UKI-E: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 21: UKI-E

            “I wish I knew where Vincent is, but I do not,” Faye repeated as a mantra, fighting to remain composed. Her face wan, eyes bleary, the lawyer wanted to crawl into a bottle of single malt. She shook her head, looking down at her notepad filled with legalese gibberish as if the answers were there.

What could she say without finding herself locked in a BBHPC room for observation?

Oh, Vincent grew feathers, and he and his shrink flew away.

Right.

As it was, Faye had been questioned ad nauseam by hospital security. After that, the police detective. Lawyer Fayed knew how to concoct a story out of the shock of the situation. She pled the fifth without invoking it.

Vincent was more, and she knew that, but not in this reality. Her experience with him when he portalled; glorious and terrifying. Where Vincent took her, what they did, and what he did. Blood rushed to her cheeks but washed them down with the memory of what had occurred in the room. Watching him shifting in confinement, seeing Maria toss herself on him, and then…poof!

Maria. Fuck.

They could not detain her. A single text waited for her when they finished with her. Faye gathered her things. Before she left the hospital, she found her way to a visitors’ women’s room. Locking the bathroom stall, she sat and finally allowed herself to shake.

Settled, she unlocked the door, went to the sink, and splashed cold water on her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she grimaced before fixing her face. She was summoned.

“I wish I knew where Vincent is, but I do not.”

“Ms. Smythe, that is not going to cut it. Where the hell is my son?”

Sitting across the carved oak desk at Vincent’s father, Fayed shook her head.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I. Do. Not. Know.”

“Bullshit.” He leaned closer, his hands in a tight grasp of air above his desktop. “Bullshit. You don’t have many tells, lawyer, but even you can’t control your micro-expressions.”

Faye straightened her already straightened back.

“Last time before I fire you: where is my son?”

The threat.

“Fuck you,” and then she told him. Everything.

He did not interrupt her. No nodding of understanding, no shaking his head in disbelief. His tell? Vincent’s father sat back in his chair and listened.

When she went over every last detail, Ms. Faye Smythe stood, wanting to push her chair back so it would topple. Instead, she pulled down her suit jacket, picked up her briefcase, and turned her back on Vincent’s father.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faye looked at the shelf of snow globes, the last vestiges of Vincent’s mother. A space was vacant. Dust motes swirled under the LED lights.

The door slammed in her wake.

“Vincent!” Maria screamed to him as the rain turned from freezing rain to deep, heavy snow.

“Vincent!”

Her voice, useless, drowned out. The birds. The battle, the destruction, the death of the Condor. Its body smashed those who had remained on the ground. The screams cut off. The inner circle tried to take wing but found the icy storm tucked around them, weighing them in place. Those on the outskirts of the vortex scattered as best they could.

Maria paid them no attention. She was freezing, drenched from her swim through the soupy mud. Teeth chattering, body shaking, she wished for arctic-strength clothing.

Vincent! His gaze shifted to Maria. She was dry and warm in an instant, encased in proper gear.

Then the wind howled between Her Lavender Grace and The Grackle Lord. Her Grace lumbered large, buffeted by the driving icy sleet. Her ebon wings gained a brief coat of white, sloughing off each time she shook herself. The drippings turned to icicles at her pinions. They hung with growing weight.

Her Lavender Grace’s determined eyes never left her Grackle Lord until

Vincent!

Neck twisting, Her Lavender Grace searched for the nuisance. To her left. She honed in on the tree line, eyesight still razor sharp. As she turned her attention back to The Grackle Lord, she thrashed her left wing, snapping the needle-like icicles off and sending them hurtling toward Maria.

Maria!

Perspicuity of Want: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 16: Perspicuity of Want

            Maria’s head whipped up and over to Faye.

            “You’ve been there?” Silence as Faye looked away. “Faye?”

            The lawyer wanted to take out a cigarette and light it right then; she wanted to down a bottle of aged bourbon; she wanted to walk out, she wanted to scream, she wanted. Instead, her mind traveled along the non-linear path Vincent had drawn her into on more than one occasion. Lawyer’s mind took over with a huff.

            “Yes. There,” Faye answered. “many ‘theres.’” She crossed her arms, hip jutted to the side.

            Maria took in the stance, analyzing the depth of her voice, the rigidity. She turned to look at Vincent. He was wide-eyed, staring up from his imprisoned bed at Faye. His eyes shifted to Maria.

