Land of Was

via Daily Prompt: Forest

I came across an elf one day
who happened across my forest way,
well actually, as it happened to be,
he dangled down from the limb of a tree.
With his feet up high and his head down low
I felt compelled to stop and not go.
I looked at him, he looked at me,
he looked at me and made a decree:
“I am the Elf of Lorilum,
I’d like to know from whence you come!”
I had never heard of this Lorilum place,
but I looked into his oval elf face.
I told him I came from the Land of Was
and Was, as it happens, is “did” and not “does.”
You see, I explained perhaps too fast,
everything we do is done in the past.
He dropped to the ground to land on his feet,
then looked at me and gritted his teeth,
he looked down again and said with a blurt-
“How can that be? that can’t possibly work!”
Of course it can, I tried to explain,
I started to walk and with me he came.
It’s really quite simple, I’ll tell you, you’ll see,
since we do in the past, the present is free.
We have all the time in the world to play
because everything was done just yesterday.
The elf he stopped and looked at me,
he frowned his face and tapped his knee;
“If I am to understand you right,
I may not, but I just might,
today you played and had your fun
and this little walk is already done.”
I smiled at him and nodded and said,
I think you got it, but I knew you did,
because this already happened in the Land of Was
and Was as it happens is “did” and not “does.”
The elf he stood, then he sat, then he thought,
and mulled in his mind the answer he sought.
Suddenly he rose and declared “I must go!”
“But surely,” he winked, “you must already know!”
So off he ran so spritely and quick,
away and away before a tock could go tick.
He appeared to me, my little elf friend,
at a place on my path, just where it bends.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me astray,
to sit by an oak and speak of the day.
This is peculiar, I said with a fright,
this hasn’t happened yesterday or last night.
“I know,” he said with a keen little grin,
a twinkle in his eye and a thrust of his chin.
“It’s a gate I have magicked with spells extraordinary,
to bring you to Lorilum and the Land of the Faerie.
It lays on your path, just where it bends,
it’s magicked for you and for you it opens.”
Why you have done this, I said, I don’t know,
I have always just went and never did go.
Away he ran for me to follow,
to new experiences for a me so callow.
Never did I know what would happen that day,
not a thing, not a place that happened my way.
He took me to sing, to play, to dance;
with elves and brownies through faerie rings prance.
A thousand year old dragon he took me to see,
on that day not a thing would I know it to be.
We went to a village, just there, by the brook,
where sat an old elf reading a book.
“Fi fiddle faddle,” my elf said, “brother elf,
and fiddledy fum or maybe a felf.”
“Why yes, I did faddle a few,” the old elf said,
and faddled a fuddle, or fuddled a qued.”
“You see,” said my elf, “if you have something to say,
this is not the place to say it, they don’t speak here that way.
They speak without meaning and say not a whit,
to say something of meaning, it just wouldn’t fit.”
Yes, I said, I know what you mean,
we have place like that to which I have been.
But now I think it is time to return,
I have seen much and much I did learn.
I’m a bit overwhelmed, all of this in one day,
what it is when one does something a new way.
Back, he took me, to the gate in the road,
and out of Lorilum together we strode.
He shook my hand and bid me to go,
we’ll meet again, I told him, I know.
He winked and he smiled as he turned away,
and whispered, “I too know we’ll meet here again some day,
because this is the Land of Was,
and Was as it happens is “did” and not “does.”



via Daily Prompt: Talisman

Flick peered at his image in the pool of water, spreading open his shirt at the chest to reveal his greatest mystery.  What are you?  He said to himself as he slowly stroked the amber colored object shaped like a ragged quarter moon that was embedded in his chest, over his heart.   Dink, dink, dink, it sounded when he tapped it lightly.  Whatever it was, it had been there for a while, longer than he could remember which was not really all that long.  His fair skin had healed around it, creating slightly rounded edges where it met the object.  All he could do was wonder at it as he could no more figure out what it was than pull it out of his chest.  The thing had resisted all attempts and caused him great pain when he and others had tried.

