Speak to Me

English: Corn Field

Corn Field (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Violet flowers in the yellow corn.
Red splashes on the green blades of grass.
Like the grass and the flowers we invaded this corn field,
And like the grass and the flowers we are more eye-catching than the actual corn.
I still love you,
Even though you have grown colder lately.
And I would never hurt you,
But you did not seem to understand.
It must have been the flowers,
The violent violet flowers,
They forced my hand,
Because I would never hurt you,
And even now when you are colder than ever,
Black eyelashes on white skin,
I love you.
I want you to know that I love you.
Tell me that you know I love you.
But the violent flowers sway with the corn in the breeze,
And the red dries to brown,
And you won’t speak to me.

35 Hold My Hand


Cheshire Cat

Cheshire Cat (Photo credit: thethreesisters)

Will you hold my hand?
In spite of the great marble halls
And the pale light that is reflected in the bejeweled chandeliers,
I am so cold in this wonderland of yours.
Only the Cheshire Cat sees me as I am,
His grin showing up in strange places during the dances,
And he never stays long.
All roads lead to the queen.
Without you, I dare not go anywhere for fear of losing my head.
They say the eyes are windows to the soul,
I just wish you would let me see yours properly.
But I feel close to your soul when you hold my hand.
So will you hold my hand?
And I will do my best not to get frostbite.


Silk Veils



Bellydance Veil Swirl 2

Bellydance Veil Swirl (Photo credit: VelvetJAM)

Silk veils float through the air around her as she dances. My nephew said her veils were like snakes, moving on their own, but snakes have no place in the ethereal vision I see before me.


She is lithe like a cat, but I feel the cheetah in her too. There is strength in those elegant legs that I suspect would be able to run down any antelope, and as I watch her I feel some of that strength return to my shrivelled body. I feel again the wind in my hair as I rode to battle in my war chariot, the arrow between my fingers as I drew back the bowstring.


Her dark eyes flash at me when she whirls past, and I remember the smell of blood and the sound of fracturing bones as I rolled over fallen bodies with my chariot.


She wraps a red veil around her hands and I see that my own hands are smeared with blood. Which is strange, because I always killed with my bow or my chariot and never touched a dead body, so how did so much blood end up on my hands?


Her movements slow, and her body writhes as if in agony. A pressure in my chest makes me gasp. It grows and I feel an urgency to hang on although I am not sure what I am hanging on to. So I fasten my eyes on the dancer and admire her full lips and long fingers, finding it still harder to breathe as her dance becomes faster. When darkness creeps in at the corners of my eyes, I think: ‘No. Not yet. She has not finished her dance.’ As if I expected that the darkness would not only be able to hear my thoughts, but also care about my wishes.


She leaps.


And I see no more of her dance.


The Estate Agent (part 2 of 2)


Dakota, a grey wolf at the UK Wolf Conservatio...

A grey wolf.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Corey turned around and saw a pair of bright yellow eyes. A pair of bright yellow eyes that bored into him and caught him like a deer in headlights.

‘Why are you here?’ the man asked. Corey gasped.

‘That’s just the estate agent,’ said a voice Corey recognized. The man with the yellow eyes turned his head away and Corey breathed more freely. With the eyes off him, Corey noticed that the man looked no more than thirty, except his thick hair was steel grey.

‘But why he’s here, I don’t know,’ continued Harald.

‘Just get rid of him,’ snarled the man and strode off. Corey wiped a bead of sweat from his freckled temple.

‘Herr Wolffram likes his privacy,’ said Harald.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Corey, ‘I … I’m sorry.’ He looked from Mr Wolffram’s retreating back to Harald.

‘He’s getting married tomorrow,’ said Harald, ‘a very private service, I suggest you don’t attend. Also, I suggest you never turn up here again, understand?’ Harald raised his eyebrows.

Corey nodded.

However, on his way home he could not forget how much that cellar had looked like a prison cell.


