Sunday, April 30, 2017

A Strike Out for Tragedy

I awoke to the sound of screams, only this time it wasn't from the other side. This was real life. I rushed to the window and saw sirens and people crowded around an intersection near across from Rainbow River. Confused, I rushed downstairs towards the scene of the accident.

An animal hospital vehicle was parked on the curb, surrounded by police officers and am ambulance.
A dog was tied to a tree, whimpering and howling, I recognized right away that it was Rory's. I began to hear EMT's conversing about the situation. "Looks like a young woman was hit by a car. Time of death is unknown". My heart sank and I suddenly fell short of breath. I noticed other neighbors coming to see what happened. What if this was all my fault? What if they're punishing my friends for not helping them sooner?

I ran for the cemetery, and as my breathing enhanced and my heart pounded to a more intense beat, I got glimpse of Rory. She smiled at me. Confused, I rubbed my eyes and tried to adjust my vision, but she stayed put. It's happening again. I noticed a leash in her hands, and without altering her facial expressions, she dropped the leash to her feet. She eventually vanished, and left the leash behind.

I walked towards the oak tree perched in the cemetery, and dug around the roots until I uncovered the turquoise necklace I'd so anxiously attempted to forget. It was all coming together now. If you haven't caught on, I am a medium, not by choice of course but nonetheless an inevitable characteristic. The problem is, I cannot help them the way they desire. I can barely talk to alive people. Their voices haunt me, their memories dehumanize me. After all this time, I decided I'd finally help them in a way I never thought before, I would set them free, by setting myself free.

I lay the necklace on the moist ground, and wrapped it in the Psalm I took from the Bible at the church pew. "Let me truly find rest in you lord". Without hesitation, I set it ablaze. "Amen" I whispered.

I walked back to the scene of the crime. I watched as Rory's body, now veiled in a white blanket, was  carried away. I walked on until finally, I saw Peter, tied to a tree. I crouched beside him, allowing him to smell the leash. Eventually he calmed himself, and I placed the leash on him. We walked away in silence. I noticed the whispers of others around me, but for the first time in what seemed like forever, they were whispers of the living. I smiled and took Peter home with me.
Moonlight Sonata

Sunset was already settling across the sky, and the park was extremely vivacious, in the midst of what appeared to be a festival. Despite my current antisocial domineer I decided to take a chance and get my mind off of the negativity surrounding me.

By the time I initiated enough courage to leave my room, the sun had already set and "The Little Mermaid" was about to be played on a movie screen. The stars slowly became visible, each individually presenting its own personality to the world. I noticed someone sitting on the stage next to  a piano. They began to play a familiar tune, Moonlight Sonata. Ironic seeing as the entrancingly blanched moon was beginning to make its appearance into the sky.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the piano music, for what felt like hours. The dissonance of the chords arrested my soul and kept me completely attentive. Eventually, the music ceased and I snapped back out of my trance. Apparently news of an upcoming lunar eclipse spread, and at 2AM everyone was to watch the magnificent and rare alchemy of the full moon.

I lay on the cold grass and glance at the sky, absorbing every beautiful moment of the eclipse. People always say discuss superstitions about the moon, especially during rare occurrences such as an eclipse, it's said to be a beacon for supernatural occurrences. I began to hear their voices and I decided to head home.

As I walked towards The Victorian, I passed by a very peculiar sight. What used to be St. Cecelia's was now an empty lot, leaving behind a single pew in the front lawn. I sat on the pew and closed my eyes, not even fazed by the fact that one of the biggest churches in the area had mysteriously vanished. I picked up a Bible from the shelf behind the pew and randomly selected a page. I opened to Psalm 32 that read:

Heavenly Father,
I come to you as the place I can hide.
Everywhere I go are people who remind me of my loss,
places that bring back memories,
events that should bring joy, but instead bring loss and grief.
Let me truly find rest in you. Amen.

Unfortunately I don't think I'lll ever find rest, not until they do.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

The God of Small Things

As I walked into the coffee shop, I got glimpse of Phillip, comfortably perched at a small table facing the window. He was reading a book, occasionally setting it down to take a bite of his blueberry muffin. Finally, he gazed up and met my eye. He smiled and waved towards me. "Right on time" he says. "I hope you don't mind, I picked the table with the best lighting". "Not at all" I encouraged.

