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The Critical Soul

Posted in Thinkingten posts and comments, on March 27, 2014 by Illyria Taylor

She called him at midnight again, screaming that he had killed her soul, again he hung up. How dare he trash her novel, it was her soul she put into it, and he killed it with the stroke of a pen. Twice she had seriously thought of shooting him from the church bell tower where she sat everynight with her sniper rifle. She thought to use a red lazer scope to give him a moment of panic, to know how she felt when she saw his words, but the more she came to hate him the more she just wanted his life to be over. Tonight she didn’t take the shot, she leaned back, took her finger off of the trigger, and lit up her cigarello. Maybe her nightly 3am call to him would give her some relief, maybe he would agree that he killed her soul, if he would just say he did, she would end the phone calls. Those four words would change her life forever, it would mean that at some point in her fucked up life she did have a soul once, before the hatred and the pain and the disappointment crept in.
She looks at her watch even though the church added a clock to the tower, she could hear every movement of the minute hand, tick tick tick, more moments of life lost to her forever. It is almost a quarter to 3, she leans forward, rifle in hand, a cell phone in the other, and waits for the next call.
He answers the 3a phone call as he always does, this time she isn’t screaming. “Don’t you see that you killed my soul, does it bother you at all?’ she pleads to him.
“Lady, you killed your own soul along time ago, I can see it in every word you write” he says in hushed tones.
“Thankyou” she says and hangs up the phone. She puts the sniper rifle down, and pulls the handgun from her pocket. He was right, about everything, every word he crucified her with was right. She puts the gun to her head and pulls the trigger.


A Breath of Fresh Hell

Posted in on March 27, 2014 by Illyria Taylor

She had thrown the damn letter in the trash twice, yet she would still find it on her porch the next morning. The third time she actually stuffed it into the can and watched the garbage collector dump the contents into his massive truck, with a smile she pulled her can back to the side of her house, the wind blew the lid back and there it was, stuck to the bottom.

She took the hateful thing inside and reread the contents. It was just the obituary in the Nebraska newspaper that her cousins had sent her. Were they really so oblivious to the fact that after all of these years she still hated her mother? Did they really believe that she would attend the funeral? While she had been dreaming of this day for years, she respected her cousins enough not to attend, as her only reason for doing so would be to dance on that bitch’s grave and sing the song “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” from The Wizard of Oz.

She had the song memorized for over twenty years now, yet today she realized that she no longer even cared. As she set the obituary and the envelope to burn she said “See you in Hell Mother. You’d better find a good hiding place because when I get there the fun starts. For me, anyway.”

The smoke from the paper drifted out the window and disappeared into the twilight, it fluttered through the air of open wounds and debts unsettled, finding it’s way to the place where Vengence is God.

Somewhere in Hell a woman began to scream, a scream that would stretch to eternity.



(trash, twice) Weds..

Posted in Thinkingten posts and comments on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

Big Ben

There’s a rumour going around that the term “it was a pallbearer-dropping-the-casket start to the day” is an indication

of it’s going to be a bad day. Still in half sleep half dream mode I remember when the Haller clan actually did drop

Uncle Ben on the way out of the church. Irish Catholics can turn anything into a party, so there were many jokes about

“did anybody ever check for a pulse” and “we knew he’d go down fighting” and finally I stuck the missing bottle of

whiskey in Uncle Ben’s casket and that made him happy enough to let us put him in the ground. Gads, how many

years ago was that? Anyway, considering I have nothing but hilarious recollections of that term I can’t seem to

relate to this new phrase. In the distance there is an ever growing annoying beeping sound that finally reaches

crescendo levels and I jerk awake and slap the snooze button on my alarm clock. Big Ben says it’s 5:30a and I have

to go to work soon. Oh, now I get it.













