.

‘…..you didn’t want to see what we saw in the street but not because your Mother told you not to…’

A red, black liquid was covering his hand and fingers. He stared like someone trying to recall a memory he never really had. A new wound took the place of his penis.

’..you didn’t want to see what we saw because you knew what was there….you knew what we saw….’

His arm raised his hand towards his face. The smell was pungent but not bitter. His tongue wanted to taste the red, black liquid until the hand of the tallest boy started to squeeze his shoulder like the violence of a knife’s blade….

‘…you didn’t want to see what we saw…….’

Somewhere in the back of his head, he wanted to beg. The words failed. The words surrendered. The words stumbled and won’t stand up. The words struggled and the words could only bear the great weight of its difficulties.

‘…you didn’t want to see what we saw….you didn’t see want you saw….’

The tallest boy’s voice grew indifferent as the darkness wanted to swallow all of his words. The turmoil returned to his belly as the legs to his body allowed his body to fall to the ground underneath his feet. Rolling to his back, he looked up at the eyes of the tallest boy long enough to recognize who he was. Maybe the turmoil, maybe the words lodged underneath his failure; maybe an understanding he was afraid to know…..

A flash struck him as he watched the tallest boy kneeling to the ground, plunging his hand into the soft meaning of his belly. Fingers searched underneath a smooth contour, finding the only spark he hid from everyone…

‘…please…not that Dad…please not that….’

As the spit from his Father’s mouth hit his face, the man woke up next to his Wife.

Alone next to her, the oversized bedroom wasn’t large enough to protect him against his failures. Protect him against the questions and inquiries into his business dealings. Protection against the real turmoil taking root inside of him as his hand sought for a wound without cure.

Copyright 2010. A HZar Worth Productions

The Reign of the Sovereign had been quietly foretold.

The Day of Purpose was approaching the Nation soon. Many people had gathered in the open areas of the Capital to discuss their plans for the Day of Purpose. A very large building had been erected covering an impressive several miles. Each day, students and facilitators would gather regularly from various sectors of education to discuss the importance of what had occurred to the Nation…..

The Sovereign had been allowed to have the requested days to himself. During his tenure, this was understood by his appointed members.

‘Has the Sovereign began….?’

The room was designed to be the only place for Data Retrieval to occur. Under strict order from the Sovereign, only a few appointed members were allowed access to the Data Retrieval. Security was at once simple, and at once complex but understood by the Sovereign fully.

More than anything, the Reign of the Sovereign has been quietly put into motion for quite an unmarked passage of time……

‘Yes. The Sovereign has entered his assigned place.’

The youngest appointed member had set the tone of their meeting. Under the tutelage of the Sovereign, the most youngest appointed member had become a vital link between the thoughts of the Sovereign and the rest of the appointed members.

‘Then the Day of Purpose can be recognized by Members to the Soverign…?’

‘Let it be recognized at this moment: Members to the Sovereign have recognized the Day of Purpose.’

Each Member to the Sovereign sat in silence over the next five minutes. During this time, the youngest Member to the Sovereign stood and made his voice heard.

‘Members to the Sovereign, we come here on this day to initiate the Day of Purpose. Members to the Sovereign, we come here on this day to invoke the Day of Purpose. Members to the Sovereign, we come on this day to remember the great Wounding which befell upon this Nation. The Wounding does not go unforgotten by anyone. The great Wounding shall not go unforgotten by anyone born as a Citizen and Seeker to the Nation, for wisdom alone does not guarantee the well-being and health of the Nation. As wealth bequeathed to a fool will not last no longer than three generations, for each generation can not avoid the fool’s poison, then the well-being and health of the Nation can not be guaranteed on the broad shoulders of wisdom. If anything, Members to the Sovereign are called into service understanding the fullness of their capacity to the Citizens and Seekers to the Nation….’

As was custom to the proceedings, another Member to the Sovereign was quietly chosen to stand:

‘Members to the Sovereign, our chosen path remains what the Nation has called us to. Members to the Sovereign, our chosen path was not chosen by any of us. I want this to be made clear to all of us. I want this to be made abundant to us. I want this to be made fully realized to us all. Members to the Sovereign, our path was chosen for us by the need of the Nation. I was a Citizen to the Nation, yes. I wasn’t born as a Seeker was from the great Wounding. I wasn’t born from the bloodlines the Seeker has learned to carry over the many Seasons by now. I married a Seeker. As a Citizen to the Nation, I married a Seeker and through her, and through our children, and through our Grand-Children, I have been taught the chosen path we do not choose. The chosen path beckon in all of us. Citizens and Seekers alike. Members to the Sovereign, the High Member has spoken very well of the fool bequeathed wealth. Members to the Sovereign, the High Member has spoken very well of the great Wounding. Members to the Sovereign, the High Member has spoken very well of why we shall walk strong during the Day of Purpose. Members to the Sovereign, I stand alongside the High Member in reminding all of us to not forget what the great Wounding has meant to the Nation……’

In his eyes, grew the fires. In his voice, grew the need. In his thoughts, grew his understanding.

‘The Great Great Great Great Grand-Mother to my wife was one of the others who foretold of events. Before the Seekers had a name, she was a woman who had many visions. She saw the elegant Dog who bore the heart of deceit. She saw the Mirrors smeared with the trapped voices. She saw the Laughing Waters satiated with the song-pains of Death. She once told my wife’s Great Great Great Great Aunt the words spoken by these song-pains of Death:

“if your bitterness does flow

what eludes you from above

shall become yours below;

if your bitterness does grow

what eludes your touch now

will become yours once you know

how bitterness comes to your call…”

My wife’s Great Great Great Great Grand- Mother visited these song-pains of Death often. At first, she as filed with concern when she knelt before these waters and tasted the sweetness. Tasted the richness, and grew less afraid. Tasted the richness, and suffered each time the yearning she couldn’t explain. Tasted the richness, and grew distant from her beautiful children and husband. Tasted the richness, and soon grew very ill and was left by Holistic Engineers without any positive conclusions for her health of body and mind to return into the fullness. Because despite the wisdom of the Holistic Engineers, they lacked the understanding of the Seeker. Because despite wisdom of the Holistic Engineers, they lacked the understanding of the other…..’

In his voice, grew a resentment. In his thoughts, grew a rage. In his eyes, grew his understanding.

