Thursday, May 10, 2012

Never Again -Weekend Creation Blog Hop

Never Again
by Heather Rosdol

He was gone in the night like a dream you want to hold onto or a nightmare you wanted to forget.  Her world was forever changed.  Silent, colorless, still.  She walked....the very same steps they'd walked all those nights. She walked from Trinket to Diamond and every jewel between. The waves crashed on the shore building with the approaching storm. She heard nothing.  The birds screamed their night sounds before the wind blew their calls against them.  Nothing.  She heard nothing. The world was silent.  The sawgrass cut tattoos of betrayal and pain on her virgin skin.  The blood trickled black, the moon sat fat and white.  The rest of her world was black or white. White sand, black water, black clouds, black lashing grasses.  Nothing moved despite her journey, the waves, the birds, the storm.  Which was bigger-the one brewing inside her or without? Something flashed white in the ocean. Yes, yes she thought as she watched the jagged lines of lightning punish the water. That is how it feels a thousand times over.  And the storm was upon her.  She cried, she raged, screamed, tore at her clothes and hair and threw anything she could find.  When she had no more voice, when the storm inside had ceased, she endured the chilling needle like rain, the loud thunder, the blinding lightning of the outside storm. When both were expended she found Never Again and made a home there. She felt, she heard, there was color, but all of it was muted as if experienced through a veil.  She still walked from Trinket to Diamond but traveled just a little farther to Never Again each night, never intending to live elsewhere again. But she did love again, and left Never Again, but the veil remained and a piece of her heart always remained in Never Again-reminding herself of her dream, her nightmare, her days from Trinket to Diamond and to always leave a piece of herself behind, so she never gave her whole self to anyone-Never Again.

Saturday, May 5, 2012



The lone bag piper walked down the hill, his mournful dirge haunting the open spaces around him.  She watched him, as if he'd come for her alone, staring into his eyes.  The rest of the party fell away as the music ached inside her. Not much touched her, she'd numbed herself to feelings so she didn't get hurt. Only death touched her.  But the bag pipes called her soul, pulled at the roots of a past she didn't know but longed to and wrung from her heart tears of sorrow that she couldn't stop.  By the time he played Amazing Grace, she was a statue, hoping that no one could see her molded to the column, tears dripping from her chin.  She wished he would go, yet longed for him to play on. She wished she could follow him.  No matter what they looked like or how old they were or even if they were married, she was always in love with the bag piper. But only when he played.