Take it Away Tues

it was a pallbearer-dropping-the-casket start to the day

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Comment by Blake N. Cooper on April 14, 2010 at 8:50pm
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Nicely done, Alisa.
Thanks, all, for playing along with my wacky prompt. I thought of it in the elevator the other day. Weird, I know.
Comment by Michael D. Brown on April 14, 2010 at 8:37pm
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Excellent take on the prompt. This phrase is new to me also, but I can see how it describes one of THOSE days to a T. Never would have thought of working it into a dream. Clever writer!
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on April 14, 2010 at 4:26am
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Hey at least we both got a laugh about the phrase at work today!!!
Comment by Edward Dean on April 13, 2010 at 6:31pm
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Beautiful recollection of a REAL feeling story Alisa! I really don’t care about the facts but I bought the emotional portrayal. Your writing voice is developing into a new reality. I like it.

Finally, Mercy comments

Posted in Thinkingten posts and comments on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

For all the 16 years of her devotion and love, all I can say is that in the end, I finally showed her Mercy.






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Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 13, 2010 at 10:33am
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thanx all. This was hard to write.
Comment by Blake N. Cooper on April 13, 2010 at 10:08am
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Hi Alisa. I just wanted to let you know how moving this piece was for me; you sure have a way with words. Thanks for sharing these rare emotions—not the easiest thing to do, but why we love the art of writing.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 13, 2010 at 7:49am
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Thanx CJ, I’ve taken to calling China “Ruffy” suddenly, I hope it is not a portent of things to come. We both need to find sainer jobs.
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on April 11, 2010 at 10:38am
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I, like you Alisa, dread the day when I will have to put down my own animals after having worked at the shelter where we both euthenize animals day in and day out. I wonder, when that day comes if I will beg for forgiveness because I gave them a life of being kenneled and not spending the much needed time each day with them or if it will be much like putting down any other animal at the shelter. There are moments when I think of an animal at the shelter, and know without a doubt that I care more for that animal than I do for one or two of my own.

The one thing that I hate the most about what it is that you and I do, is play God and decide who lives today and who doesn’t.

Long live Ruffy – may her spirit be filled with joy.

Comment by Edward Dean on April 11, 2010 at 8:29am
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Very touching piece Alisa.
It’s hard for me to relate because I’ve never had pets, although I did have a number of younger siblings my mother let me drag around at the end of a rope! 🙂
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 9, 2010 at 2:08pm
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well then that is much better. (enthusiastic you’re welcome!)
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 9, 2010 at 1:51pm
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oh paul, you’re welcome, but I wish it was for something better
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 9, 2010 at 1:32pm
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Comment by Travis Smith on April 9, 2010 at 1:18pm
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Wow – that evokes a range of emotions – nicely done.

Posted in Thinkingten posts and comments on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

Going Home

  1. Someone from the past had been sending me messages for days, weeks, eons on end. My dead twin brother, I buried him on Halloween four years ago. I finally decided to buy the one way ticket to home, the suicide note I left read simply; Gone Home.

When I arrived in Hell I was greeted by the Lord and Master himself, Lucifer.

“My child, you’ve finally come home” he said to me as he kissed me on the cheek.

“Daddy, you knew I would eventually” I said as I hugged and kissed him back. “Now where is that worthless brother of mine?” and we chuckled as we walked arm in arm through the gates of my Father’s Kingdom.


















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Comment by Michael D. Brown on April 11, 2010 at 7:47pm
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Who’s your mother? Are you Rosemary’s Other Baby? You are either one clever hellcat or a beautiful demon.
I enjoyed this immensely.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 8, 2010 at 2:30pm
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that’s an idea…thanx
Comment by Jessica Lafortune on April 8, 2010 at 2:29pm
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Interesting twist–would love to see where this goes…
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 8, 2010 at 2:25pm
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ahaha! although that may have been an insult, are you saying I’m not charming enough to seduce the old guy? hmmm.
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on April 8, 2010 at 12:58pm
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LMAO! hey I think I know where the brother is!!!!

When September Comes

Posted in on August 18, 2011 by Illyria Taylor

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)

Posted in on August 8, 2011 by Illyria Taylor

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.