‘Members to the Sovereign, the Citizens and the Seekers to the Nation must be honored. Not with our words. Not with our wisdom. Not with our promises. Not with our assurances. Members to the Sovereign, the Citizens and the Seekers to the Nation must be honored with our understanding. As we understand, as we walk in the understanding by submerging ourselves into the understanding, then we honor the breath and the birthright of the Citizens and the Seekers to the Nation.’

In his thoughts, calmness proclaimed him. In his eyes, the fires wouldn’t relinquish him.

The High Member to the Sovereign remained standing.

‘Members to the Sovereign, the Day of Purpose has been invoked. As the previous Member had spoken most well, we honor the Citizens and the Seekers when we submerge ourselves into the understanding.’

The High Member to the Sovereign return to his seat. Each member placed their hands upon the smooth round black table. A slow and strong blue glow illuminated the round black table like waters flowing over the deepest part of the ocean…..

The voice of the Sovereign was speaking to the Members:

‘In the Day of Purpose, we are reminded not of Past and not of Future. In the Day of Purpose, we are reminded of our understanding……’

The ocean blue round black table soon became a living mass which sought to enter each body of the Member’s bodies. Each Member to the Sovereign sat in honored stillness as understanding was submerged within they all.

‘In the Day of Purpose, we are reminded not of Past and not of Future. In the Day of Purpose, we are

reminded of our seamless devotion to our understanding…’

The living ocean blue of the round black table continued to enter each Member.

‘In the Day of Purpose, we are reminded not of Past and not of Future. In the Day of Purpose, we are reminded of the source of our strengths and the source of our weakness….’

Each Member sought no words. Each Member sought no thought. Each Member sought no reprieve. Each Member stood before the great Wounding….. Each Member enter the great Wounding….Each Member received the understanding. Like the gaze of Stars upon the planets…..

Copyright 2010. A HZar Worth Productions.

He wasn’t full of many words…… Not now.

His face stared back at him as it had done any number of times like this. Inside of his mind, the hunger was started to subside.

The surface of the mirror was trying very hard to tell him something important. But his face just wanted to stare back into his eyes. The other day, he spent the hours cleaning the mirror with a song from childhood filling his head. A song he was taught by someone who he couldn’t remember anymore. Especially when the hunger was near…..

’..from here, i could see

the Sun was everywhere today.

…from here, i could see

there was no rain anywhere….’

Each motion of the cloth in his hand soothed the tenisons of the mirror. His motions were a firm ritual.

In a dream he had, he was taught how to make his own mirror cleaner. The items were surprisely easy to purchase, and when put together in their proper proportions, the cleaner was an excellent ally.

But it wasn’t any dreams teaching him the importance of the mirror.

‘…from where i stand,

i can see the clouds go away.

…from where i stand,

i can see the clouds go away…’

The hunger was always with him. He understood this. No one taught him this. There were some instincts he understood. At his job, he would watch people every day. Their faces, their eyes telling him everything he wanted to know. When the hunger was talking to him, he understood what his purpose was.

Standing in front of the mirror, his face stared back at him into his eyes.

Her face caught his attention. There were prettier women. Their smiles and their words wanted to sing all day long. These women spoke about their lives like someone selling cheap goods. But her face wasn’t marred by such contrite words. She didn’t spend her time with a large group of people. As far as he knew, she would spend her time alone sitting contently among the words and laughter of the other women.

Her eyes were filled with a deeper understanding. A hunger…..

‘…from here, i could see

the Stars were everywhere

…from here, i could see

the Moon was always there…’

One day, she sat close enough to him. His job affording him the opportunity to enjoy her decision in the conversation he had engaged her in. She offered him pure words. No need to sell anything. No need to obscure herself underneath the cloaking manners used by the other women around him. Her hair was beautiful, and her movements didn’t distract his attention.

The hunger was approaching.

He continued to use his motions with the mirror. The cloth was hard to find. When he found the cloth, the material was considered too expensive by the manufacturer to use. He was able to purchase the last lot number from the manufacturer. For many months, he ate very simple meals. His job taught him about the instincts of others. The job wasn’t about the money. The money was enough for him to continue his life quietly.

As he grew older, the hunger gave him purpose.

A few days later, the two of them were laughing. She had agreed to meet him one day when he didn’t need to work. He was polite to let her choose the day. She was polite to accept his invitation with her smile and her eyes…

‘…from where i stand,

Nothing more can be said.

…from where i stand,

Nothing more was ever said…’

In the mirror, his face wanted to tell him something important. His finger tips touched the invisible lines no one saw, and no one had determined for him. At his job, he saw the invisible lines of their faces. Faces lost and adrift like the wild dog he watched as a child floating down the river…

Wet, broken fur gently carried down the river like the kites set free during the Festival.

She told him important things about herself. Nothing common. Nothing predictable. She taught him how patient she had learned to be. This wasn’t taught to her by anyone else. This wasn’t shown to her by anyone else. When she would laugh, he saw something about her he hadn’t seen.

The weight of her hand on the back of his hand gave him the courage to ask her back to his place. He told her his job wasn’t that important to him. The job gave him enough money to live on, and he didn’t need anything else. She kept her hand on the back of his hand for the longest of time.

He enjoyed the Festival. Every year, the kites filled the sky. And every year, he didn’t feel out of place but attended each Festival. He wanted to ask her. But like the kites, the hunger was filling his mind. But like the silence when the kites were released free from their tethers and tetherings, the hunger was everywhere……

His face stared back into his eyes. The invisible lines had learned to occupy his face so completely he was starting to spend more and more time in front of the mirror. Each time, he was taught another truth. His face didn’t matter in the normal way of being handsome, or too pretty, or not rugged enough. He understood the mirror was teaching him.

He was spending more time cleaning the mirror. The glistening surfaces of the mirror requiring more atention to details he was going to be shown. Like her, he was learning about patient.

‘….from where i am

i can see everyhing i need

….from where i am

i can see everything near….’

She wanted to kiss him. The walk back to his place, her hand felt nurtured by his hand. His mind was filled by the hunger, and by the kites of the Festival. Overhead, darkness was coming. She felt no care. His hand kept her hand warm. Once in a while, he would apply pressure to remind her. Inside of her mind, she was dreaming. Her eyes looked above her, to wonder what happened to the Stars….

Were they bad? Were they good? Were they comfortable? Who kept watch over them when they couldn’t be found…..?