            “Oh.” Dr. Maria sat still.

            Faye went to her briefcase. She picked it up, held it against her side, took two steps to leave, froze, and retraced. When the case thunked against the tabletop, Ms. Smythe’s hand still clutched the handle. Her back was to both Vincent and Maria.

            “Well, now.” She adjusted her shirt sleeves, pulled the suit jacket taut, let go of the briefcase, and turned. They were equidistant from each other on three levels: standing, seated, and prone.

            “Patient/Lawyer confidentiality is out the window now, yes? Yes.” She hadn’t waited for Maria to answer.

            “I know Vincent is…has…is more than what he appears. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but he is a walking fantasy novel.”

            Maria, as the observer, noticed the eye contact between Faye and Vincent: harsh to wounded.

               The lawyer turned her focus to the doctor.

“It is obvious, Maria, you know this for truth.”

Maria nodded.

“Fine. Ok. Details don’t matter. For now.” Pause. “For now.”

Maria nodded again, turning her attention to Vincent.

His mouth was taut, brows convexed. Vincent, hard to read at most times, was unguarded then. Maria was about to turn back to Faye when she noticed that Vincent’s face began to strain. A vein popped up on his left temple.

“Vincent?”

He shook his head, jerking to the sides.

Faye either didn’t see any of this or chose to ignore it.

“What do you mean that you did not kill that horrible old man? ‘It.’ You were there, Vincent, the blood dripping off you, pieces of him….” Faye Smythe sucked in a breath, “pieces of his flesh under your nails, between your teeth.

Vincent! Look at me! Enough of this fucking around.”

Maria pushed herself out of the chair and got between Vincent and Faye.

“Enough, Faye? Look at him. You’ve traveled with Vincent. I know what I have seen. We have a different lens to look through, how to approach all this. Stop this, Faye. Look at him.”

The lawyer bristled. She pushed Maria out of her line of sight.

She blanched.

“Fuck no.”

Black feathers were pushing their way out of Vincent’s arms. The IV worked its way out of the vein it had dug into, rejected alongside the now torn-apart restraints.

Vincent was thrashing, trying to contain Grackle Lord from emerging.

Maria saw he was losing. She rushed over to the bed and jumped on top of him.

They went away.

Faye was alone in the room as security and nurses burst in.

Dandelion Passage: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent Descent

Chapter 4: Dandelion Passage

The hallways of BBHPC (Brooks Behavioral Health Psychiatric Center) sound with the shuffling of feet on white tile floors, the shooshing of opening and closing doors, files being flipped, papers rustling, and muffled screams.

Conversations occurred behind closed doors or were taken outside of the concrete and faux marble building. Faye needed unsterilized air and another smoke. Maria joined her, upwind, so they could talk. Well, so she could mainly listen.

Faye knew the outward details. As a lawyer who would be asked to defend Vincent, she had to. They both had their own version of confidentiality. Maria knew that Faye’s bouts of snippiness with her were frustrations that Maria could not, would not, share more.  

Under swirling, overcast clouds, they walked along the patient garden path. Guards, nurses, and aides moved along, keeping tabs on their charges. Eighteen feet high security-welded metal fence surrounded the BBHPC grounds. Open air, but Maria felt it gave off enough of a claustrophobic air.

Flakes of snowflakes began to drift down. Faye cursed, took her last puff, and threw the butt down to grind it out. A guard “humphed,” and Faye bent over to pick it up to dispose of it properly. If he saw her give him the finger, he gave no indication. Maria noticed.

Fixing their ID lanyards, the two made their way back toward Vincent. Maria turned her head before disappearing inside. The snow had already gained strength. Remembering a snippet of a conversation with Vincent months before the incidents, way before BBHPC, she smiled.

He kept looking outside the window of her office. It had been snowing during the day, and the wind had been whipping up during their session.

“Vincent.”

“Hm.”

“You keep drifting.”

He chuckled, a rare honest one.

“What?” Pause. “Oh. Drifting. Snow drifting?”

Vincent nodded.

He turned to her.

“We’re in a snow globe right now,” he half-smiled. “All shooken up, end over end, everything whirling around.”

Vincent looked back out the window again.

“We’re in a snow globe.”