It became dark at six o’clock. Corey parked his car about half a mile up the road from the gate and climbed over the fence, losing only a small piece of his sleeve on the way. A full moon made the tree shadows crisp and black. He stayed in the shadows on his way up to the house where the lights were only on in one room on the ground floor. There were no extra cars parked outside. If this was a wedding it was indeed a very private one. He sneaked up to the cellar windows. A dim light shone from them as well. Behind the bars on the naked mattress, he saw a young woman. Her long brown curls draped over her shaking shoulders. Whether the shaking was from cold or sobs he could not tell, but he suddenly felt a hard angry knot tighten in his stomach. Should he try to contact her? Let her know that help was on the way? No, he could not risk alerting Mr Wolffram or Harald. With warning they might get away with it.

Corey dug his mobile phone out of his pocket and a hand reached out and took his wrist in a fierce grip.

‘Ah!’ said Corey at the sudden pain.

‘Drop the phone,’ said Harald.

‘You’ll pay for this,’ said Corey.

‘Pay for what?’ said Harald, ‘I assure you, neither Herr Wolffram nor I have done anything wrong. Now drop the phone.’

‘No,’ said Corey, ‘I’ll help that poor girl no matter what.’

‘Nothing you can do can help her now,’ said Harald.

‘You’re sick!’

‘Oh, am I?’ Harald twisted Corey’s arm behind his back, forced him to his knees and took his mobile phone, ‘Watch.’

Behind the bars the young woman was shaking violently.

‘Is she having some sort of attack?’ asked Corey.

‘She is turning for the first time,’ said Harald.

The woman was gripped by a series of convulsions. She clawed at her skin leaving long bloody lines. Corey saw something protruding from between her teeth. After a while he recognized it as a wolf snout. There was an audible crunch and rip as her face split apart and then a brown wolf shook bits of flesh and bone from its fur. The wolf snapped. It fell on the mattress tearing it to shreds so that the stuffing flew left and right, sticking to the blood on the floor and what was still left in the wolf’s fur. Then the wolf ran around the room, snapped at its own tail, barked and at last slumped onto the floor amongst the sorry remains of the mattress. For a short while the wolf just lay there on the floor panting. Then a grey wolf entered the room. It took a few steps towards the brown wolf, paused, took a few steps more. When it came close to the brown wolf, the grey one gave the other’s muzzle a careful lick. The brown wolf raised its head slightly and the grey one licked some more of the blood from its mate’s fur.


‘I’ll keep your phone,’ said Harald, ‘I promise you, it will be properly disposed of. By the time you can reach another phone from here, I’ll have tidied up the room and the newlyweds will be off into the forest. I suggest you hurry back to your car in case they attack you when they get out. Good night to you.’ Harald let go and walked up to the front door.


When Corey was back in his car gripping the wheel with trembling hands, he heard a long spine chilling howl. He never returned to the mansion.

The Estate Agent (part 1 of 2)

The Governor's Mansion in Virginia, 1905

The Governor’s Mansion in Virginia, 1905 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 ‘Mr Wolffram, I presume?’ said Corey reaching out his hand to the man with the neat moustache and circular spectacles.

‘No,’ the man shook his hand with a very firm grip, ‘Herr Wolffram is my client,’ continued the man, ‘I am Harald,’ his accent was almost imperceptible ‘Harald Heisenberg. No relation to the physicist.’

‘Oh.’ Corey blinked, he did not know any physicists. ‘Just let me unlock the gate and we can be off.’ He unlocked the tall iron gate. ‘Shall I drive you?’

‘I’ll go in my own car, thank you.’


‘This is it,’ said Corey as Harald stepped out of his car. With one hand Corey indicated the mansion. The facade was white, where the paint had not peeled off and left it grey, and it had a pair of pillars on each side of the front door. There were large French windows, also mostly white, with a row of short bushes underneath with small white flowers.

‘It needs a bit of paint of course,’ said Corey, ‘but even now I feel it still has some of its grandeur.’

‘Is this a belladonna bush?’ asked Harald. He was studying a bush by the side of the driveway with lots of small black berries.