His hand felt kind and gentle around her hand. Their steps made the Night feel like wings lifting her above herself. A weight stuck inside of her was being pushed aside, and she was laughing. And she was enjoying her smile.

The house was understated. Like water poured into a glass on the coldest Day. She noticed a pleasant scent which occupied her attention almost as much as wanting to kiss him. Through the dimly lit rooms which came at her from unusual angles, his steps and his hand led her to his bedroom. Standing behind him, she barely recognized him. The bedroom was filled with a cunning darkness which made her feel comfortable removing her clothes for him as she could sense his movements were attempting to remove his own clothing…….

As he gathered her into his arms, she observed a glimmer coming from what she perceived was a wall of his bedroom. But the glimmer didn’t remain brief. She felt his lips against her face while his fingers wanted to set fire to her skin. At once his body was strength. His lips continued to kiss her face. A strong heat was covering her body. She felt her mind slipping away as his fingers bit against her calmness.

Nothing more for her to do. He moved her against something solid to prevent her from slipping under for good. A momentary edge of contrast given to her as his cock entered her waiting. His voice wanted to occupy her thirst. His voice wanted to overcome her resistance. His voice wanted to drown her remaining hesitations……

The glimmer soon found her again, as his cock broke inside of her to seize her waiting. He was full inside of her body. His voice a song she had almost forgotten. But now, the glimmer had become consuming of his bedroom but never showing her any of the room’s details. Her mouth was speaking to him of words and feelings not hers….. His hands and fingers capturing the intended ransom of her throat.

For a moment, the glimmer spoke to her. For a moment, the glimmer taught her. For a moment, the shock would only offend her momentarily before the hunger, like the kites of the Festival, was everywhere with her.

Copyright 2010. A HZar Worth Productions.

Outside… the heavily Moonlit Night moved like an uncertain lover while the Stars watched and listen without any other intentions.

‘The strands of Life and the strands of Death do not conceal their intent. These strands are unique to every Woman. These strands are unique to every Man. These strands do not hesitate from connecting all of us…’

Inside, from the corner of the ceiling overlooking the Speaker, two female Kaleps positioned themselves cautiously. The sound from the two females was like a straight razor sharp and lethal being scrapped against the unyielding birthright of a glacier.

‘The strands of Love and the strands of Hate do not conceal their intent. These strands are very common to the hearts and concerns of every Woman. These strands are very common to the hearts and concerns of every Man. These strands will never hesitate to connect us….’

Outside …. the densely strewn clusters of Stars across the skies moved like a predator while the golden-yellow carnival of the full Moon listened calmly to the shapes and omissions created by the private choir of shadows.

‘The strands of Men, and the strands of Women, do not seek to conceal their intent. These strands are often misunderstood, and then are assumed as being common stereotypes recited by Men and Woman until the eyes of Men and the eyes of Women do not choose to see the strands of Men, and to see the strands of Women, as being significant and necessary….’

Inside, the unmistakable sound of the female Kaleps was recognized by everyone who sat before the Speaker, obscured by the odd paradox of Moonlight and shadows piercing through a large window sitting behind the Speaker. Each individual was soothed by neither anticipation or expectations. The unforgettable sounds of the two Kaleps covered the invisible stains of space like a broken veil.

‘Men and Women are not an evil. Men and Women are not a plague. Men and Women are not a grievance to be mourned. Men and Women are not crops visited by the season of despair. Men and Women are the currents washing to shore the abundance of the Bounty…..’

Outside… the first kiss of a cloud was taking shape and cause far beneath the thrown-crown of the golden-yellow carnival of the Moon’s fullness among the tireless fire-kingdom of Stars.

‘This Night, I speak to you with reason. Men and Women have quietly struggled against one another. Men and Women have neglected the currents between them. Men and Women have learned to distrust the abundant Bounty carried to shore by the currents of Life and of Death. Men and Women have fallen prey to the misguiding words of the Host of the Hosting Church….’

Inside, the Speaker sat behind a low but sturdy table build from the Living Wood of the Alchemist. A tree said to have been saved from certain extinction when the Master Alchemist’s sweat dripped into the meager soils attempting to nurture the very last species of this tree. A tree said to have gained a unique ability from the sweat of the forehead of the Master Alchemist as he slept for many Days following into Nights, untouched by anyone and anything as his visions grew fuller inside of him.

‘Words are spoken often to conceal. Words are spoken often to obscure. Words are spoken often to push and exile the necessity for wisdom to prosper. Many words have been spoken by the Host of the Hosting Church. Many words have been spoken by many voices repeating many times the misguiding words used to feed the many hungry Men and Women. These many words spilling from the many voices have polluted the current carrying the abundant Bounty to shore. Where the many words and where the many voices have met, wisdom does not choose to live…’

Outside…. the illuminated Night sky could not choose to withstand the apparitional haunting of clouds compelled by a colder gust of nervous breezes to overcome the stage where the full Moon and insatiable beauty of Stars offered to the senses an epiphany of mystery and wonder.

‘Where wisdom choose not to live, Men and Women are apt to stumble and resist. Where wisdom cannot flourish, Men and Women shall stumble against the strands of Love and Hate. Where wisdom drowns, Men and Women shall resist against the strands of Life and Death. Where wisdom comes to perish, matters and concerns of the heart shall fade until the heart itself can only decide to diminish and perish…’

Inside, the buoyant scents of the Speaker’s wine placed on the low sturdy table was detected by everyone who sat before the Speaker. A brief pause ensued while the sounds of the Kaleps continued to swarm the room like mist from a dream.

‘I offer my word not to deceive. My words are not here to condemn. We are Men. We are Women. We are connected by the strands, and we are connected to the strands, of Life and of Death. We are Men. We are Women. We are connected by the strands, and we are connected to the strands, of Love and Hate. As the Kaleps are called into the frays and temperatures of battle, and as the Moon and the Stars are call to witness the rise of the fall, Men and Women remain connected to one another…’

Outside…the golden-yellow carnival of the full Moon and the proud conspiracy of countless Stars were quenched underneath the occluding waters of thicker clouds made dingy and slighted by the mocking divinity of movement and colder winds.

‘Connected to the inevitable masks, connected to the inevitable heights, connected to the inevitable centers no Man and no Woman born into this place can ever avoid, and seek to escape from.’