“What are you?” He whispered aloud then slapped his hand in the water, dispersing the image.  He dared not stare too long or too deep into the water, for it always brought painful images, so real seeming.  He did not understand them, they scared him, and he would avoid looking at them.  A sudden noise brought him to his senses.  He quickly scanned around him, his ears, eyes, and nose intent on finding the source.  Just as suddenly he relaxed as a big buck stepped into view.  Flick smiled and walked up to the powerful creature which showed no concern at his presence.

“Hey there, big fellow!”  He said, reaching out and stroking its neck, “I thought I might find you around here.”  The buck bobbed its head as if in greeting.  “How about a little favor?  I could use a ride if you would be so willing?”  The buck bobbed again and Flick took this as his cue, so he swung his lithe form onto deer’s back and grabbed the antlers at their base with both hands.  “Off we go then!”  He declared and the buck took off, leaping and bounding through the underbrush.

Flick had been getting the urge lately to visit Erienne, a calling really, one that he could not ignore.  He did not know why until he realized her birthday was once again approaching.  For as long as he could remember he would visit her on this and other occasions, watching her grow up from a little baby to where she was almost as old as he was.  He knew in a couple of years she would be older than him and when that time came, he did not know what would happen– if she would even want to see him any more.  But Flick, never one to dwell on “what if’s” let that thought fly away as he exhilarated in the power and speed of the buck swiftly moving through the trees.  He laughed gleefully at times as it hurdled over fallen trunks or bounded playfully along.

For a whole day the two traveled together, stopping to drink at crystal streams or eat wild berries, but steadily moving southward all the while, closer to Erienne.  And as dusk came, the sky burning purple and orange as the sun committed to its daily death, Flick reached the ruins.  This was his haunting ground but he had been up to see the Old Man of the Mountain, as the villagers liked to call him-the Healing Hermit was another name-but Flick knew him as Daerwyn the Mage.  People would travel for miles to make use of his healing magic, his potions and spells, and deny that it was anything but common remedies.  Magic was to be feared.  These were his, Flick’s ruins, and his home just a few miles from Erienne.

In the failing light of day and again at the first weak rays of a born-again sun, Flick could see almost as if it were real, the once great castle that stood there, its proud walls and prouder people, and then it would fade away leaving him with an oddly aching heart.  He did not know why, but he was comfortable here, secure.  It was not just a place he made his home, it felt like home in a way he could not understand.  Flick slid off the stag’s back and gave a friendly pat.

“Good ride my friend.  Surely there is not a more magnificent creature of this forest than you.”  The great buck appeared to puff its chest out with pride as Flick told it this.  “You have done me a great service and I shall repay you when you have need.”  The stag bobbed its head one last time while pawing the ground then turned and dashed off into the trees.

Now that his friend was gone, Flick noticed something was not quite right, something was different.  He extended his senses out once again, but could not find the source of what was troubling him.  Cautiously he moved through the rubble, one light step after another; his eyes, as keen as an owl’s at night, peered into shadowy corners, but did not find a thing.  After an hour of slinking around the extensive ruins, Flick stopped.

“Ah well,” he said to no one in particular, “it must be my imagination.”  Just then he realized that his dink-as he called it but Daerwyn called it a talisman-was throbbing slightly in his chest.  He looked down and could see a faint amber glow that pulsed in time with the throbbing, something that had never happened before.  “Curious,” he said, sitting down on a fallen stone to watch it and becoming disappointed shortly thereafter when it faded out.  He tapped at it with his finger, but nothing happened.  He sighed and let his shirt fall back into place, but he did feel somewhat more energized than usual.

As he lay back on the warm stone and watched the stars appear one by one in the darkening sky, Flick’s mind turned to the Mage, Daerwyn, vividly recalling the last, odd encounter he had had with his beloved friend.  Daerwyn’s normally serene face and excited blue eyes, framed by a magnificently long, white beard and bushy mustache, were scrunched up with worry.  His thick eyebrows furrowed in thought as his eyes darted furtively from place to place as they talked.

“What is wrong, Master Daerwyn?”  Flick had asked upon his arrival, noticing the agitation in his friend.

