Short Story : The Village

As the sun slowly rose in the east, the people of North Village awoke to the sounds of nature which reacted to the sun’s warm rays. Birds soar across the horizon. Brilliantly green and orange tree frogs play the last note in their nocturnal symphony. Sunlight dances atop dew drops in the lush, green grass. To many other animals these are signs of a brand new day.

The day continues as many women could be heard whistling in their worn, wooden huts as they prepare for tonight’s feast. Shrieks and squeals being made by children in merriment and mirth as they play games in the parade grounds in the centre of the village. Young women could be found in the fields multi-tasking between gossiping about the village locals, harvesting crops for the feast and giggling over which young man they intend to marry. While some young men are  found accompanying their fathers and other males in the village as they sail in canoes out by the sea as the shore is but a short walk away from the village. They too would be laughing and enjoying each other’s company as they cast their nets for the catch of the day. While others could be found in the nearby forests, enjoying the thrill and adrenaline of hunting game.

As the sun begins to meet the horizon in a colourful display of shades of orange, bursts of reds and yellows and clouds highlighted in pinks and purples. Children are called back to their huts, young women brought in their harvest and the men proudly bring in the best that could provide them with.

The sun has now gone down and darkness sweeps over the small village. However, moods are at the highest point of happiness for all the villagers. As the tree frog’s symphony begins again, a large fire roared in the central parade grounds. Families from every hut gather with each their own food to contribute. The feast begins. Food is shared and devoured. Stories from near and far are told. Many villagers, especially the younger ones, socialize and at the end of the night men, women, elders and children take part in their favourite activity; dance.

Short Story: Dog Eat Dog World

Zipping along at a good seventy miles per hour, Alfred was on his way home from work. To avoid the late evening rush hour he decided to take the old highway that most working folk had long since abandoned. The road was pitch black as most of the light posts were either missing bulbs or weathered down to nothing. Both sides of the road had become overgrown with assorted bush and the road markings and signs were almost completely erased. Most wouldn’t dare to drive on this strip at such an eerie time with the path barely visible beyond headlights but Alfred didn’t even think twice about it. Being a workaholic he almost never puts down his cell-phone, answering business calls was the norm while he drove. Thinking the road would remain completely clear and free of interference, he focused the majority of his attention on the supposedly more important business call.

He continued to gaining speed when suddenly, a thud, a screech and the sound of a cell-phone dropping under the seat. a skewed image crossed the road and made contact with his car.  He quickly stepped out of his car and ran toward the injured creature, lying in a pool of blood was a feral dog. It’s fur was dingy, spotted with mange and other previous acquired injuries that now don’t compare to the twisted limbs he just now received from Alfred’s bumper. Paying no attention to the blood that was now all over his clothes, he elevated the dog’s head and checked for his vital signs. He was still breathing short raspy breaths but Alfred could feel the injured canine’s life slowly leaving him. In an effort to do whatever he could to keep the creature alive he rested the dog’s head down slowly and bolted to the trunk of his car for an emergency kit. When he returned, there was no sign of the injured dog. He looked around for any indication that the dog had ran off maybe leaving a trail of blood but only saw the overgrown shrubbery swaying in the cold night air. In disbelief he inspected his car, not even a scratch could be found. No trace of blood on the ground or on his clothes. No paw-prints, just another dust covered section of asphalt on the deserted road. Unclear and perturbed as to what had just occurred he quickly went back into his car, locked the car doors, buckled his seatbelt and proceeded to drive home at a steadfast pace. As he pulled up in his driveway a deep sigh of relief escaped him. As he walked through the front door he put his hat and coat on the coat rack, loosened his collar from his neck and up over his head to hang along side his coat. His wife, coming from the kitchen, greeted him with the sweetest lick. She saw the sheer look of horror in his eyes. “Honey, are you okay?” She continued. “You look like you just ran over a dog or something.” He chuckled dryly.

Besos Que Solo Pudiera Soñar 

From first glimpse, nose deep in literature,Unexplainably drawn.

Unknown to self, placed under strongest spell.
Like a blessing any moment shared.