Inside, behind and beneath the darkness concealing the Speaker’s features and form, the Speaker reached the end and opened her eyes. The absolute whites of her eyes were greeted by the sonata of two female Kaleps moving into position to launch their final battle. The Speaker’s silence announced the jubilant partaking of the Speaker’s wine as everyone who sat before her and the low sturdy table rose calmly to celebrate the strands woven into the thoughts and hearts of every Man and every Women.

Obscured by the completing paradox when light and shadow are no longer separate but made equal, the Speaker allowed her eyes to close once more, as her ears understood the battle sounds of the Kaleps compelled to answer a call much more older than the breaths soothing her mind.

Copyright 2010.  A HZar Worth Productions.

A tense melody was surrounding the facial features of his surrendering thoughts.

Sitting across the table from him, she was the only one who wasn’t likely to be surprised by anything at this point.

‘What type of security detail should I understand, from this point on?’

In front of him, his plate had gone untouched for the last five minutes. There was too much for him to access. His eyes were scanning the situations around the two of them. Eyes too familiar to her.

‘Security was designed as a Random Non-random….’

She took his answer as a serious curtain call to pause by. The next thirteen minutes, her thoughts demanded no more words spoken and uttered between the two of them. In the crowds moving around them, her eyes picked up the fighting tones between two small girls arguing over some toy before an impatient Mother.

‘…..if this continues, then the two of you will have no toy to argue over….understood..? I will not tolerate this any longer….’

Rare opportunities often present themselves like an eager wound, scarring the tension surface of calmness with the inevitable understanding turmoil wasn’t an understanding force and presence. The steady low hum of conversation surrounding the two of them revealed to her several levels of observations she had chosen to learn from while participating inside of the Edges….

‘What are my viable options? We both know this type of security has always meant failure to anyone who encountered this type of security in the past. We all learned this early on in our training…’

His eyes continued to scan into the gathering clumps of faces moving around them, like a sacred man studying a long-sought after passage written long ago. Public venues were becoming more and more questionable with the Data coming down from many levels of input studying the continuing impacts being felt across the hidden variables of the Government.

‘We are discovering we have gained some very viable options. If we didn’t, then why would I want to sit here and waste our time like this?’

‘But if security remains at this level, we are not going to give ourselves any more space necessary. We are just creating an unnecessary means to die.’

‘Do you think I hadn’t consider this?’

His eyes scanned into her face. When his voice reached this pitch of tone, she knew an impasse had become constructed and entrenched between the two of them.

‘I am getting hungry. I am going to order right now…’

‘I have food right here. Why don’t you share some of this with me…?’

‘I want my own plate….’

‘But I have plenty of food right here…’

‘And I said, I want my own plate.’

His eyes continued to scan her face.

‘…let me ask you this now…are you still studying…’

Now her eyes gathered energies and scanned directly into his eyes. His large hands were gathered in front of his face and lips.

‘…why are we going to do this….?’

‘Just answer my question. Are you still studying? A very simple question to answer. Requires one of two words from you: Yes or No.’

‘Why do you want to do this? Why? Because I don’t want to take anything from your plate, which you haven’t touched since you punched up your order?’

‘No. I bring this up because I need to know where your mind has been. If your mind has been studying, then I can’t trust you to do what I am asking you to do…’

‘Has my studying ever been a problem before…?’

‘This has nothing to do with “Before”. “Before” works then but “Before” won’t work for here and now. Just answer my question.’

His patience was being vexed. His eyes watching her movements as she discarded his question and sought to use the Punch-Menu to place her order. His hand and fingers moved at her hand but failed miserably as she disabled his attempts at disrupting her decision to order.

‘Listen to me right now, and listen to me again. I do not give you any answers to any question not dealing with our arrangement. I do not give anyone any answers to any questions not dealing with the arrangement agreed upon. And sitting right here with your finger in this very uncomfortable position means nothing to me….’

The pain was starting to make the back of his neck hurt.

‘I didn’t make this arrangement. I didn’t spend my time trying to make contact with you. I didn’t put my personal resources into making any contact with you. You and your handlers approached me. You and your handlers wanted me because your precious Data told you about what I can do with the Edges. You and your fucking Data told you what I can do.’

She applied a bit more pressure, and he felt the sides of his head growing tighter as if larger invisible hands were squeezing his head slowly and carefully….

‘Do not come here ever with this type of game. Do not come here ever wasting my time and expecting me to make this easy for you and your handlers. Do not come here ever telling me what I am going to do outside of your arrangement. Do not come here ever…..’

The breaking point was reached, and the pain shattered his resolved. She felt his finger snapping in precisely three different places. She knew his resolve wouldn’t betray any of this to the faces and eyes moving around them. She understood his resolve had chosen a public venue as the best security option they could operate within.

His eyes were drowning underneath the surging tides of pain and tears while his professional resolve stood untouched by the pain.

Her fingers returned to the Punch-Menu mounted to the table between the two of them. The sounds of the buttons underneath her fingers seemed to be everywhere to him, and managed to take away some of the bite of the pain he was tasting. Her eyes returned to his face.

‘Because you will need to take care of your finger very soon, consider this meeting over. But when you return here the next time, you are going to give me more intel regarding the security measure than what you have given me. Such as why would this rumored man have such a complex security coverage as he does…?’

For the next several minutes, he would be able to maintain his resolve long enough to reach an accord with her.

‘….because our collect Data has shown us he has serious implications to the current Government.’

‘What type of serious implications are we looking at?’

‘….serious enough to place the Nation on a course never seen before…’

Her eyes were continued to scan into his eyes. The pain was being held at bay.

‘….How serious….?’

The pause between them lingered beautifully. His eyes clung to the tears as long as possible as his wounded finger slowly was carried to him and placed underneath their table.

‘…Data suggest….another five months before he has secured absolute control over the current Government…..and another six months before he has created a situation without precedent….An event unsubscribed by the Data….’

She sat across from him to choose her words carefully and her own thoughts with more care than she had been accustomed to.

‘Your finger needs care. Time that you go now. And I am too hungry to talk anymore with you….’

Watching him nod his head and stand from his seat, her ears were listening to the two Sisters talking and laughing now. The words of their Mother had been seriously understood by the two of them.

‘….your turn to play with it….okay..?’

Watching him merge into the surrounding faces and voices, she sat quietly at her table. The thoughts of her own Sister washing over her like the Evening washing over everyone, everywhere, and every place with the indescribable shapes of wisdom and understanding…..

