Guess what…

we-moved

Because of my biweekly show Origins: Stories on Creativity I had to pick up shop.

I welcome all of my friends to join me on:

Bryanaiello.com

thank you

.

Somewhere Else

Location set. 

***

The sun shines bright. The day is warm. The breeze comforting and filled with the flavors of late summer. Maybe noon at a table in the middle of a grassy yard sounds harsh, but summer was ending and its a perfect place to collect a little sun, spend time with new friends,  listening to kids play and lawn mowers churn angry.

***

Target marked.

***

Sara and Dan did not know the MacLeans well, but when invited they accepted happily.

Deanna was dark and willowy and Sara knew Dan found that attractive, which was fine it proved he was still alive, which after twenty five years of marriage feeling alive is a good thing.

Mark was dark also, but in a mysterious, dangerous way. When he was around Sara could taste his presence like salt on the air.

***

Awaiting final orders.

***

The two couples sit and drink cheap Merlot and talk about the weather.

Small meaningless talk really and Sara begins wondering what that buzzing sound is before never wondering anything again.

***

Mission accomplished.

Timeless Birth

The waves of eternity crash against the rocky coast of forever. The rays of love and acceptance are setting, but still wash a warmth over all. Soon it will be replaced with the blue moon of peace and serenity.

A never ending cycle in bliss.

A soft whisper caresses the consciousness. “This is the point between two places. It is here you must decide to stay or go. To leave the peace and love of forever and go back into the turmoil of life.”

The whisper points attention to the obelisk defaced by a single black door.

The door inspires horror and fear.

The whisper no more uttered the sentence then the air around is felt, still questions swirl. Thoughts dip in and out. The potential to live again hums like a long forgotten desire.

Consciousness has come this far, it could travel no farther until answering yes or no. Here and now a decision was possible. In the timeless void counting second and minutes, days and years was meaningless.

Life was what once was. Maybe an empty candy wrapper is an apt description. A wrapper that has been licked clean. Once was. A memory gone, but for which the longing for has never disappeared.

At the start this was fine. A void in which to play. To make sandcastles on a beach that the surf never washed away, but eventually the remnants of chocolate disappeared from the wrapper and nothing could replace what the tongue craved and now Consciousness is here facing the pain of birth, of life, of wound and disappointment, all so that he can fill a need to feel the more again.

He answers yes.

His next thought is pain.

His eyes sting under bright light and his lungs burn, stuck painfully closed. Sticky gloves abrade his soft skin. His mouth opens to scream and can’t. He yearns to breath. To live. A concussive blow to his back. Nothing. Another and he sucks greedily at the cold air and sends the breath back out in a terrified scream. He is swaddled in warm blankets and laid under the softest most loving set of eyes he has ever known and all else about his existence is forgotten and time begins to tick once again.

 


 

obelisk

Photo courtesy of :

Sue Vincent’s  #writephoto

A Work Untitled

She puts the black heels with the ribbon lace up next to the ancient copy of the Oxford dictionary her grandfather bought her.

The dictionary smells of thrift store.

Dusty and used.

Since her grandfather died it reminds her of him.

She put the shoes next to the giant heavy book, because one day she might wear them. They make her look tall. They give her legs a shape she assumes men might enjoy. Maybe she won’t shirk from the attention if it’s the right type of guy.

Maybe, like one day she might start her novel.

 

Boots

His feet hurt

He needs new boots

He has been putting it off for months

Maybe years.

Though every day is the same

His feet hurt worse and worse

Maybe tomorrow

He decides

Maybe next week

 

Proud and Useful

A journey can be counted in inches or miles, days or years , ease or hardship, today or forget about it.

A thing is either built or never will be.

But once built it is done.

And once done it’s fulfilled.

Oh, new journeys can be had, for sure, but they are never the same as old adventures.

As old ventures never compare to new undertakings.

The once are rotted and forgot, weeds grow up and cover, rust sets in.

Usefulness always fades.

Paint always chips.

Maintenance is never done until it lapses and then its too late.

The end always feels impossible, it’s never expected, until it comes. Then it sits like a permanent feature that will never move, ever again, forever stuck in the ether of the past.

 

 

Once in Love

Everyting

ends

Which is sad

but remember

It is also

a new

Beginning

so

Buck up

little soldier

The battle

continues