“Oh nothing,” he responded, managing to cast a wan smile in Flick’s direction as he mixed liquids from one vial into another.  “No, no, nothing at all.”

“If that’s the case, then why are you jumping around like a mouse in a room full of cats?”  Flick inquired, idly rolling an empty vial between his fingers.

“Didn’t sleep well, didn’t sleep well at all,” he muttered, holding the two vials up to the light as he poured an equal amount of liquid from one vial to the other so that they were even.  “Please, if you will, come here and give me a drop of your blood.”

“What for?”

“Because I asked you, now don’t dawdle the timing must be precise.”  Flick scuttled over to the Mage who handed him a needle.  “Now, do as I do as I do it.  Prick your right thumb only.”  They pricked their thumbs at the same time over the vials.  “Three drops only.”  Daerwyn snatched the vials away on the third drop and stuck them in a dark cubbyhole.

“What happens now?”  Flick asked, his curiosity getting a hold of him.


“Nothing?  Then why did we do it?”

“There is a shaft leading up from that cubbyhole and in three days time the full moon will pass directly over it, completing the potion.”

“What will it do?”

“It does not matter,” the Mage waved his hand absently, “you will be gone by then. Gone, gone, yes gone.”

“I will?”  Flick asked, somewhat hurt.  “I thought I might visit for a while.  You do not want me to stay?”

Suddenly Daerwyn became focused again, more like himself.  “It is not what I want, young Master Flick, it is a matter of what you must do.  I would have you stay forever, but that is a choice neither you nor I can make.”  His shoulders slumped and a tired hand went to his forehead as if to rub his troubled mind.

“You have seen something then?”

“Yes, but I do not as yet understand it, the stars and omens seem… confused, and I have spent the last few days without sleep trying to sort it out.”  His mellow voice was laced with strain and weariness.

“Then I will stay and help you figure it out!”  Flick added helpfully.

“No!”  The force of this statement startled Flick.  “I am sure of one thing, and that is you must go!”

“Go where?”

“Back, yes, back to where it is you come from . . . I think.”  His statement faded to uncertainty.

“I’ll leave in the morning, if that’s all right,” his voice still betraying a hint of hurt.

“Yes, yes, that’s fine.”  Then again he was focused.  “Be wary, my friend, things are changing, there is a great flux in the fabric of things, but I know not which way the scale of light and dark shall fall, only that you somehow are mixed up in it all.”  After saying that, he caringly placed his palm over the object, and Flick’s heart. 

Flick broke from his reverie, feeling disturbed.  He did not like that feeling, he preferred to be his happy, carefree self, after all, he was going to see Erienne.  Truth told, he had not thought much about what the old Mage had said until that moment, and he decided he did not like it very much.  After all, he thought, where do I come from?

“Oh Flick, oh Flick what shall we do?”  He called aloud as he leaped from stone to stone.  “The fate of the world is up to you! / The moon is bright and we’re all alone/ while darkness creeps on baggedy bones. / Fear ye not for lest ye fail/ at shadow’s feet forever quail!”  He said the last in a loud, quavering voice and then fell down laughing.  “What do you think, Dink?  What have you gotten me into?”


via Daily Prompt: Noise

About me, the hum,
the susurration of a billion souls,
a burning iron upon the anvil,
the hammer hard struck,
the stirrup unhitched,
awash in microtones
and cacophony,
at the fabric of my mind.

I scream, the noise,
with hands to ears,
for sense and sensibility,
for understanding,
to which there is none,
lives in macrocosm
and unfulfilled,
at the fabric of silence.


The Fact Is…

via Daily Prompt: Fact

Harder than usual the rain fell, catching the runnels in his hat, cascading off the back as he stared at the glaring neon sign advertising escape in sordid ways, uncaring of the deluge. Stepping of the curb into the street after a skidek sluiced by, he strode with a purpose towards the doors, determined that this night would give answers.