Copyright 2010.   A HZar Worth Productions.

After the divorce, he drifted from place to place but found his greatest comfort was shitting in the dark.

The marriage had become a series of unintended errors and shapeless disasters. She had become least likely to fulfill her obligations as his Wife. Each moment spent was a moment for critiques. He had become too skinny. He had become too stingy. He had become too sensitive. He had become too lazy. He had become too weak. He had become too insensitive. He had become too callous. He had become too unwilling to hear her side. He had become too dismissive of the world. He had become too needy. He had become too idealistic. He had become too radical. He had become too worthless for her time.

His Mother-in-Law had become his healer. She was aware of her Daughter’s insidious outbursts. The vaunted Esck Therapy which had garnered a high rate of success with many individuals was unable to impact the walls constructed around her Daughter. Many times, he sat down with his Mother-in-Law to discuss her outburst.

‘Someone told me once, I was the one who needed Esck Therapy. Because as her Mother, I had not been able to deal with my own personal issues….’

She was a lovely woman. Her face was a calm song taught to children when they slept and dreamed. Her eyes were filled with the type of mystery a person would feel walking along the streets and wide-walks of the Capital just before the streets and wide-walks began to self-repair themselves.

After the divorce, the first thing he did was to pay a visit to his Mother-in-Law following her massive stroke. Holistic Engineers were somewhat successful in stabilizing her condition. She was able to return home, and was assigned an excellent male Holistic Engineer. Her speech hadn’t fully returned, and their conversations were conveyed via Eigen-Visuals which left him a bit disoriented for several hours afterward……

‘You think my Mother was perfect, do you…? You don’t know anything about anyone… You are that gullible. But I don’t really expect anything from you anymore.’

After the divorce, he cashed in on his job’s offer to take some personal time. His productivity was never a question. Even during the worst moments of his marriage, his work was impeccable. However, concerns were growing.

‘According to our latest Data, we have come to a bit of a concern during your last Evaluation. Data suggesting a probable collapsing somewhere within this sphere of elements….’

Her voice approached him like the changing skies announcing the arrival of a Winter’s harsh storm. She was hired by the Corporation to assure well-being. She was hired by the Corporation to seek out potential threats to the Corporation’s continuing up-swelling.

‘We are continuing to create significant in-paths. We have now risen at least 11 points above the Nation’s overall average…. We are considered by the Government to be one of the best model of Data Operational Use currently existing….’

After the divorce, he decided he wanted to become a member of the Host of the Hosting Church. He was welcomed to the Hosting of the Hosting Church. He felt a kinship to the Host of the Hosting Church, fueled in great parts of greater sums by her lacking of understanding his need spiritual aspects…..

‘Many members of the Host of the Hosting Church have felt a lacking…. Relationships can be very difficult to maintain. But we feel relationships cannot be honored when the individual has not been able to honor who they are..’

He studied diligently. He understood diligently. He communed with the other members of the Host of the Hosting Church diligently. He was considered highly by the Brother-Fathers and the Sister-Mothers; he was admired for his kindness and sincerity. He was taken deeper and deeper into the confidence of many members.

However, he would soon enough receive word about his Mother-in-Law’s passing.

‘Her condition….something baffling…we were able to capture and retain some of her E.V. residue prior to her death. Please, can you help us understand this..?’

The face and the eyes of his Mother-in-Law’s male Holistic Engineer were compelling enough for him to experience the several hours of disorientation. He nodded his consent, and he relaxed himself as far enough as he could under the circumstances.

The injection of his Mother-in-Law’s E.V. residue underneath the skin of the back of his hand made his eyes ring. Like water freezing and he was trapped underneath. He watched the mouth and the eyes of the male Holistic Engineer slowly come to a standstill as the first wave of residue overstepped the boundary of his perceptional fields. His Mother-in-Law was breasting feeding his former Wife, but not as a child. But not as an infant. His former Wife seemed at peace. Her lips and her closed eyes focused on the nourishment she was receiving. Both women seemed engrossed in the moment’s simplicity. Both women were without any clothing. Their bodies supple and radiant. His Mother-in-Law’s face was submerged underneath the windowless view of kindness….. He felt himself growing aroused. His cock was moving between his legs. The fingers on his hands were moving like the claws of a cat being affectionately stroked behind the ears, and underneath the chin. His senses were touched with an awareness he hadn’t considered….Or maybe, had considered during his many conversations with his Mother-in-Law before and during the marriage he had attempted to share with her Daughter. He was observing his former Wife’s tongue now licking his Mother-in-Law’s nipple. Her milks continued to seep from her nipple like perspiration underneath the covers of a bed during a Night of humidity and insufferable temperatures. The fingers of his former Wife squeezed hard at his Mother-in-Law’s full nipple. Milks squirting along her lips, like a fresh rain summoned to soothe and to easy the uneasy comfort and feel. He watched his Mother-in-Law’s lips part briefly to submit a moan. He watched the hands and fingers of his Mother-in-Law moving through the hair of his former Wife. He felt his senses being overwhelmed from the caches of feelings and thoughts rising throughout his body.

He watched his former Wife take her first bite. He watched his former Wife take another bite. The third bite went deeper. The blood’s flow didn’t prevent her from biting more. He lips covered with an incandescent . The look of his Mother-in-Law’s face struck with neither shock or pain. Her lips parted more. With each bite her Daughter took from her, her lips parted more. Her eyes cemented to the top of her head as her daughter bit again and again and again. The red incandescent liquid was a non stop release. His former Wife’s appetite was not to be satiated any time soon.

His last thought before the disorientation swallowed him into the End-Hole: how beautiful his Mother-in-Law looked as her lips and mouth became the frozen symbol of Life and Death converging to claim her from him….

After the divorce, and some years later on, he found a house where he lived quietly. A house with actual wallpaper depicting unnamed children playing unnamed games which made their days long, and filled with joy. The house sat in the wilderness, far from the reaches of the Capital. His thoughts of the wide-walks and streets late into Night and early into Morning were replaced by the enchanted skies basking with the Stars and faces of the Moon overlooking his gaze, and the many moments of breathing. He taught himself to partake of the land; and he taught himself to be a vigilant hunter of the game offered to his patience and understanding. The years between him and the lasting thoughts of his dying Mother-in-Law taught him how to move beyond any hope, and to find his place firmly within the shadows…..

