A is for autumn which comes every year. B is for bountiful harvest. C is for changing weather whenever it feels like. D is for too damn rainy! E is for everything going to sleep. F is for frogs hibernating in the mud.
G is for good tidings of great joy. H is for holidays that everyone celebrates. I is for instant regret when you look at your bank statement. J is for just another year passing by. K is for krampus who should take you away. L is for losing your mind trying to drive in the snow.
M is for marigolds making you sneeze. N is for new blossoms popping from the ground. O is for outside, where snow melts and grass returns. P is for pollen which aggravates the allergies. Q is for questions about birds and bees. R is for reproduction, the answers to questions.
S is for sun, making things warm. T is for tanning, sprawled on you tummy. U is for umbrella to keep shade on the beach. V is for vanilla ice cream dripping off your cone. W is water in pools and thrown balloons. X is for xenia, more pollen aggravation.
Y is for years, which keep repeating as the planet spins round. Z is for zilch cuz I’ve got nothing left to say.
The treats are in my reach. Their smell entices my tastebuds. But how can this be?! For they are kept sealed in this crackly plastic bag.
I see the meals flitting in the front lawn. But when I pounce I seem to bounce if an invisible barrier.
The illusive red dot, it taunts my waking and sleeping life. For when I attack, it always comes back and my hunt ends unfulfilled.
The fish in the bathroom taunt me as they flaunt their frills and fins. But like birds and bees I can only see and not bite and satisfy my stomach.
Open skies beckon something broader than our minuscule minds may comprehend.
During the day we see Mr. Blue Sky. Or maybe he’s being conservative and covered in blankets of clouds.
The sunlight shines some ninety-one million miles from the location of land we live, and sends a spectrum of waves wandering through a vacuum.
And as the waves enter the atmosphere, they barm apart against the farts of air and atoms around our rock, and enter our eyes as lies of blue or sunset red.
But the everlasting vacuum of space is black. The ever expanding infinite nothingness is lacking light, love, and maybe even life.
We the people, of Earth and maybe Mars, are noisy and needy, and unaware of neighbors.
But what would be worse? Being along in the universe?
The infinite nothingness is our individual home? Or will we hear back from planetary partners,
“Be silent, or they will hear you.”
War is never a good thing, especially when it reaches home. I was only a young man when I received my government summons to fight for the country I didn’t choose to be a part of. The taxes were too demanding, the governing parties were so deeply influenced by corruption you couldn’t trust anyone, and the violence was at an intolerably high level. No one could walk across the street without something being taken. Didn’t matter if it were a few dollars or your life or anything in between, you’d lose it. So when I finally got my summons saying I was to try not to die fighting for the corruption, I thought it was my ticket out of this hellhole into another, but I was wrong. Basic training was certainly hell. Us cadets were the government’s dogs the way the treated us. More productive than the sun for seven hundred and thirty-one days. Ten mile runs just to see the sunrise, run back for an unsatisfactory breakfast of usually plain oatmeal and last night’s mashed potatoes, then combat training until our shadows stood directly underneath us, then strategy studying consisting of using city layouts for battle maneuvering, followed by mental manipulation against any machine, chemical, or psychic attacks, ending the day with just five hours sleep. Yep… if that wasn’t hell, I don’t want to know what it really is. Finally, it was our time to serve. I was placed in the 212th battalion, one of eighty-seven that did not see oversees violence. But maybe that was for the better. We were told to keep our streets clear of any militia that invaded our home territory. Finally, after two months of analyzing radio signals, we got the call we were being deployed. A sleeper cell has been ousted and was attacking from behind lines. By then I was so fueled by the enhancement foods they served us and rage against the government I just wanted to kill people, didn’t matter who, as long as they were the bad guys. My battalion was loaded into a naval sho and sent out to the front line, no outside views, no internal navigations for the troops inside, just the intercom man stating how many more clicks before launch. When the green light lit and the Bombay doors eventually opened, none of us knew where we were. All except for me. I recognized those steeples from St. Martimam’s anywhere. I had seen them for years growing up, but never went inside. Imagine my shock when I hear over the intercoms to fire the motors and see those steeples explode in a ball of fire. I always knew the government was corrupt, but to turn inward on itself at such a scale… they were no longer people running the world, only skin puppets for something much more terrible and terrifying than the greed of man.
…your bed after a long and exhausting shift.
…a purring cat as you give it scritches.
…birdsong greeting the sunrise.
…the babble of a brook as it travels underfoot.
…the cascading “shka shka” of Legos from under wrapping paper.