“What?” Faye said, her annoyance rebuilding as she draped Lawyer Ms. Faye Smythe back on.  

Dr. Maria shrugged it off and smiled.

“We’re in a snow globe,” she murmured as she walked through the door, the guard desk check-in, and into the center.

The walls of the hallway in Vincent’s ward were a soft yellow. It was designed to have a calming effect, as was the ever-constant playing of green noise. It droned in the lowest levels of consciousness, volume raised enough to create a baffle for the HVAC sounds.

It didn’t always have the effect the designers intended.

Vincent, though, fell into the sound. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyelids after Dr. Maria left the room. He was quiet for a long time. The guard thought Vincent had fallen asleep. He leaned against the wall, relaxing.

Arms still on the table, Vincent mentally was tapping away, as dead old Cat-grandpa dug into him, reminding himself that his mind was the way to his portal journey.

The tapping was consistent until it flew away into wings beating.

“You’re back,” the Blackbird yelped.

If beaks could smile.

*****************************************************

Ooops. Only the fourth post and I ran into a brick wall.

I will catch up later this evening, so there will be two posts today.

My apologies.

BTW, for those who may only have found Vincent’s Descent today, this is a continuous story. If you are interested, please go back to April 1st’s “Azure Dreams” and read on. Hopefully it will begin to make sense for one and all by the time we get to Z.

Stuart

Crimson: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 3: Crimson

             oh. blood. yes. 

            Cat-grandpa’s index fingernail was always sharp and jagged. All of the nails were in that shape. He bit instead of cut. He used his hands to talk for him, his fingers acting as punctuations, his palms as rests or, too often, harsh beats. Vincent would zero in when Cat-grandpa’s hands morphed into fists. When the knuckles went white, Vincent’s eyes would tear up.

            “The best portal stories are.” Tap. “Right.” Tap. “Up.” Tap. “Here.”

            Vincent winced. He felt the nail slice into his skin. A light dribble followed. It would leave a scar on top of a scar. His mother never noticed; if she did, she refrained from saying anything. Vincent often looked to see if she had an imperfection in the same place.

            She always wore her hair down.

He held himself still. It stung. Vincent’s mouth went dry. He knew not to say anything, not to make any sound. He felt himself lose focus, his eyes darting for any escape. There were birds in the distance.

            He wished he was a bird.

            They had been sitting on the balcony, Cat-grandpa reading with seven-year-old Vincent. They had finished “A Princess of Mars.” Instead of continuing to the next book, “The Gods of Mars,” Cat-grandpa had Vincent go inside to fetch a different book.

            “But…,” Vincent began, eyeing the cover of the unread paperback. The silence that followed got Vincent moving.

“The second one from the top of the pile,” Cat-grandpa yelled through the screen door as it slammed shut. Vincent walked through the small kitchen, hurrying past the overflowing garbage bin. Flying bugs of all sizes chased him into the living room.  

The worn wooden side table had a tilt to it. Vincent found two books had tumbled onto the convertible couch, face down. The author’s faces stared up at him, the titles hugging the sofa. The scratchy faded orange fabric was shiny with bald patches. He thought it looked like Cat-grandpa. Vincent bit his inner cheek not to laugh.

A pile of books was next to the one teetering to join its brethren. He ignored that pile, unsure if the wanted book was on the couch. Vincent studied the two book towers and made a decision. He was reaching for the second book when he noticed the top one.

“Not the first book?” Vincent yelled, turning back toward the screen door. “It has the number one in the corner.”  

He heard a faint “idiot kid” before, “What did I say? The second book.”

Vincent returned outside, plopping down on his side of the two-person seater. It rat squeaked, the coils underneath hard and sharp.

Cat-grandpa was having Vincent read aloud, prodding him over words he stumbled over. When Lucy pushed past all the clothing and found herself somewhere else, Vincent stopped.

“Like John Carter? Is she somewhere else? Is she on Mars?”

“Narnia,” Cat-grandpa sighed. “Narnia. Different place. Different world, if you like. Not Mars.

The lecture on Portal stories began, ending with the digging into Vincent’s scalp.

The couch had been turned out, another rusted accessory. The mattress was thin, the pillows were essentially pillowcases, and the sheet was a series of threads holding onto each other, so it all didn’t disappear.

Like he wished he could.

The best portal stories as he closed his eyes and went elsewhere.