After the divorce had stopped mattering, he enjoyed taking his shits in the dark.

Alone.

Copyright 2010. A Hzar Worth Productions.

Dusk was approaching.

On the back of his left hand, he studied the five different colors of his tattoo design. Three weeks earlier, he decided to create the basic concept and design:

Five interlocking shapes. Five different colors. Each color, each shape, symbolizing the members of 13^th Broken Star.

His Compositional Instructor at the Music Forum introduced him to their seminal album, Gilded Frames. A successive merger-fuck of Jazz, Opera, and intuitive Blues chords which created the landmark sound imitated by such bands as Open Galaxy, Over-God, Circles of the Priest, and the triumphant trio, Waiting Sore, whose own seminal work, A Guided Task, was an open and successful homage to Gilded Frames.

‘Listen to “Sorrows of Clouds” carefully…You will notice the break down of traditional Jazz and at the same time, you will witness the emergence of the New Tone movement. Each element in this song teaches the ear how to collapse the general structures and paradigms into an interlocking whole refusing to be pinned down by traditional readings and understandings…’

His Parents had warned him to enter the Hollows during the dangerous and difficult turmoils of the Mid-Season. Weather Patterns Researches had already warned of severe temperatures throughout the Eigen-Spheres during the Evening and Night hours.

‘….the theory spoke about the unique quality of Gilded Frame as being more than abandoned musical theorems in favor of more challenging musical expression… But an esoteric practice created by the members of 13^th Broken Star as a means of recognizing states of awareness only accessible through the practice each member created and then poured into the wholeness of their collective musical expression…’

Overhead, the skies were moving into the empty wombs of Night. His face was growing warmer, though the fires which kept him comfortable during the Day had been vanquished by him several hours previously. If he was creative enough, he could possibly last another two Days with the food and water supply he had prepared.

The shredded cabbage had kept his bowels regular. The minced garlic solution was spread over his body to prevent viral infection from the Quiet Soils during the Day hours. In the distance, his mind studied the sounds of the Ocean as Dusk was fading into the garments of Evening. His dark eyes studied the interlocking shapes of five; his mind studied the stark colors on the back of his hand.

‘The members of 13^th Broken Star were unlikely musicians. Neither of the members were well-suited to understand music in any traditional sense. Data points indicates the respective struggles of each member during their time of studies at the Music Forum. Data trends also indicated a failed career as professional musicians, all of which fueled the rampant theory of some sort of esoteric practice created by each member as a means to explain their continuing influence on such bands like Waiting Sore…’

The back of his neck had grown cold and almost numb. He had programmed his Nan-Seek carefully.

Sweat was pricking through his pores. The scent of his minced garlic solution had become a natural background to his senses after his second Day in the Hollows. He used the fires to warm the minced garlic solution into a thick gel, adding the necessary thickening agents to sprinkle into the warming solution. His research into Northern garlic provided him with the necessary information to understand the garlic’s mechanisms.

His senses continued to measure and follow the sounds of the Ocean as Dusk continued to dress itself inside the garments of Night.

’ “Sorrow of Clouds” was almost edited from the final mix, had not the fortunes been aware of the song’s importance to the entire album. The producer was taken quite ill, and as the members of 13^th Broken Star anticipated the release of the album into the Eigen-Speak, their feelings about “Sorrow of Clouds” soon proved to be the moment which ignored their producer’s initial feeling about the song….’

His Mother had supported his decision to pursue his studies in Musical Analysis. His Father remained indifferent. Indifferent and distant. Their marriage to one another nothing more than an arrangement to honor obsolete traditions between their two families. Both were staunch traditionalists. Both upheld their commitment, and both proceeded through life with the weight of their arrangement firmly upon their shoulders like the rugged and giant butterflies of the Hollows during the Fore-Seasons, known to carry great amounts of soils into the heart of the Hollows during their death cycles….

An uncomfortable sensation was spreading throughout his shoulders.

‘Throughout the Nation, Gilded Frames redefined the Data points and Date trends. Today, we are allowed to understand how the members of 13^th Broken Star overcame the obsolete mathematics of our former Data collections and analysis, and offer us a very important tool of regarding music as an important force …….’

His spine felt the first series of injections. The second series of injections would soon follow.

The five shapes and the five colors were taking life on the back of his hand. The interlocking shapes and the vibrant colors were gathering movement. His calculations had programmed his tattoo to coincide with the second series of injection from his Nan-Seek. His Father pursued a course in Eigen-Studies, and used his vast knowledge to re-write a series of Nano-Vectors. He used this particular Nano-Vector to program the tattoo on the back of his hand.

The sweating was forgotten. The sounds of the Ocean and the coronation of Dusk into Evening had occupied the rest of his senses. The series of injections from the Nan-Seek was informing his spine of only one Source:

Sorrow of Clouds.

He felt the first opening. The first color from his tattoo. The lead singer.

He felt the second opening. The second color from this tattoo. The drummer.

He felt the third opening. The third color from his tattoo. The guitarist.

He felt the fourth opening. The fourth color from his tattoo. The bassist.

He felt the fifth opening. The fifth color from his tattoo. The pianist.

He felt the sixth opening. The unrecognized color.

‘Approximately fifty-two weeks after the release of Gilded Frames into the Eigen-Speak, and approximately seven-weeks into their touring, the members of 13^th Broken Star made a rather confusing journey into the Hollows during the height of the Mid-Season. During the height of one of the most difficult Mid-Season recorded into Data research, and never re-emerged….’

He felt the sixth opening turning him inside into the outside across the mid-sides and underneath the final sides. He felt the sixth opening removing him while his sweat bled into his eyes and down his cheeks, and down the temples of his forehead and down his neck.

He didn’t struggle. He was arriving at the exact point of the anniversary. He wouldn’t struggle. He was arriving outside of the exact point of the anniversary. He held his hand up slowly, and he observed his tattoo seep into the hidden portals of his pores to travel along the circulatory systems of his body as the third series of injections from his Nan-Seek on the back of his neck would fill his system with the precise coding and codes of Gilded Frames….

‘….the official Data conclusion: suicide…..’

The blood from his nose didn’t taste like Death. Small thin lines of brightly jeweled red kissed and tickled his upper lip like the currents of the Ocean reaching the shores of the Hollow turning violent and alive with the sudden emergence of the rugged and giant butterflies rising from the soils of their tombs…

The sounds of the Ocean continued to move closer underneath Night’s stunning conquest.

