The Fork In The Road

Timothy walked down a road, alone and uncertain where exactly he was going.  Brilliant rays of sunlight crept like so many snaking vines through the dark and gloomy clouds that hovered like a sea in the sky.  Trees grew on either side of the road.  Great trees with massive, thick trunks and hulking, muscular branches with no leaves.  In between each tree was a large rock, or rather, half a rock.  They were all split in two neatly down the middle to reveal a sparkling display of purple stone inside.  The sides of amethyst faced east, and Timothy walked west so that he saw the magnificent rocks before him.

Timothy was a fair young man.  He was tall with wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders, but not past them.  His skin was spotless and a light brown, like that of someone who spends much of their time in the sun.  He had broad shoulders and dark brown eyes, much like the color of the trees around him.  Looking into this man's eyes was like looking into a vast maze of black tunnels that never ended, with a hint of light dancing and teasing around every corner, only to disappear when close to it.  A flicker of sarcasm hung about his face, from his slightly upturned eyebrows to his almost always smirking mouth.

The road itself was dirt.  Plain and simple dirt with pebbles and rocks scattered here and there.  There were no holes, no hills, and no cracks.  The road was flat, unforgiving, and endless.  It stretched on straight ahead as far as Timothy could see.  The road had a voice too.  A slight whisper that echoed with every step that Timothy took.  If he stopped walking the road stopped talking, but Timothy could never stop.

On an endless journey to an unknown land Timothy was destined to walk until he reached his destination.  The road told no lies, the road told no truths, the road told nothing at all, but it always talked.  A whisper, and the sky was ever changing.

Lying in the middle of the road lay a fork.

And Timothy stopped walking.

The Quiet Room

The nothingness was interrupted by a bright light.  He squinted and covered his eyes with his hands as the sudden change blinded him.  He sat on the cold concrete, alone and friendless.  As his eyes adjusted he saw two men towering over him.  One man held a small cup and a glass of water.  He knew what was in the little cup, and he didn't like it.  The other man held a clipboard.  He knew it was filled with lies and horrible things about him.

"Time to get up," said the man with the clipboard.

"Time to tak your medicine," said the other man.

"No," he said defiantly, "you can't make me take your poison.  I won't let you!"

"Now Sam, don't start that again.  Aren't you tired of being in the Quiet Room?"

"No, you can't make me!  I won't do it!  You'll have to kill me first!"

"No one is going to kill you, Sam.  Just take your medicine, it will make you better."

"Lies, you're just lying to me.  STOP LYING TO ME!"

The two men looked at each other and nodded.  They left the room and closed the door behind them, cutting off Sam's continuous yelling.

"What are we going to do Doctor?"

"He won't take his meds, and he's been in there for two days already...we can't keep him in there forever.  We'll have to find someone he trusts."

"I know someone."

"Who?"

"Richard."

"Who's Richard?"

"Richard is Sam."

"I see...you think Richard will take the meds?"

"I'm on good terms with Richard...next time he comes around I think I can convinve him."

"Make it happen Greg, he needs those meds before it's too late."

"I'll do my best Doc, I'll do my best."

They walked away, Sam's yells getting fainter with every step.

Intothefray

Into the fray

We all fly yelling

Arms flailing around

We hunt the dreams

We seek our fortune

But do not find

We listen for the words

That we never fully hear

A blind moment

A lapse in judgement

It could be your last

If you don't play your cards right

You will end up the loser

The game goes on

Everyone is playing

It's the game of life

Loser takes all

Colosseum

The only rule was that you could not see what you were doing.

Blindfolded they were lead into the arena.

Blindfolded they listened as the crowd shouted and howled in excitement.

Blindfolded they listened as their fellow slaves were torn to pieces by unseen beasts.

Her Bedroom, Half Empty

There was a twin sized bed in the far corner with white sheets and a sky blue quilt on top.  The pillowcases had yellow stars on a black background, with a great full moon in the center.  She had always loved the sky and anything to do with it.  The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars and crescent moons.  The wall were sky blue like the quilt, but they had fluffy white clouds painted on them.  At the foot of the bed was a chest where she kept her shoes.  She had never been a very neat person, and all her shoes were sort of jumbled around inside.  Between the bed and the window was her dressers, one drawer still ajar and a sock hanging out of it.  On top of the dresser were trophies from her tennis matches and pictures of her with her friends.  There was also a note that read, "Good luck today sweetheart, you'll do great! Love, Dad."  She had read it, because it had been moved from her bedside table, which was the least cluttered object in the room.  In fact, the only thing on her bedside table was a glass of water.  It was half empty, much like the bedroom without her.

Various articles of clothing were strewn around the room.  She had never been a very neat person.  Only the day before he had been telling his daughter she needed to clean her room over the weekend, and she laughed and nodded her head.  She hadn't been lazy, just busy.  Always going somewhere, always doing something, always working on some new project or playing tennis.  Her closet stood to his left, the door wide open.  All her dresses were hung carelessly on hangers and various other items were thrown on the floor.  The only thing missing were her car keys and her tennis bag, which had been with her.  She had been on her way to a tennis match, the one she had been preparing for for so long.

He took one last look around the room and then left, closing the door behind him.  Her room was half empty without her, and she wasn't coming back.  His daughter was never coming home.

Music Munchies

Sometimes I just need music

To feed my soul before I get back into the fight

Sometimes I just need a little groove

To help me move on through the stormy night

Maybe a little tap or a knock

On the wooden table or metal door

Just a click or clack

Hum a few notes or maybe more

I want to chew

On those blissful little notes

Floating in the breeze

Sailing on the clefs like boats

I want to sink my teeth

Into the feeling of the groove

I want to drink it in

I want to feel my bones be moved

A feast of chords

The main course is the chorus

A catchy tune

With riffs that march before us

Oh that tasty beat

It vibrates deep in my soul

That bum bum bum

That makes me blissful so

Foolish

Stuffed against a wall of thorns
Sliced and cut in a methodical rhythm
Pressed hard with a soul so torn
And broken apart by the schism

Meaningless mutterings from the heart
Failure is a default for you
Running until you fall all apart
Fleeing from what you know is true

And the emptiness is a welcome feeling
The hollow icy tones
Just waiting for relief from this peeling
Terror but echos no groans

A silent moment for those who are lost
A remembrance of the past
Fallen friends and enemies in the frost
Forgotten time that was never the last

So go on being ignorant and foolish
You don't know you only judge
You'd rather be plain ignorant and foolish
With your hypocritical hearts of sludge

Call me what you will when you don't know the facts
Make all the claims your lying hearts can muster
Just remember in time about what exactly that's
Happening in this twisted cluster