Hero

I fought a dragon.
After weeks of ignoring
the scratches appearing
on my doorstep.
After all my jewelry
and not a scrap of cash
went missing.
After not so petty arson.

I prepped for the dragon.
My shield was for riots.
My sword had six chambers,
size .45.
A wise old guide
I just call grandpa
provided it.
//The shield came from Ebay.

I hunted the dragon.
In parks past midnight
and buildings past their prime
day after day.
It's incredible
what cement and drywall
can hide.
What we can ignore.

I found the dragon.
Reclining in a basement
on a modest golden horde.
The wyrm's head lifted.

It blinked away sleep.
I blinked away sweat.
It drew itself up.
I drew my weapon.
It gathered its fire.
I opened mine.

Two shots.
Heart.
Eye.
Done.

I can't be more specific.

I feel a little vague,
as though my edges were a blur,
my speech a slur
that begins and ends
with white noise.

It's a funny kind of state,
being an open set, continuum,
divergent sum
that does not know
to be discrete.

I could lay down lines
just past blue, just short of green
and me in between,
but lines cut
off my extremities.

I'll stick, for now, with vague,
like a developing ideal,
unrealized, real,
and impossible
to explain.

Two random, as they were thought "poems."

It was cold, and he did not have pockets.
It was dark, and he forgot about the dresser.
It was late, and he could not sleep.
It was time, and he was not there.



On the mountains with
the shadows
that sleep,
in a place forgotten
by the rain,
the dust
remembers what it
was
and weeps.

Dream Log 55: Summer Glau Beats Up Everyone

Imagine one of those "The making of" programs that plays clips from a movie along with commentary and behind the scenes footage. Now, imagine that Summer Glau (River Tam in Firefly) and a few other nerdom superstars decided to make a spoof of every science fiction action film ever made.

Cut to a scene of the cast running dramatically through an enemy spaceship. Suddenly, a massive contingency of black-uniformed soldiers appears to block their path. Everyone steps back and Summer just lets loose with her fists, and guns when she bothers to pick them up.

"Some Firefly fans might be disappointed by the fight scenes because I never use an axe or a sword. However, I'd argue that the larger corpse count makes up for the lower brutality," Summer said from a commentary bubble in the corner.

After the heroes destroyed the main computer of the ship, (which they recognized by its unnecessarily inaccessible placement over a giant hole in the ground because where else do you put important things in scifi?) they were about to abscond unharmed in an escape pod.

"Wait!" one of the heroes cried, "We can't leave yet!"

"Why not?"

"One more thing has to happen." As he spoke, an unnamed character in a red shirt ran towards the escape pod doors, which of course started to close by inches. Limping hard on the red shirt's heals were several zombified enemy soldiers. The man and several of the zombie limbs made it part way through the door. Only part way though. The crunched closed, leaving the head of the red shirt and a rotting leg and arm in the pod. The heroes looked at the gore silently.

"Okay! Now we can go!"

Vasovagal Syncope

            “Is she having a seizure?”

That was the first thing I heard after regaining consciousness. I could not remember how I ended up on my back in the hallway of the animal shelter. Soon though, I put two and two together. About as quickly, the event that triggered the faint came rushing back. A vet rubbing the needle plunged into the poor Chihuahua’s vein, teasing reluctant blood into her syringe. The words “We’ll have to go for the jugular.” They seemed more real than the blurry faces of the other volunteers hovering over me.

 “She’s not having a seizure. It’s nothing to worry about.” My mom’s voice penetrated the fog. She helped me up and guided me out of the hallway and to a seat. By that time, embarrassment had replaced my confusion. I’m a failure. The thought shuddered through me. I’m a coward. I’m weak. As the shame welled up, so did tears. This did nothing to alleviate my shame. I tucked into a ball, forehead against knees, and tried in vain to suppress the sobs wracking me. Mom didn’t touch me. She didn’t speak to me. I loved her for it. She has always understood that when I cry, comfort is the last thing I want.

How could this have happened? Until that moment, I had always seen myself as strong stomached. While my sister would cower on a chair, I would squash spiders and earwigs, usually using her shoes. Whenever my cat left half eaten mice on our doorstep, I would take a pair of toothpicks and poke through the remains to see what rodent organs look like before disposing of it and thoroughly washing my hands. When the same cat had an infection so severe that the veterinarian had to insert a tube into the wound to allow the pus to drain, I alone in my house could stomach cleaning and wiggling the tube three times a day to prevent it from healing into the cat. If none of this fazed me, why would a needle bring me literally to my knees? I had no answer. All I knew was that I had met defeat where I had not even expected a challenge.

“Did you hurt anything when you fell?” the vet asked once I had calmed down. Pride came to mind, but I did not trust my tongue enough to attempt a joke. I shook my head instead. She continued to speak, saying something about it being a common reaction and so on and so forth. I knew she meant well, but the word common was not one I wanted applied to me. My mom deflected the rest of the vet’s comments. Once Dad met up with us, we started a long and silent ride home. By the time we got back, I had recovered enough to talk, and talk I did. I discussed weakness and embarrassment with my mother. I discussed failure with my father. I compared notes on fainting with my sister, who had passed out years before when getting her own blood drawn. After looking long and hard at the whole situation, I came to accept two things; I have a mild phobia. It does not define me. I did no more to develop this problem than a sick person does to catch a cold. It’s just the cards I was dealt. What is up to me is how I play them.

Fast forward a year. I had to have a checkup. The nurse did her weighing and measuring. The doctor listened to my heart and examined my ears. Then, she asked her obligatory questions. Have I been drinking? No. Have I done any drugs? No. Have I noticed anything out of the ordinary?

“Actually, I noticed a bump on my neck. It’s probably nothing.” I showed her the offending spot.