About ten minutes after I ordered my food, the waitress finally set my plate down in front of me. I ordered a roasted tomato mozzarella panini on toasted pita bread. In case I got extra hungry, I also purchased a bag if sea salt potato chips. "I'm glad you asked me to lunch Colette" Phillip murmured. "Since my sister died, I haven't really spent any quality time with friends". "I understand Phillip. I'm glad you decided to join me!" I took a deep breath and prepared the words I spoke next. "Your sister is actually what I wanted to talk about. Forgive me if I sound inconsiderate, but do you think Hanani is still with us?" Uncomfortable silence fell upon us. "I suppose, in theory, her spirit has the potential to still loom around". His smile faded and he glanced out the window, towards the now grey and ominous sky.

Before I got out another word, a sudden flash of lightening darted through the sky. It's spider like strands crept across the clouds, sending sparks in every direction. Suddenly, the atmosphere felt increasingly weary. "Weathers getting bad" Phillip sighed. "Better stars heading home before I get caught in a storm. I suggest you do the same". Without a proper goodbye, Phillip got up from the table and made his way out the door, a bell chimed as the door closed behind him. Another crash of lightening hurtled toward the ground, this time coming closer than the last. It was as if Zeus himself, watching from above, aimed them perfectly. As I grabbed my purse, I noticed Phillips book perched on the edge of the window pane. "Kafka on the Shore" it read, by a man maned Haruki Murakami. 

I picked it up and noticed a bright red bookmark peeking through the top of the book page. Intrigued, I opened the book to the page Phillip left off. One line in particular caught my eye immediately. "And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.” 

A chill sprang down my spine and I decided to head back for my apartment. As I walked back home, I stepped inside a puddle sprawled on the concrete and suddenly, as the thunder crashed down, everything went white. I could feel my nerves burning like fire, and as I tried to scream, nothing but  a muffled whisper came out. Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of me. A young girl crouched beside me and said "You don't belong here! One day, but not today. Before you go, please deliver this message. Tell him that I am ok. I've finally made peace". Before I had time to process what she meant, I woke. Laid out on the concrete, my vision blurred into the faces of many people huddled around me. 

Sunday, March 5, 2017

It was a Thursday

I was taking my usual stroll throughout town, taking note of the beautiful weather surrounding me. As I passed the cemetery, I noticed Phillip Hornbuckle perched in front of his recently deceased sisters grave. I prepared to say a prayer for her, but noticed a familiar tingle wash throughout my body. As the hairs on my arms stood, I took a deep breath and eradicated the thought from my mind.

I continued down the street, and just as I was about to turn the street corner, I hear an unfamiliar bell begin to chime. Very faint,y I made out the figure of a man, very tall, who seemed to be wheeling around a contraption of some sort. Eventually my vision cleared and there was Pope Michael, his homemade confessional pushed in one hand, a rusted choir bell in the other. "Come one come all, reveal your sins and relieve your sorrows" he belted. Despite his outer appearance, which typically frightens most, there was something about the innocence within his tone, the collectiveness of his posture, that intrigued me. I decided to turn around and join him in his search for spiritual cleansing.

"Are you here to repent yourself ma'am?" he asked. "If it's no trouble to you Pope, would it be alright if we had a chat?" I shamefully whispered. His fragile, pale hand reached for the brown cedar wood door of his confessional. Inside sat a eggplant colored velvet chair, with a black slotted screen separating myself from him. As I sat, I got glimpse of his icy blue eyes. They reminded me of the sky, so pure and beautiful, so full of freedom. If eyes are truly the windows to the soul, Pope Michael's is pure.

"You may begin" he encouraged. Taking a deep breath, and for the first time since discovering my gift, I divulged to a complete stranger my deepest inner mysteries. "There is something that I've recently noticed about myself, something extremely odd and quite terrifying" I said. "I hope you will not think poorly of me, or view me as something unnatural and sinful. Pope Michael, I have the ability to talk to the unloving. I'm not sure how, or why, but they find me. I hear them whisper to me. I believe they find solace in me because there may not be others like me out there, others who can provide them with the peace they search for." For at least five minutes, Pope Michael said nothing. I could hear his feet tap against the wooden floor, and I could feel my pulse electrify as the anxiety within me built. Finally he began to speak. "I hate to say that I don't have practice dealing with this kind of situation" he said. "However, in contrast to your own beliefs, I myself find this eccentric gift you've been given as a god sent blessing. It is obvious that you've been given this ability for a higher purpose. Perhaps these spirits seek you out because you, unlike many others, serve as a medium between their world and our own. Perhaps they have unfinished business, and look to you for aid. You have the ability to restore peace between spirits and there loved ones."

I pondered this statement for a long time. Perhaps the pope was right, and I was viewing this in a more negative aspect. "If I were you, I would make the most of this situation. Your ability is exceedingly rare, and despite the fear that renders you vulnerable, it's never been a crime to be different". I decided to make a visit back to Phillip's sisters grave.