The lawyer and the therapist stood in the narrow hallway. Vincent sat in the room behind them, alone. The guard inside watched him like a hawk.

“Maria, you’ve got to get him to talk with me.”

She nodded, tucking her lips in slightly. Her gaze flitted over Faye’s crossed arms, the grey suit jacket, the tips of the white blouse, the minute showing of olive-hued skin, and the sharp yellow lacquered nails. There was a chip at the top of the ring finger. Maria wasn’t going to mention it.

“Look, Faye,” she stopped, seeing the other woman tense. “OK. No excuses. Why do you think he won’t?”

“Fuck, Maria. Don’t therapist me. Answer the fucking question.”

It was a non-staring starting contest.

“He thinks you are afraid of him.”

Faye blinked quickly.

“What?”

“Sigh. Afraid. You of him. Vincent holds his tongue if he feels someone is afraid of him.”

“Afraid? No. Unsettled? Very much so.  He’s a creepy fuck.  But yes, afraid. Unsettled.  If I wasn’t the family lawyer, after what he did?”

“Really? Isn’t it supposed to be ‘allegedly?’”

The lawyer sighed.

“Fuck this. Fine. Yes. I have to take the stance ‘allegedly.'” She leaned in close to Maria, never sure. “The damn photos, Maria. The photos.”

Ms. Faye Smythe turned her head away from Maria.

“All that blood.”

Blackbird Singing: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blogging Challenge

Chapter Two: Blackbird Singing

            “I’m tired,” Vincent croaked, biting into the blackbird’s wing. He mangled the hollow bones underneath its feathers, cleaving them with his teeth. The blackbird had gotten too close; the tip of its beak had tapped the membrane of Vincent’s left eye. His central vision grew soft, distorted, and blurry.

            “I’m tired.” Involuntarily said as he bit deeper. Vincent spat out blood and feathers.

            “I’m tired,” he laughed, feeling a short sharp shock against his cheek.

            A black mass fluttered in front of Vincent; two more whisked overhead. He stood, again the words “I’m tired” levitated from his cracked lips. As the dropped “…d” moved away, Vincent surged backward, knocking over the chair he had been affixed to.

The wood clattered on the concrete floor.  

            “Vincent!”

            A door slammed open, then shut.

            “Vincent!”

            A whooping assault of sound. Vincent felt shoved, pinned, his back pressed against a rock-hard surface. The noise pelted him; he repeatedly repeated, “I’m tired,” his voice modulating in tone, speed, and volume.

            Rain, he thought. I wish it were raining. The sound of it falling; swallows harshness, makes things softer. It patterns against the windows, a tapping of drops. Not always followed by the clap of thunder, which can break the dulling.

 Snow, maybe. Yes, it is always quiet when it snows. Big, white constant drifting of snow. Cold enough that it coated everything. Yes, I wish it were snowing. Dead of night. It would cover the blackbirds, a glaze of white over their wings, chilling their breaths, cutting off their voices, preventing them from flying, freezing them, immobilizing them, until their innards iced over, their parasites in stasis, easily caught, necks twisted, my being able to gouge their eyes out, my hands…

            His head dropped to his chin, eyelids closing. Vincent took in a breath for a count of five, held for four, then expelled for a count of eight, jaw fully extended.

            Again.

            “I’m tired.” Barely audible.

            A lighter claw alit on his shoulder.

            “I know, Vincent. I know,” a demur cackle, guiding him back, pushing him down onto the again upright chair. “I know. Would you open your eyes, please?”

            He acknowledged this voice. Different.

            “I’m tired, Maria.”

            Picking up his head, his eyelids followed the trajectory. “Dr. Maria.” He nodded his head to the doorway.

            “I sent…asked your lawyer to leave us for a few so we could speak. And yes, the guard as well.”

            Vincent took it as truth.

            “Vincent, she doesn’t know you.”

            “She’s afraid.”

            Maria put her arms on the table between them, nodding.

            “Why do you think that?”

            Moments filled the eight-by-eight room. The HVAC clicked off, taking the underscore of humming with it.

            Vincent shrugged. Mimicking his doctor, Vincent placed his arms on the table. He felt his hands were sticky. Looking down, he saw they were dripping black-red.

            “Why do you think she is afraid of you, Vincent?”

