When September Comes

We drove out of the backwoods of Louisiana planning next year’s visit, where we would stay, what streets we would conquer, the tours we may take. The cemeteries, famous and forgotten alike, the white and the black, we would lay hands on those stones that called to us, say hello to our old ghosts, hello to some new.

The plans we make when we know we are lying to our children, it is a fine line.

The truth cannot be explained in any way that will be understood until the future comes as predicted, not by a seer or a tarot reader, but that future that only adults can feel in their souls,

(there won’t be a “next” year sweetheart, don’t ask me why I know this)

The lie cannot be excused until it has become a thing of the past,

(Yes sweetheart, I knew, like I always do)

And so new promises are made in the present

(Sweetheart, we can go in September this time! No work, no school!)

Promise? I promise.

And so August is roaring like a lion on the winds of a date come too soon, and we both know, and make little eye contact.

Before we left I took as much spanish moss as I could carry in the suitcase, the trinkets and baubles left on the couch, we told each other “just in CASE we don’t make it back”, so we both knew.

The moss left behind waved goodbye to us as the plane took flight, it knew too.

We decorated the tree out front with our stolen spanish moss, at night when the moon is full it looks just like Her, Louisiana that is.

We added blue and green and purple globes to the barren landscape to remind us of Royal Street, or the color of the mist when it meets the night air in the backwoods.

And so we were blessed this year with rain in this barren land, so much that our dirt is now overgrown with weeds and grasses as tall as a man and our tree drips green lace. The tips mingle with the riot of life below so that it is difficult to tell which is growing up and which is growing down.

And so we cut secret paths in the brush when the moon is new, so that when it is full we can play hide and seek with each other, giggle at the new paths the wildlife has tamped, we get lost, and we get found.

Tonight I swear I saw an alligator by the duck pond.

I’m sure it’s just a lizard but they do grow them big here.

The ducks don’t seem to mind him much so we will call him Elvis and tell the neighborhood children that we have a Real Lyve Loozi Anna Gater in our yard.

Of course you can only see him if the Moon is just so in the sky,

and if he wants to be seen.

(Yes Sweetheart, looks like we made it to September afterall!)

Time To Move On (bridge series finale)

Illyria knew that it was Time to keep her promise to Stephen.  She had shouted the vow when her box of secrets opened before the final blow, the glow from within was the aura of her heart’s desire. 

Finally and without fanfare, the bloodied and torn warrior surrendered, and she waited for her millions of years of records and memories to spill onto the sterling floor.  

The golden glow dulled to a burnished orange, and Illyria-Coral-Aleese peered into the box, it held nothing but a tattered picture. 

 It was an old photograph of two women and three children, circa 2009 in that world’s timeline.  She recognized herself immediately, the other woman was younger than she but bore a resemblance to Yvonne, and the children..

One woman-child, no more than fifteen, two smaller girl-childs less than eight between them, gathered around in a circle, all pointing to an object in the ground.  She flipped the photograph over and read the inscription;

“CJT and the girls/ Me and Alexa/ a funeral for a friend”

Illyria who would always be Aleese covered her mouth and let the picture float back into the chest, the diamond tears she cried showered the women in rainfall.  The memory was overwhelming and she struggled for breath, she bore a child once. Her child of Light and Grace.

Yvonne’s descendents, the child with the white golden hair. 

Intertwined for the Evers.

 

Afraid of what she would find, Illyria-Coral closed her emerald eyes, reached her hand into the chest, and found the final answer. 

Her laughter at her discovery gave pause to Brother Stephen and Sister Yvonne on the other side of the door, they thought she was joking with them, and she indulged their belief. 

They would never believe the real truth anyway, she was still in half disbelief when she closed the time capsule of her lives.

A black ostrich feather that was longer than her arm, golden ink, and three envelopes with parchment.

The envelopes were addressed to Her, PAST , PRESENT, FUTURE , her duty was to simply write the letters they would contain.

She sealed the envelopes and placed them inside the battered wooden chest along with the photograph, the feather and one ruby and one diamond tear.  When the chest closed it flared sunbright for an instant and closed forever.  It was simply a mailbox, and it would not return to sender.

Stephen evoked another promise from her before he left the Kingdom of Time, Yvonne still battered at the door badgering Illyria to come out and play.

The Time Keeper first known as Illyria who would be Coral and Aleese ran her fingers over the surface of the box one last time.  She found the cartoon face of her beloved Alligator, “Timekeeper” to some, Elvis to her once or twice, and with no regret she hefted the battle axe.

“Goodbye my love, someday we will laugh on this moment” she whispered as the metal cleaved his visage from her heart and from Time. 

Her cry of Pain would register in the Halls of Time’s many Kingdoms, a new note had been born that very instant. 