Somewhere in his thoughts and mind, the Young Maestro was smiling.

Somewhere in his thoughts and mind, the Young Maestro was inspired.

Copyright 2010. A Hzar Worth Productions.

‘The sleepers and the Dreamers can no longer sense….one another inside of this…’

The beautiful Mother with the quiet, bright eyes has a story.

She has grown full with discontent. Inside of her head, grows an awful thought she can’t prevent.

Inside of her hands grows an invisible, slow, and heavy weight her fingers feel Day into Nights…

Day comes without any promise, and leaves with all her promises. She wasn’t sure whether she was told this; whether she was taught this; whether this was the awful lie she felt perched around the difficult horse-ride once her heart.

They sat around her dinner table. Sharing uneven words clashing against the sticky and sharp edges of conversation. Her two smaller children were, as always, well behaved and well dressed. Grandparents looked at them and smiled with eyes full of remembrances.

Last night, she read them a story:

‘…and the very sad Cat asked the hungry man:”But if you are always hungry, why do you not find food to feed you?” This made the hungry man think for a short moment, and he turned to the very sad Cat with a smile and said: “Because I can not die.” ‘

Her Mother did not feel such a story was appropriate for her Grandchildren.

‘They will have many nightmares, just like you had whenever you read those same type of stories. Why punish them when they are so younger like that..?’

She had decided all Grandmothers were the same. They were like the larger fishes of the Oceans. Because they were the larger fishes, they neither hunted other fishes or avoided other harmful fishes. Instead, being larger fishes, they hung around as if wisdom was an automatic virtue granted to them.

Inside of her head, the growing discontent had taught her plenty about people.

‘The very sad Cat had been alone for as long as he could remember. Though beautiful to see, like the first Star fall of Night, there was something the very sad Cat couldn’t understand about himself…’

Before she had met him, she was content to sitting down in front of her Eigen-Screen and creating stories. Her Mother was always concerned about the amount of time she would spend away from other children her age. Like the nice boy who would come over with his Aunt when her Mother kept company often.

‘Your Nephew has grown very tall and handsome. How old did you tell me he was…?’

One time he tried to kiss her. His tongue was too hot for her mouth. His hands and his fingers were too cold against her nipples, underneath her shirt. His voice was too jagged and wanted to cut into her thoughts with over-sized words too harsh to respect her thoughts.

‘I ……want you to put your…..hand between my legs….I am so hard……I am so hard….Put you hand between my legs….No one can find us…..here….’

She didn’t know how her head became so full with this discontent.

Her Husband was an important man she didn’t care about. Every Morning, before he would leave her with their two smaller children, he wanted to get on top of her. His words wanted to grow in the places inside of her she was unsure of. His words felt insignificant. Like the Sun’s brightest smile on the clearest day of Winter.

One Morning, before he would leave her alone with their two smaller children to oversee the daily operations and functions of his business, he wrapped a blindfold around her eyes and he wrapped another blindfold around her mouth. Getting on top of her, she was surprised he couldn’t hear how clear the growing discontent had become….

‘Sleepers are not Dreamers. Sleepers can never be dreamers. Dreamers are beautiful. Dreamers are without fault, and flawless. But sleepers can not see. Sleepers are blind and always filled with scars. Many scars. Sleepers use thin words. The type of words too brittle to carry their own weight…’

Around her dinner table, the faces were eating the food prepared for them by the servants her Husband had wanted. Around her dinner table, the faces and eyes were chasing after mirth.

‘The very sad Cat had been walking for a long time, alone. Wherever he went, many people stopped and admired his beauty. Some people thought he was lost and must belong to owners who had great wealth to have such a beautiful cat like him. Other people thought he was a stray cat and tried to entice him to join them for food and a warm place to stay as the Nights were growing longer and colder….’

Inside of her hands and fingers, she was understanding where the weight was coming from.

Her Husband wanted more children. Many people loved their two smaller children. Every dinner gathering; every family gathering; every vacation they took, everyone loved their two smaller children. At Nights, when she couldn’t sleep and she laid next to him and his scent, she was surprised how the entire house couldn’t hear the discontent moving inside of her head.

‘The Dreamers can not be hurt. The Dreamers are without any pain whatsoever. Only the sleepers are filled with wounds, like stiff coarse hairs trapped underneath the skin; like strangling vines trapped around the rotting corpse of the dead…..’

One Morning, before he left her alone inside of the deaf house with their two smaller children to oversee the lives of his workers, he put her on her stomach and made her mind difficult when she felt his scent smothering her as he press himself inside of her. His scent had grown busy and constant. After that morning, she understood the hidden language behind his scent. With this understanding, her mind grew calmer…..

‘We want to hear the story about the Sad Cat. We like that story very much. We want to hear the story about the Sad Cat again, please.’

She sat at one end of the table watching the servants. In a few more hours, the deaf house would be filled with the sleepers. Many of them will tell her small things. Many of them will tell her other things. Many of them will want things. Many of them will offer her things. Many of them will not see; many of them will not hear.

The first time the invisible weight came to her hands and fingers, she wanted to spend the whole Day crying. Her Husband was sick in bed when her hands and fingers birthed the invisible weight without a chosen name. The servants were busy with taking care of her sick Husband. His private Holistic Engineer was busy unraveling the source of his illness. The two smaller children were with their Grandparents for the week.

‘The Dreamers and sleepers once shared a place. The Dreamers and sleepers could not be recognized as different from one another when they shared this place. But now…this place has died. And the Dreamers and sleepers can not sense one another anymore.. inside of this…’

Around her dinner table, her two smaller children were like rare stones washed to shore. The eyes, the faces, and the words were swarming around her. Mirth had become a bloated King sitting on a broken throne. She turned to her two smaller children and she smiled at them before excusing herself from the dinner table.

Pleasing to their eyes, to their faces, and to their words, she walked to the other end of the table to kiss her Husband. His scent greeted her as she placed her lips to the side of his face. The bloated King had preoccupied him deeply, and her kiss might has been a passing insect looking for place to occupy momentarily.

Leaving the dinner table, she had finally given name to the invisible weight in her hands and fingers.

Behind her, the court of the bloated King seemed lost inside of the deaf house’s dreams. A servant opened the door and smiled a genuine smile she would remember. Outside, the overhead skies were clear without any Stars and without a Moon. The hairs on the back of her neck stood briefly as her body moved towards the place where the Dreamers sought to return…..