…the sound of the internet, you know the one, that takes you back to simpler times.
…the wave of warmth and relaxation spreading across your body when you finally get that knot in your back massaged out.
…the rib-crushing embrace of the person who cares about you the most after not seeing you in weeks.
…the chill of refrigerated water down your esophagus at 3am, quenching the midnight dehydration.
…the smell of buttery popcorn filling your nose, and the popty ping beat of exploding kernels.
In memory of D.C. 2003-2022
We met when we were young. Church kids counting the hours down to the last minute Sunday school lasted, when parents would come to collect their children from the bullpen that was nursery.
Then, constant Sunday Wednesday meetings turned to Sunday Monday Wednesday since we started gymnastics. Jumping, leaping, flapping limbs to the dissatisfaction of the disgruntled “coach”.
But different years born meant different church classes. Different chapters taught, with different material memorized. We drifted, but stayed cool cuz that what church kids do living with so much space between.
When news came describing your final moments possessing your meat mech body, tears were not shed during the drive home. But time trapped by capitalist labor, missing supporting your survivors, tears pour down my face as I grieve the friend I’ll see again.
As I heard the school bus pulling away from the driveway, Gregory burst through the door with much more energy than usual for an October afternoon. “Mommy mommy mommy!” He called with excited urgency. “Look what teacher gave me! Look what teacher gave me!” “Yes, Greg. Give me a sec,” I shook my hands to get as much dish water off as I could before using the towel. “Now, who gave this to you?” “Teacher!” “Who did?” I ask, squatting down to his level. Gregory looked down at the sheet of paper as if he was reading the name off it. “Ms… Ms. Malindez!” “Excellent!” I ruffled my son’s hair, encouraging him to keep remembering names. “Now, what did Ms. Malindez give you?” “A scavenger hunt!” Gregory shoved the paper into my face, crunching my nose and knocking me off balance. It was indeed a scavenger hunt, titled, “Can You Put Me Back Together?” Underneath the title were five bullet points. The first read “To get ahead in life, find the intersection where the sky meets the earth.” “Have you thought about this at all?” I asked Greg. “Yeah!” He vigorously nodded. “I was talking about it on the bus with Billy and Mandy and Tony and-“ “What did you guys think it meant?” I interrupt him with a laugh. “Well, Mandy lives on Terra Terrace, and Angelica lives on Stratosphere Circle, so Tony thought it was there!” That wasn’t too far down the road. “Okay, pal! Let’s go see if they were right!” I took of Greg’s backpack and went to get my coat.
At the corner of Stratosphere Circle and Terra Terrace, we ran into a few of Gregory’s friends. Landon and his mom was there, along with Mandy as her two dads, Angelica was unsurprisingly alone, Billy and his father, and Tony with his mother was there as well. All the kids were gathered at the street sign with their scavenger hunt lists, reading them over and telling each other their ideas while the parents grouped up a few feet away on the sidewalk. I looked at the house on the corner of the streets. It had been abandoned for the better part of 20 years, or that’s what the long term residents had said. “Can you believe this weather?” One of Mandy’s dads, Arnold, flamboyantly gestured to the orange and red leaves still hanging on the trees. “A little too chilly for me, but thank God it’s been dry. We have so much raking to do around the yard.” “And a little hoeing around too,” Tony’s dad, Marcus, elbowed Arnold playfully in the ribs and everyone except Arnold’s husband, Arthur, laughed. Marcus and Arnold had been friends and neighbors since they were in elementary school so their banter was natural and almost expected. “Oh sweetie,” Arthur said with a straight face, not looking at Arnold. “We don’t rake things anymore, remember? We blow things. With our Turbo Leafman 3000.” At that, everyone roared with laughter. We parents continued to chat, but Arthur stayed quiet keeping his eye on the kids. After about ten minutes, he shouted over to the kids, “Hey, what’s that freshly tilled mound of dirt there by the bushes?” Every head swiveled towards where he pointed, and sure enough, there was a spot in the grass of the lawn just under the bush where it looked like someone had carelessly buried something. Immediately, the kids raced for the bushes, plunging their tiny hands into the cold earth. “Oh great,” Kathy, Tony’s mother, rolled her eyes. “More dirty clothes for me.” “Oh yes,” Arnold retorted. “Those stains will never come out of the stain resistant and waterproof jackets, surely.” I notice the excited babbling of the kids has quieted down to whispers. “You guys find anything yet?!” I yell over, hoping to deter any fights about to start. “Yeah! A box!” Greg calls back. “Well what’s inside it?!” Landon’s mom, Trixie, calls over. “Ms. Malindez’s head!” Landon answers. “THE FUCK?!” Is the generalized response from us parents in unison as we rush over. The hole the kids dug with their bare hands