Constant hope for planets to align,

To feel that surging energy between.

Though logic opposed,

It’s arguments like faint breeze in a field.
Tipping of the subconscious,

Spilling over desires of an unknown happiness.

Subconscious spilling into reality.

 

Kisses only dreamt about

Now tenderly caress longing lips

Warm brown skin against another once a fond hope

Now the expected against gypsum plaster

Just beneath listening eyes.

Natural yet completely uncharted.
Reminiscing engulfs senses.

Spell now fulfilled,

Exit turned nothing but a gray illusion,

Yet worry can’t be found.

Attracting forces come and go,

But this mark will be forever.

-Summer

Morning Glory

It always starts with the birds,

A melody by the blackbirds

A wake up call from the rooster

The softest tones from the pea doves

And on occasion the hoot of a white owl

As each sound greets my ear

I look towards the window

My eyes are caressed by the warm light

I admire the sun and how it slowly begins to warm the earth

By gently hugging it with its radiance

No other time does a mountain look so majestic

Than when the sun gives each contour a soft shadow

The cloudless sky never looks so blue when it receives the sun’s first touch

The morning air

The contrast of warm and cool gives a funny feeling

The flowers open and the dew on each petal shine like diamonds

As you slowly chime in

You begin to hear the world beginning

It always starts with the birds

-Summer

The Eyes That Watch Me While I Sleep

The eyes that watch me sleep are innocent ones.

Though I fear that with each passing day they grow darker and darker.

It began with nothing intent of shading the soul,

A friendly knock,

An exchange of words

Soon to be hushed by passing authorities.

The darkness began to set in.

It was like watching a tea bag steep in hot water,

The herbal juice slowly run out of the bag,

Curling and curving every manner,

Spreading into every section.

My living space had become the ceramic,

It ran along the lines in the walls,

It came through the water in the showers,

It crawled it’s way into the habitats of those nearby,

Uninvited and unable to refuse space.

 

In an attempt to help,

I in turn destroyed myself and close loved ones,

What had been gnawing at my very being for so long

Was beginning to devour me.

It covered my eyes so that I could only see darkness,

It covered my ears so that I could only hear what lurks in the dark

It covered my mouth and spoke of it’s own tongue.

 

I tried to fight it but I was losing hope.

Only then did I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But that light was just an illusion,

And darkness its mirror.

– Summer

The Allegory of the Cave: A Reflection on my Subconscious 

For the past two months I have been having dreams with a recurring theme of a kind of purgatory. In these dreams, I, or whomever my subconscious decides is the focal point, wakes up in an unfamiliar realm where all is “perfect”. After exploring the new atmosphere of the place and talking to the people who dwell there, begins to find something oddly disturbing about it. It was too perfect. The second I begin to have that thought everyone and everything around me changes. They begin to become more assertive in persuading me to join in their lifestyle and ignore all conflicting thoughts and attitudes. All these dreams normally end the same way. I figure out the entire realm is not my home and that everyone I thought I knew was not original and is completely brainwashed by some unknown higher power and I fight to find my way back home. Only to realise there is no way back home as the story is an endless loop that traps you and you wake up at the beginning all over again. Now not only is this dream terrifying but it beckons me to wonder. What if my current existence is a form of purgatory? What if everyone I knew or thought I knew wasn’t real? That if we are all being controlled by some unknown higher power that has us all brainwashed into thinking we control our own lives? How could you prove this? Or more importantly, how can you disprove it? Let me know in the comments below! 

– Summer 

Short Story: A Nighttime Encounter

Her curiosity overwhelmed her and she climbed up close enough to his window to watch him. He was changing into his nightly attire when he accidentally bumped his head on his dresser.

A small giggle left her lips and she quickly put her hand to her mouth to conceal her presence. He paused and slowly looked out the window, squinting his eyes as he tried to discern the origin of the mysterious sound. As he walked closer to the window his eyes widened as he realized there was a woman in the tree across from his room. Her bright yellow pupils reflecting in the darkness. He made brief eye contact with her just before she spread her wings and took off. He ran up to the window only to watch her disappear into the night sky.