‘The very sad Cat could only look at the hungry man before the hands of the hungry man reached over and gathered the very sad Cat closer to him. As the Day fell in love with the Night, the two of them found comfort and beauty as dreams greeted their sleep like a kiss.’

Copyright 2010.   A HZar Worth Productions.

At best, his music felt unnaturally beautiful. And at the least, to the ear not able to appreciate such rudiments of emotions and thoughts, his music sounded naturally awkward.

‘There was a man

And he was lonely

There was a man

And his heart would only

Only let her know

What his heart was telling

Telling her…..’

The store owner’s shop was quiet. His Wife had been sleeping for quite a while. For the past several weeks, her assorted health concerns rose into view. For as long as the store owner had known her, her health concerns remained a constant presence.

‘I shall never bear you any children, my Husband, because I do not want to leave them any burdens of dying when they were young. I could not do this to them, my Husband.’

Her eyes spoke to him more than her words would. This fingers stroked the side of her face, and his lips smiled gently.

‘Then we will have another family, my Wife. We will have many good friends who we will take care of. There are always people to take care of…’

‘There was a woman

And she always knew

There was a woman

And her heart grew

Grew to know of him

Grew fonder from

What his heart wanted to

Show to her…’

The music grew wings. The music grew from shadows only he could understand.

Over the years, the store owner and his Wife had many friends. The store was his idea. She learned how to become a very good cook, and she cooked many dishes for their customers. The store grew in name. The store grew in reputation. He learned how to mend the people. The people learned how to tell him of their private, and quiet troubles.

‘Do you not grow tire, my Husband of all of this work…?’

‘No my Wife. The store means very much to so many people.’

‘No, my Husband. Not the store but always being concerned with me….’

Her fever was doing things to her. The disorientation often attacked her better thinking. When they met as children, they understood the bond.

‘Do you remember the wild dog we met as children? Do you remember how scared I was because I had been badly bitten before by one, my Wife…?’

Her eyes finally decided to look at him. For the last few days, she spoke to him without looking at him. As if she had done a great injustice to him which carried the heavy wounds of shame, and guilt.

‘Yes…the mark on the back of your neck, my Husband…..’

She sat up and wanted to touch the mark. He turned his back to her, and felt her very cool finger tips trace the silent history of the scar.

‘You knew how afraid I was when we met that wild dog, my Wife. And so many children were being killed during that Season because the wild dogs had become too many and the food was scarce during that season. But do you remember what you did..?’

The question he asked her triggered a change within her. Turning back to her, he held her cool fingertip in his warm and large hands.

‘I started to sing a song, my Husband.’

‘Yes. And the song was very beautiful.’

‘There was a Moon

And the Moon was full;

And there was a Moon

That knew to soon

How the tides were turning

And how the Stars kept falling….

Kept falling…..

Kept falling……’

The music was seeking to find a place. The words he saw clearly, and plainly.

Their family continued to grow over the years. He continued to help the many mend. She continued to cook her meals. And their family continued to grow year, after year, after year. Many children wanted to taste her delicious desserts. Many children wanted to see him when they were not feeling well….

‘She hasn’t eaten in a very long time. Her Grandparents are very concerned about her. They take care of her when I am away….’

He sat for the longest time looking at her. He put his hand over her forehead and seemed to be staring at the back of his hand for an answer to appear. Around him, the store was very busy with voices, laughter, partial conversations biting and overlapping into one another, and the smell of his Wife’s cooking.

‘How much do you miss your Mother…?’

The girl looked up at him, as if she had remembered the answer to some question she was privately thinking about. His eyes met her eyes, and she was smiling at him….

‘Your Mother doesn’t mean to be away from you for so long. She would like to spend every moment she could with you. She wants you to know this, even when she sometimes forget to tell you this because she feels very tired, and very lonely with you….’

‘There was an Ocean

And the Ocean could tell

Which way the Sun would turn

Which way the Sun would run

And there was an Ocean

And the Ocean could tell

Which way the clouds would turn

And which would the clouds would run…’

When the noise occurred some miles away from the store, he understood what was going on.

Rumors were moving fast about the days approaching the Nation. People still came to his store but in their voices, he heard something more.

‘How are you holding up, my Husband…?’

She was looking better. Her eyes were full. Her scent told him she was over the worst parts of the disorientation. Her mouth was reasonable and kind to itself. Her cheeks were no longer lulled by the harsh light of shame and guilt.

‘I am doing fine, my Wife. All goes well.’

When the noise occurred some miles away from the store, he understood what would happen to his family. He understood what would happen to their many friends. Many of them were associated to the Host of the Hosting Church. Many others were members. The rumors were moving fast and hard as the days of the Nation were being approached…..

He had received a Data Companion from one of their friends. He wasn’t apt to using the Data Companion often. A part of him felt the Data Companion was a bit unnatural. Not necessary for him. His appreciation towards the kindness felt towards him allowed him to overstep his initial reaction to the Data Companion. His Wife found the Data Companion useful when she cooked in the kitchen, alone. She listened with one ear, and she cooked with the other ear.

‘Cooking can only be done when the person can hear what they are cooking. Why my food always tastes very good. I listen to what I am cooking….’

The words and the music was finding their place to occupy. His song wasn’t trying to do anything more than give his own memories a distinctive voice he would recognize. On Nights like this, when the Stars and the Moon felt this close to him, would his shadows remind him of the friends who had touched him.

The guitar he placed beside him. The Mid-Season air was comforting. From his pocket, he took the lighter and lit the home-rolled cigarette. Inhaling, his lungs caught fire like lava flowing into the waiting dreams of the Seas. The stillness surrounding him felt at ease. His Wife would sleep for a few more days. The words and the music would continue to move throughout his thoughts, and body for a few more days, and he would finish the song on another Night like this Night. This was his way.

Returning to his office, where God and his Goddess had slept, he turned on the light and sat at the desk where God had sat for many Days and Nights writing down the specifics of how this was all going to end. The warm fingertips of the store owner took the notebook into his hands, daring him to overcome his initial respond and read what God had chosen the outcome to be.

At the corner of his desk, the box guarded so fiercely by God and the Goddess was left abandoned and empty. A shell speaking to the store owner’s thoughts and shadows.

Copyright 2010. A HZar Worth Productions.