was about the size of a large shoebox with a dirty cardboard box sitting on top of the new dirt pile. Inside the box was the decapitated head of their second grade teacher. Her eyes were open, exposing milky irises rolling in two different directions. Her tongue was blue and lolling out of her mouth. Arthur immediately ran to the bushes and vomited. Kathy began screaming her head off. All the other parents grabbed their kids off their feet and carried them away from the box. I gently took Greg’s hand and turned him away from the head. “Sweetie,” I squat down again and hold both his hands. “Who was your teacher today?” Greg shrugged. “I can’t remember his name.” “His name?” I urge. “There was a substitute?” Greg nodded. “And did he give you the scavenger hunt?” Greg nodded again. “He told us she left it for us so we wouldn’t miss her.” “Can I see your scavenger hunt list, baby?” I let go of his hands and hold mine out ready to receive the paper. He fished into his coat’s front pockets and pulled out the list, now covered in dirt. I skimmed through the rest of the location clues I didn’t bother to read back at the house. The rest of the clues consisted of phrases like “you have to hand it to” “you’ll have to leg it to” and “I expect your insides must be writhing with anticipation”. I gagged while reading, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. Suddenly, someone’s phone began to ring, and Kathy shrieked again. Marcus scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket and answer it. “Y-Yeah, sweetie? What- what is it?” He asked in a trembling voice. All us other parents held our breaths as someone was screaming on the other line. Marcus clapped his free hand to his mouth, a look of terror in his eyes. “It’s o-okay, sweetie. It’s okay. C-call the cops. We-e’ll be right over. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Then he hung up the phone and wiped his hand away from his face. “Marcy went with Abigail to find another location. They- they just dug up a trash bag of… of internal organs.” “Oh dear God!” Arnold dropped to his knees. “Who could’ve done this?!” “I don’t know,” Marcus picked up Tony. “Someone call the cops. I’m going to Newport.” With that, he took off down the road with Tony on his hip. I looked around. Arnold was kneeling and sobbing, Kathy and Trixie were holding each other also sobbing, Arthur was still headfirst in the bushes, and Billy and his dad were nowhere to be seen. So being the most in control but still extremely shocked, I dialed 911. “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” The female operator answered. “Yes, hello,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I just found a head in a box?” “I’m sorry, what, ma’am?” “I and a few others found a severed head buried in a box on the corner of Stratosphere and Terra.” “Oh my stars,” the operator said. Then after a few seconds pause she asked, “can you identify the head, ma’am?” “Yes. It’s my- my son’s second grade teacher, Ms. Malindez.” “Okay, sweetie, stay on the line. I’m sending a squad car over now.” “Oh, and I think her organs were found on Newport Road,” I add in, remembering what Marcus said. “Yes, honey, we got a call in just before you about that. And three other calls saying they found other dismembered body parts around your school district.” With a shaking hand, I stare down at the eight locations the scavenger hunt lists. “I- I think you’ll be getting there more calls.” “That’s what some of the others said.” The operator sounded disappointed. “Looks like we’ve got a real sicko on our hands.”
When I was in the wrong for talking to a girl or using foul words, my father would put me to work chopping the wood of the ground.
To uproot the roots of the crab apple, creating crabby moods from moves made of innocent nature but not according to the rules of nurture and the holy rules of the sovereign.
Why is the snooping of those who are older not scolded likewise to the actions of a child? Or are adult offenses more mild?
It’s wild to think that I was beguiled into believing every adult, every stranger, only the elders knew what is best for the rest of my generation.
Without representation we were controlled and combined into just another chore to take care of and ignore the wants and needs of more people.
It’s time to wake up and see that everything you said was “meant to be” was meant for you and not for us. You’ve lost our trust, and your right to rule.
Be stripped of your tools used to tamper and pamper us into the roles you never wanted. It’s our time to shine, our time to be stars, our time to be who we truly are.
And your time to sleep six feet beneath our feet.
“Forgive me, father, for I did the sin” is a sentence I will never say. For I do not need a man to begin the process of forgiveness in my day. Dear Heavenly Father, I have done wrong. Both conscious and subconscious minds are black with sin, deceit, despair. Temptations strong inside the forefront of my mind. Hijacked into thinking that I am not worthy of all the love that You have given me. O, maintain my mind from topsy-turvy mindset as I venture in sinful sprees. But fuck this noise and kindly fuck yourselves with all your blasphemous words left on shelves.