MOMENTS: Liquid Time A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

MOMENTS

LIQUID TIME

“I don’t think it is possible to contribute to the present moment in any meaningful way while being wholly engulfed by it.” Maria Popova

elsEwhen ∞

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the Doomsday Clock at 100 seconds to midnight

TRANSITION

Z grasps the fringe of Khronos

“Zehara! Nooooooo…”

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” ~ ~ Albert Einstein

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME AND APPRECIATED.

THANK YOU.

TALES OF TALE SPINNING

©Edward Gorey

OR

The A to Z Epics, More or Less

I started Tale Spinning at the beginning of 2011 as an offshoot of BornStoryteller. The latter went more towards non-fiction, rants, comparisons, and observations. Tale Spinning: an experiment in creative writing was the space I needed.
Since then, I’ve gone through periods of both non-stop writing and those “dry” spells, where nothing inspired or motivated me.

Joining the A to Z Blogging Challenge in April 2011 was one of the smartest moves I’ve ever made. I’ve pushed my own boundaries over the ten years, always looking for that “challenge.” Taking risks is stimulating. A lot of what I write is expressing what is burning within me at the moment.

Which is probably why I have trouble continuing plunging into the worlds and characters I’ve built over the years. The roller-coaster upheaval of my life during these last ten years have jaggedly flowed from euphoric to complete and utter numbness. This isn’t a pity party. Just stating the facts, ma’am.

Many bloggers/writers I have “met along the way have become family. What is “Family is Chosen” for $2,000, Alex?” (Man, I miss Alex Trebek. Right now, I am Team Levar Burton to become the new host. Reading Jeopardy Rainbow!). It’d take me the rest of the day (it’s early here) to point you all out, but my thanks and love are hereby sent. I even met the woman I love writing these blog posts during that first A to Z. Present tense, even though we are not together anymore.

Shit happens.

Anyways.

List Time. In case, you know, want to read past (and present) A to Z attempts. Each set starts with A on April 1st of that year. There might be a few preceding posts/teases over the years as I tried out the new voice I was shooting for.

A TO Z POSTS

• 2021: Liquid Time (Current Series)
• 2020: Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul (Lyrical Poetry, 25 posts)
• 2019: A Car In the Woods (Science Fiction/Horror/Thriller, 27 posts)
• 2018: The Abysmal Dollhouse (Serial Paranormal/Horror story, 26 posts)
• 2016: Case Files of Inspector Khazarian Rovas (Serial Detective story, 26)
• 2014: Road Signs (Drabbles-100 words Exactly, 26)
• 2012: The Apartment Building: Swan Rise (Serial drama, 26)
• 2011: The Lesser of Two Evils (attempted SciFi satire, 23 posts)

Here’s something not A to Z that I’d love to get your feedback/comments. I keep getting drawn back to it on an emotional/mental level, but have not added a thing to it in quite a while. These were written during the summer of 2011.

The Kitsune-Mochi and Fox Saga

FLEETING: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge April 2021

FLEETING

Liquid Time

A to Z Blog Challenge

“Time is a companion that goes with us on a journey. It reminds us to cherish each moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we have lived.” ~ ~ Captain Jean-Luc Picard

Zero hour. Day. Era. Epoch. Eon. Aeon.

Z subdivides along a non-unilinear line. Stopping milliseconds to absorb, dispel, bask.

Those are the fragments where a thought filters through.

Z assembles the pieces. Z experiences every emotional spectrum idea, searching for

Love.

Z does not believe in love. Love, to Z, equates to Pain.

Pain is a constant. Love=Pain never has/is/will be love ≠ pain. It is exact. For Z, it is exact.

There are no approximates.

Any/every instance Love touches Z is followed by an infinite drop.

Z is lost.

Inside, Z is lost in gathering specifics. The pure, unwavering distillation of Z’s perception of Love.

The amassing is complete.

Z stretches the limits of time to compact and keep.

The next second arrives.

Without the pain association. Z is blocking out the aftermath, the thrown away aspect, the being left, unnoticed, unwanted.

Another point arrives. The whole splinters.

Z

TRANSISTION

NEW!!!! TALE SPINNING is also a Podcast!

I plan to start recording MY reading of my posts. Maybe by 5/12/2021. Knowing me, maybe 2022. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the narration.

You can find Tale Spinning on:

Spotify iTunes PocketCasts Breaker Google Podcasts RadioPodcast (last two awaiting verification).