‘Yes,’ said Corey, ‘I think so. They have beautiful flowers in summer.’

‘Hm.’ Said Harald wrinkling his nose slightly at the plant. He straightened up, took a small, red notebook out of an inside pocket and scribbled a note. ‘Let’s have a look inside.’ Harald strode towards the door.  


‘How thick are these walls?’ asked Harald, knocking on the walls of the cellar.

‘Pretty thick,’ said Corey, ‘why?’

‘And these bars in the windows,’ Harald grabbed one of the bars and pulled at it a bit. ‘When were they fitted?’

‘Oh, a long time ago,’ said Corey, ‘but you could get them removed fairly easily, I think.’

‘Hm.’ He said and scribbled in his red note book. ‘Need new ones,’ he muttered. ‘How far are the nearest neighbours?’

‘About two miles down the road from the gate,’ said Corey.

‘Good.’ Harald made a last note and snapped the note book shut. ‘We’ll take it.’


The next Saturday, Corey drove up to the mansion, just to see how things were. About halfway up the driveway, he passed the van of the local handyman, but when he reached the mansion he could not see any change at first. Then he noticed that there was some white dust under the bushes and around the corner of the house. He followed it and saw that some new rather thick bars had been installed in the cellar windows. The room inside was empty except for a double mattress. The bars made it look like a prison cell.

‘Why are you here?’ said a gruff voice and a shadow came between Corey and the sun. 

‘I can do it’

English: A smuggler of rare birds busted by th...

A smuggler of rare birds busted by the U.S. Customs and Border Protection at a U.S. border (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


‘I can do it,’ she said.

‘No you can’t.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Yes, I can. And what’s more,’ she licked her lips, ‘I’ll do it alone.’

‘No, you won’t.’

‘Are you going to try and stop me?’

‘No, but the police will.’

‘The police won’t get me.’

‘They got your sister,’ I said.

She sucked at her teeth.

‘And she had years of experience, while you … Well, have you ever smuggled anything across any kind of border before?’

She shook her head.

‘So get a proper job,’ I said.

‘I already have a job,’ she said, ‘and I can barely pay my own rent.’

‘Get another,’ I said, ‘and wait for her to come out. Perhaps she’ll even pay you back.’

She shook her head.

‘I can do it,’ she said.



On Octavia st., towards the entrance to the 10...

What’s left after the crash. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He was a young man when it happened. As everyone else at his age, he thought himself invincible and immortal.
When he flew through the air the wreck of his motorcycle smoking against the crash barrier, he thought that he would give anything not to die. So we slowed down time for him to let him hear our offer. Would he give us his soul if we let him survive?
But he was cautious.
‘My soul?’ he said, ‘who are you?’
‘We can save your life. The price is your soul. When you die.’
‘But how long will that give me?’ he asked.
‘You cannot know that.’
‘Can you make sure that I don’t die in some dumb accident?’
‘We can.’
‘What about illnesses?’
‘We can make sure you don’t die of one.’
‘Old age.’
‘We can stop it from killing you, yes.’
‘But you’ll take my soul.’
‘We will.’
‘Will it be painful?’ he asked.
‘It will.’
‘But only when I die.’
‘And I won’t die in an accident, because of illness or old age?’
‘None of those will kill you.’


He woke in the hospital encased in plaster. All the doctors said it was a miracle that he even survived. He healed over time, except his knee which had been shattered completely. He got a prosthetic knee made which only gave him trouble occasionally, but we were patient.


We watched others and enjoyed old meals while he celebrated life with alcohol and cigarettes. Then at fifty-two a tumour began to grow in his chest. Only we noticed it the first six months. Then he got a scan and they battled the tumour with everything they had. He was in the hospital for two whole years. After some training he learnt to walk again, but we were patient.


He can still walk, barely, and his daughter visits him often. However, we have noticed his face in the mirror after he has taken his daily pills to quench the symptoms of other pills and the age that has crept into his body. We have followed his thoughts on the long lonely nights in his small flat which he more and more seldom cleans. We sharpen our teeth and we are patient.


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