Stephen wept silently for her, and then smiled.  They would meet again.

 

“I’m COMING you HARPIE!” Illyria threatened Yvonne as she placed the box on the shelf. She kissed it once and then opened the whitely door.  She and her Sister had so much to laugh and fight about, she  just couldn’t wait any longer.

 

When the door had sealed shut the mailbox released the letters to be carried on the Augusts’ Winds of Time.  Whether they would reach their destination was given to the Fates, who always held council in the Septembers.

 

 

But that is a story for another Time, dear Readers.

Enigma

ENIGMA

 

The colors of my life are painted with pain, eggplant purples, raw reds, and the jaundiced yellows of the bruises I carry on my heart, the bruises I have inflicted on my soul, and yet I am reminded that “in every color there is the light.”   A promise of a brighter dawn somewhere in my days, I look to the horizon in search of that day.

 

When my heart and mind turn to stone, I am reminded that “in every stone sleeps a crystal”.  A promise of a time when my soul will fill the world with healing and love, I listen to it’s steady slumber, I wait for the morning it yawns, stretches, and awakens.

 

This is my test to fail or to win, it is my decision in the end.  Can I put aside these petty burdens I have chosen to shoulder, can I rise from the ashes of my disappointments and see the world in all of it’s beautiful perfection?  I can, yet I will never see this perfect world as do the better children of god, the children that have no eyes for anything but what is glorious.  It is man that is the enigma,  it is man that turns his eyes from what is the truth, and sees only flaws in the plan.

 

 “Remember the shame when we used to say that Man is the dream of the Dolphin.” 

 

I remember that shame, if only I could forget.  It is the shame of our Fall from Grace.

 

 

(ENIGMA ; “The Dream of the Dolphin)

 

Alisa Rynay Haller  (with alittle help from dolphins that dance in the waves at Laguna Beach)

A Wasted Life

It had lain inside the trashcan for three days.

It travelled the airways to arrive just short of the landing, it crashed but did not Perish Utterly.

A letter, handwritten and sealed in an old fashioned envelope, postage paid and delivered, but not read.

The paper of the letter was scarred when the cigarette butt landed on it, but it did not burn.

The words on the paper blurred when the soda poured over the nicotine ember, but they did not drown.

The contents of the can were transfered outside to the local landfill on the fourth day.

It was buried under two tons of dirt,  it smothered and the intent of the words Died Finally.

It did not even warrant a headstone to note its passing.

As Time Goes By (bridge series #23.5)

 had fiddled with my hair and makeup for the fifth or the hundredth time, things all women do when they are nervous. 

 I was due to meet an old friend at the bookstore for lunch, something that used to be a casual endevour, but as Time goes by we lose touch with things in our past, the present and the future can be so demanding.  I can’t remember when our daily conversations turned to weekly, then to monthly, then to, gods, has it been years?

 Heading back up the flight of stairs I turned to the left and enter my old office, coated with dust from years of neglect, and I open the box one more time.  In it are all of my flash fictions from that time in my life, our time together, the dates on the entries still hold no clue for me.  We stopped writing regularly when our worlds crashed like the stock market in the 30′s, but our friendship continued.  For how long I cannot remember, I only know that I made a phone call last week to her and we agreed to catch up on old times (5 minutes ago!)

Heading out the front door I can’t help but wonder if we look the same to each other, if we meet again as strangers or as friends just parted for too long, if if if.  Just get in the damn car and drive Aleese!

 

I pushed through the door of one of the last remaining bookstores in existance, just fifteen minutes late. I remember that we were both appalled that technology had replaced paper and hard covers as the bookstores across America began closing their doors, almost as though they had been deleted from a story, Time unraveling, or being Undone.

My wandering thoughts stop ubruptly as I see her sitting at one of the coffee tables, she hadn’t changed at all, well maybe her hair was longer. 

 She looked up at the same moment and our eyes locked, both of us froze for an instant, and then I smiled, or maybe she smiled first, and then we were hugging and crying, laughing, all of the things women do when they meet after long absences. Except Squeel, we never squeeled like most women do. 

Before long we were doing the “do you remember when” and “who was that guy that used to call all of the time” and “whatever happened to whatisface” schtick and then we began to speak of Life in quiet voices. 

We were sisters in Pain for a long period in our friendship, the elephant in the room (Rosie, the name of the Elephant) would not be ignored, and so began our trips down that memory lane that poets do not write of often.

The lane that is marked with street signs called “Pain” “Broken Dreams” “Defeat” and “Nightmare”, paths that lead to dead ends and abandoned houses, to cul-de-sacs that close up behind you so that you must revisit the same dreadful houses over and over again, chasing your tail in circles of hell you cannnot escape.

 

We both pause to catch our breath, and the awkward silence threatens to end everything, so I begin to chatter,

“So, how are your girls?” Lame attempt I know, but it was a start.