Tale Spinning, the Podcast, will include past series, interviews, and more.

Please Support Tale Spinning.

You can subscribe on any of the above platforms.

Comments are always welcome.

ElSeWHEN: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge April 2021

ELSeWHEN

Liquid Time

A to Z Blog Challenge

“Forever is composed of nows.” ~ Emily Dickinson 

Z thought as a black whole.

Z experienced everything at this/that moment without color.

Z tasted in shadows.

From the shadows came terror.

Z was a variant of a virulent tinnitus strain. Z was at a fixed point of -50 dB.

Z is the shriek that passes through the outer, middle, and inner structures, vibrating into an E Tube.

Traveling is a poor word of choice for Z in this state of being. Peripatetic is more to the point. Z travels from place to place, being to being, dimension by gradation of planes of existence

Z connects.

There are multitudes of levels of every emotional path that any can experience . Z knows.

There are a multitude of levels of pain. Hundreds of millions of points of view involving hundreds of millions of junctures, phases, factors, accents, factors. Z connects to All. All. All.

Z is at zero hour.

TRANSISTION

THE LAB

FLOAT POD con

“Stop fussing. Stop. I’m fine.”

Pushes hand away.

I said stop!”

Cursing, the medic walks out.

“Karen, there is nothing I can add to my statement.”

Debris is being removed. New equipment is being installed.

“Look, Val. Standard BS to make them happy. I know you. I know. Knew, Tyson. Just tell me what you edited out.”

Glare met stare.

“I do not have all day, Dr. Fill in the fucking blanks.”

Takes glass. Sips water. Another sip.

“VAL!”

“Tyson didn’t screw up. I did not screw up. He was being an ass, as usual.”

Pause.

“Fine. You heard the Banshee call. You heard the escalation. Then the cessation. The console sparked. I woke up on the steps, behind the railing.” Sips. “No, again, I have no idea how I wound up there. The pain in my back, my battered face? Stairs. Boom.”

Stare.

“Why did you break Tyson’s fingers?”

Pause.

“I…”

“Why did you break Tyson’s fingers?”

Pause.

Head turns. Sees FP. Nothing. Still in one piece.

Head still turned away.

“Jackass was reaching to mute. The data coming in and Tyson thought he was going to the mute button. He reached too far. He was going to incinerate the inside of the pod.”

“And?”

“He couldn’t hear me, damnit. He couldn’t hear me call out. I went for his wrist. My eyes were vibrating. Wrist. Hand. Fingers. I needed to stop him. So, I did.””

“And?”

Staring at the Float Pod. Shrugs shoulders.

Heartbeats pass.

“OK.”

Nod of head.

A chukka boot approaches.

Hand taps her shoulder.

“Dr. Marin? I need you to come with me, ma’am.
Her head turns to the other woman.

“Go with him, Valentina. Go. I’ll be with you again. Soon.”

Dr. Valentina Marin leaves what’s left of the lab.

She does not turn to look back.

THIS IS THE DAY Z DOES NOT DIE

Too Often: a Villanelle

Too Often, by S. Nager

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart

Be dismissed, discarded, a second thought.

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

 

Love fractures, splits, by an uncaring dart

Shattered pieces, a broken soul is taut

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart.

 

 

With love’s ending comes a yearn to depart

Disregarded love that never was sought

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

 

Each time, within your grasp, a fresh new start

Drifted, drifted, gone, even though you fought

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart.

 

 

What was conceived more emotion not smart

Gave of yourself love could not be caught                                                 

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

 

Dreams of fidelity, hopes to restart

All dashed and ignored from a life so fraught,

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart.

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

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Author’s Note:

I used the poetic form of a Villanelle for the above poem. This is my first attempt as this was new, to me. Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” is a prime example of this poetic style. It is a 19 line poem with 5 Tercets (3 lines) that follow an ABA rhyme pattern, and one Quatrain (4 lines) to end the poem. Its rhyme pattern is ABAA. The last two lines of the Quatrain are the Refrain (which I crafted first) and they are used in the 2nd to 5th Tercet, intermittently. Thomas use of the 10 syllables per line harks to Elizabethan/Shakespearian Sonnets.

This was a bit challenging at first. I’m glad I tried it. I’ll probably do more, as I did with Sonnets over the years.

Remember: comments are always welcome.