“Well, it’s likely a swollen gland. You might have a tiny bug in your system. I can take a blood sample to check white blood cell count.”

I hesitated long enough to swallow. “Okay. But just so you know, I’ll need to sit for a while afterwards. Needles and I aren’t great friends.”

She assured me that wouldn’t be a problem and collected her equipment. I leaned back in the paper covered chair and breathed. The doctor tied the tourniquet around my arm. I could feel the warmth building slightly in my fingers. Next came the cotton swab. I picked four numbers at random. 1, 4, 5, 8. As the needle pierced my skin, I kept my mind entirely focused on how I could make those numbers add up to 24. Dizziness still crept up, and my stomach rolled over, but the darkness did not close in. By the time I had come up with a solution, the procedure was over, the dizziness had passed, and I could walk out of the office unassisted.

Heimsuchen

Ich schleiche durch deine Tiefe
im Innern deiner Seele.
Ich finde den zähen
heimlichen Ort des Dichs.
Ich zerstöre ihn.

Barbarossa

>>Wo sind wir denn?<< Nina fragte ihren Wanderpartner, Jonah.
>>äh...irgendwo auf dem Kyffhäuserberg, das ist bestimmt. Warte mal, ich lese die Karte wieder.<< Jonah kämpfte mit einer großen Karte, die ganz deutlich gefaltet bleiben wollte.
>>Na schön, das haben wir nicht tausendmal versucht,<< spottete Nina. Jonah beachtete sie nicht. Karla rastete auf einem Felsen und beobachtete den Himmel. >>Wir hätten mit einer Gruppe wandern sollen. Besser gesagt, du hättest mich davon abhalten sollen, allein zu gehen.<<
>>Das hab ich<< sagte Jonah, ohne weg von der Karte zu blicken, >>Ich bin mitgegangen, oder?"
>>tja, also meine Freunde sind sowohl treu als auch dumm. Das Leben ist schön. Guck mal!<< rief Nina plötzlich. Sie zeigte auf einem Adler, der mühelos durch die Luft glitt. >> Er ist so groß wie ein Hund!<<
Jonah schützte seine Augen vor der Sonne, um besser zu sehen. Als er den Vogel ansah, tauchte er nach etwas außer Sicht. Einge schwarzen Vögel flatterte davon.>> Was macht er?<<
>>Jagt?<<
>>Das stimmt nicht. Adler jagen kleine Säuger, oder? Das sind nur Raben.<<
>>Ach, das ist ja total egal! Schau mal was ein Stück darunter liegt. Ich habe ein Lehrpfadschild erkannt!<< Bevor er selbst das Schild finden konnte, war Nina einige Meter auf dem Weg.
>>Warte auf mich!<< rief er. Sie verlangsamte sich für eine Minute, doch ihre Begeisterung stieg an, und bald lief sie trotz ihres Freundes. Kurz danach tauchte sowohl Jonah als auch Nina in der Nähe vom Schild auf, aber Nina war vier Meter droben auf einer engen Felsbank.
>>Verdammt noch mal!<< fluchte sie leise. >>Jonah! Ich habe mich geiirt. wieder.<<
>>Beweist das denn, dass du irr bist?<< lächelte er.
>>Ach,<< schmollte sie, >>Das tritt mir zu nahe.<<
>>In scharfem Gegensatz zu dir. Du trittst nicht nahe genug!<<
>>Ich hasse dich.<<
>>Komm herunter. Dann kannst du mich ins Gesicht schlagen.<<
>>Na ja, wie kann ich...<< Nina sah sich um. Ihr Blick traf auf ein Loch in der Felswand hinter ihr. >>Nanu, ich hab etwas gefunden. Ich propiere es aus.<<
>>Nina, heute bist du zweimal verlaufen, weil du nicht einfach gewartet haben. Hältest du es wirklich für eine gute Idee, noch einmal rücksichtslos wegzulaufen?<<
Natürlich hörte Nina kein Wort. Sie war gerade durch das Loch gegangen. Die Finsternis nahm sie auf. Sie tastete nach ihrer Taschenlampe und schaltete sie ein. Anstatt eine Höhle, sah Nina eine Halle. Bunte Pfeiler stützten eine gewölbte Decke. Ihr Licht stieß auf Kronleuchter, Dekorschilde, und Dekorschwerter. Dann fiel ihr Blick auf einen gewaltigen Steintisch. Teller, Flaschen und Silberware lagen auf dem Tisch. Am obersten Ende saß ein Mann.
Nina ließ die Taschenlampe fallen. Das Licht ging aus. Sie hockte so nah an der Wand wie möglich und blieb da, kaum atmend. Eine halbe Minute verging im Schweigen. Schüttelnd fand sie das Licht und schaltete sie wieder ein. Der Mann bewegte sich nicht. Sein bleicher Kopf stützte sich auf dem Tisch, und eine knorrige Hand ruhte daneben. Als Nina ihm langsam näher kam, bemerkte sie, dass er nicht totenbleich war, sondern er war einfach tot und hatte sich zum Skelett verwandelt.

>>Das habe ich nicht erwartet.<< Ohne zu zögern, stieß sie den hautlosen Schädel mit dem Finger. So bald sie es beruhrte, war die Hölle los.

Auf halbem Weg bergauf hörte Jonah einen Schrei. Er beeilte sich und erreichte das Loch in der Wand. Nina stand fassungslos neben dem Tisch, ihre Taschenlampe lieg auf dem Boden. >>Nina?<< fragte Jonah. Sie kam zur Vernunft und wendete ihm zu. Ihre Stimme klang ungewöhnlich grob.

>>Wer bist du und wessen Leiche benutze ich?<<