“Oh they are both doing good in school, the oldest is almost twelve” she responds.

(Oh thank the gods, I last saw them only two years ago!)

Then we did what all women do that have children, we talked about them and tried not to sound boring, but it was boring for both us and we started laughing again. On the upbeat I popped the question.

“I have a confession to make” I said as I wrinkled my nose at her.  She raised her eyebrows so I continued.

“I remember the events and circumstances that surrounded your pen-name changes, but what I don’t remember is why I changed mine. Did I say anything when I picked out that name?”

“Illyria?’ She said with a goofy sideways grin, “it was the name of a character in a television series you loved, the vampire one, not Buffy but”
“Angel?” I interrupted

“Yeh, that was it, you said that the Fred chick got absorbed by the demon, or an Old One, and she turned blue and her name was Illyria and you identified with her or you liked the sound of it.”

“Right, Illyria, the Destroyer of Worlds” I stopped then and got lost in thought, my mind wandered to the fatal doomed beauty of the character that awoke in a different time than her own and discovered that all she knew was lost and had been long dead, long dead.

“Why did you ask about THAT?’ my friend says and I am brought back to the Here and Now.

“I don’t know” I honestly replied. ” I found our old blogs and when I saw my pen-name my mind just drew a blank, like a memory had been erased, hell, maybe I have early onset alzheimer’s” I said in a flippant manner.

” I think that’s reserved for short term memory you drama queen” she laughs at me.

It was just what I needed, a snide remark from her to remind me that we were the same old friends we used to be, just a few years gone by is all.

The rest of the afternoon we spent talking, shopping, laughing, all things women do when they are in a mall, and we both promised to call or start emailing again right away, or both.

When we parted we hugged, and as I watched her drive away I knew that Time can be a slick god, and didn’t hold much hope that we would keep in touch.  But our friendship, well, that was for the Evers, and even if we did not “keep in touch”, I knew that there would never be a day in my life that I didn’t think about her at least once, just as I had every day before today.

I made the drive home, watched the last season of Angel on DVD, and went to bed. 

 I dreamed of castles in the air and Kingdoms of Gold, of gardens blooming with coral roses, of old hiways crisscrossing desert landscapes, and I dreamed of her. I hadn’t slept that well in years, or maybe decades, I can’t remember, time has little meaning to me these days.

After I’ve had my morning coffee I am going to check my emails, maybe I’ll send one. Maybe I’ll start writing again.

Whatever, it’s too early to make any decisions, I’ll have time to worry about my list of things to do later.

 I have Time.   

 

 

 

On Location, Monday:  …heading back up the flight of stairs…
Thursday:  heading out the front door

Friday Challenge:  Your character seeks out an old friend; why? At some point, your character needs to confess; what?

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Time and Time Again (bridge series 24 or better)

Coral continued her casual stroll through the Desert of Secrets, she tapped her sacred cane a few times on the sandy hiway, lost in thought, the silver alligator head of the walking stick remained cool in her hand. 

 

When her last customer left Here, she raged at man’s infallible gods and closed the place up, not permanently of course, that was not allowed, but she left none the less. 

 

 Her thoughts never wandered far from her beloved Timekeeper, that beautiful Bull Alligator that braved the bridge to show her the blackness that would consume all that was or ever would be. 

 

 When her thoughts did wander they went to that woman Coraline, or to her other self, Aleese, both stuck in a hell that would eventually pale in comparison to what was to come.

 

Time and Time Again she thought of them all, and time and time again she shed tears for those that would be lost, and wished for the tenth or the millionth time that Something would change.

 

Lightening struck the asphalt everytime the cane tapped a beat, when she lifted the walking stick over her shoulder the storm intensified, and for an instant she knew fear. Something was Wrong.

 

Coral immediately turned back and ran as rain as black as raven’s tears and as thick as coal pelted the ground, leaving craters in their wake.  Seeking shelter from the storm she huddled in the doorframe of the little tavern just off the hiway, the sign above the roof said “Here”, but Something had Changed.

 

Try as she might the door would not open, she began to kick the door with her foot, then rammed it with her shoulder, but it barely budged.  She knelt down to catch her breath, the ancient wooden cane her only support, when a sound so loud cracked behind her. She dropped the cane and covered her ears.

 

The (thunder?) assaulted her six more times before it ceased, she likened the sound to an axe cleaving a tree,  ad infinitum, and then the door to Here opened with a slight creak.  She reached for the cane and found it had been sundered, the silver head had melted, obscuring the..

the..figure that was shaped as..as.. Coral gave up that train of thought and entered the tavern, she barely registered that an object was shimmering across the road. 

 

 For a moment, just a moment, it looked like a bridge, but when she looked closer it was gone. She chalked it up to the fog and the wind and the sand playing tricks on her mind, but she looked once more, just in case. 

 

For a moment, just a moment, she swore that there was an alligator looking back at her, but the next blast of wind dissipated the image and it was gone.  Gone just like her mind she thought, an alligator in a desert of all the silly things!

 

Coral  turned the sign over to “open”, put her apron back on, and began wiping down the bar, safe from the ravages of the desert storm.

                                                                               ***

 

In the year 1803 a female alligator laid thirteen eggs somewhere along the banks of the Mississippi River near a place Man called “New Orleans” in a state they called “Louisiana”.

 

The incubation period was typical and therefore unnoteworthy, even by Timekeeper’s standards.  Of the thirteen, twelve were female, they hatched without incident and swam away in the murky waters, following their mother.

 

The thirteenth was a male-child.

 

The last to break free of his egg he was immediately eaten by a larger reptile lurking in the water, thereby nullifying his future as the Greatest and Oldest alligator of Time immeasurable even to the Old Ones.

  

 His deleted existance was not only noteworthy, but also horrifying, especially by Timekeeper’s standards.

 

*** 

 

Time Undone (bridge series #24 or #27)

things)

• Posted by alisa rynay haller on June 15, 2011 at 8:58am
• View My Blog

                                                                   ***

The sound of thunder beneath her feet brought Illyria out of her reverie.

Her picture forgotten, she turned from the window and caught sight of herself in its reflection, blinked and continued on.

When she entered the Great Hall of Mirrors she could hear cries of fear from her brethren, but she was transfixed by the sight of her perfectly round emerald green eyes in the shards that were falling to the ground. 

She knelt down in the broken glass and blinked at herself, and then blinked again.

Her pupils widened in wonder, the eliptical blackness that marked her as Broken was gone, and then so was she.

As the foundation of Time’s Kingdom reeled at her discovery, there was no falling obstical that could slow her down, she was racing to Stop Time and Time could not Stop Her.

 Illyria leaped over broken marble, ducked under falling beams, and with a wave and a laugh she threw off the tide of screaming golden children that surged against her in panic.

Yvonne realized a moment too late what her sister was planning, and pushed against the tide as well, she slammed into the door just as Illyria-Coral closed it in her face.

 ”Illyria? Coral? Aleese? ILLYRIA!” Yvonne pounded on the door, the carved plaquard above read Hall of Records.

“Oh come on Yvonne, pick a name and stick with it!” Illyria-Coral taunted from the other side.

 ”Well now my cherished one, you are all of these names, I am just honoring-”

The former Broken One interupted her with her raucous laughter,

 ”You do me no honor dear sister, but say what you will if it eases your conscience” she retorted as she scanned the shelves, the endless shelves of boxes, the boxes that held each Time Keeper’s personal records of their Time.

Her fingers were dancing over the many time capsules, she could feel that her’s was near, but Yvonne persisted from the wrong side of the door.

“Illyria, I don’t know what you think you are going to accomplish with this outburst (ouch) but you need to stop and consider what you are doing to the rest (DAMNIT!) of us…the whole Kingdom is collapsing..(shriek!) OPEN THIS DOOR NOW AND STOP THIS NONSENSE. I’ve been hit by one too many falling objects and you’re acting childish!”

When Yvonne got no response she pushed her ear to the door. There was silence.

The rest of the Kingdom fell to silence, all trembling ceased, those running for safety came to a stand still, falling precious gems suspended in mid-air, Time suspended for one hopeful moment, waiting. 

 ”Aaaah, my beauty, I’ve found you at last” the whisper heard through the door,

The intake of collective breath heard from all of those not behind the door.

“Now where is the key to open you up?” Illyria seduces.

“No key? Playing hard to get now, Darling?” she continues to weave her word love spell on the ancient cherry red timber that holds all of her secrets, all of her everythings.

 It vibrates in response to her cooes, begins to shimmer with inner light-

 Yvonne involuntarily puts her palms to the door, as if the seduction is drawing her in as well, “It’s not possible” she thinks to no one but herself

 the sudden shock of sound that rocks the very bones of the Crumbling Empire

“ILLYRIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” a screaming plea from a loved one

 

“THWOK” as the axe first given to a Viking God cleaves the binary code pattern from the outer rim of the bleeding red wood 

                                                                                       In the Desert of Secrets a storm rages,

                                                         a woman called Coral falls to her knees

                                                         as a sound so loud makes her drop a

                                                          sacred ancient cane so she may 

                                                           cover her ears, another deafening

                                                                         crack soon follows,

                                                                            it splits the world 

 

“THWAK” the spirals are obliterated, a swatiska disinegrates…………                         

 

“It’s what I am UNDOING, dear sister” she whispers as she raises the axe again.