It was a dim and unhappening place.  A worn-out dancer moved naked on the small stage, out of rhythm with the pounding beat as two Krynor workers- still in uniform- openly touched themselves as they gazed on in a Torpor-huff infused stupor. Legal as it was, Torpor-huff sticks were bad business, so he was careful to avoid inhaling the mist as he made his way across the floor to the bar.

The Synthoid offered him prompt service as there was no one else, but Gaelyn was not there for cheap-brewed booze and other artificents. Off-world he had come, following the stardust trail that had led him to this place.

“A drink, sir?” it inquired in a neutral, warm seductive tone.  Its soft, almond-colored eyes set in a pleasing face framed by auburn hair, tried to engage his blue eyes, but he kept them averted as he knew the gaze sent a subliminal message to drink and spend. The synthoid ended at her cleavage, below the bar top was just mechanics.  This place was a front and an affront, and he knew that coming in.

“No,” Gaelyn said, “but I have a truth to tell.”

As simple as that statement was, it had taken him years and many credits to uncover the pass-phrase. It had cost him his job and his wife to find this final location thirteen parsecs from his own world and the nightmare that had been thrust upon him and his family.  And he had killed, many times over and without regret, to arrive at that particular place in time.

The effect was immediate. “Stand for scan,” the synthoid ordered, so he stood back with nothing to fear.  Its eyes turned violet as it scanned him for weapons, of which it could find none. “Hand,” it intoned, so he laid his hand palm down on the the bar top and then felt a tingling as something was electronically imprinted on it. Nothing else was said as it flicked its eyes sideways to indicate a darkened hallway at the back of the club.

A mirror faced him at the end, showing him the haggard man he had become, not in his clothes as they were still dapper and clean, but in the lines of his face and the gray of his hair.  Ten years of constant search and sorrow had made a map upon his features that any blind person could comprehend. Gaelyn pressed his imprinted hand against the surface and it dissolved away, then he stepped through.

There, in the office, was a man of middling height, his legs up on his desk with monitors surrounding him- some of the club; some of the galactic feeds; and some, Gaelyn noticed as it used to be his job, tracking galactic shipments, which he could only assume to his own reason for being there.

“Which one is yours?” the balded man of ebony skin asked Gaelyn while indicating the shipping monitors with a casual wave of his hand- cargo ships he knew to be carrying young girls and boys.

Gaelyn cleared his throat. “The fact is, none of them are mine, Jubte.”

Confusion etched his face as he regarded the man before him. “Then how are you here?”

“Because I have money and I am determined, and I am vengeful. And most importantly, I have nothing left to lose.”

Jubte laughed. “I don’t know how you got here, but ‘the fact is’ you will not leave here alive.  You are a very foolish man.”

Gaelyn smiled.  “You are right on both accounts.  The fact is, my daughter is dead because of you, as well as many other daughters and sons. The fact is, I know your operation extends five floors below this level. The fact is, we are all going to die.”

Jubte reached for the blaster hidden under his desk at the precise moment Gaelyn grabbed his right index finger and twisted, sending the signal for the elements that he had injected into his body to coalesce. And as Jubte raised the blaster to center on Gaelyn’s chest, the vengeful father gave the final command.

“Judgement day,” he whispered, and his body exploded with the force of a one megaton atomic bomb.

Certain Things

via Daily Prompt: Premonition

Okay, I tried doing a poem about this but it felt forced and inauthentic, so I am going to try something I rarely do, which is give a little piece of me. I am not a follower of religion, but I believe in a higher force. I believe the universe has a consciousness of sorts, which in turn results in a collective consciousness accessible by “localized” planetary communities… so to speak.  It is a rough theory.

I also believe in genetic memory, but that is another story.

Premonition is something that I have had a few times in my life; undeniable and not linked to instinct or a subliminal interpretation of little clues strewn about here and there; and then some get a little weirder after the fact, one of which I will not bring up because it disturbs me so.

So, a piece of me that I am opting to share as an author in order to connect with my audience.  I remember this one clearly as a boy of thirteen, standing under the pine tree in my front yard- my dad always bought live pines for Christmas and then planted them in the yard- and for no reason just looked up in thought, knowing that at some point I would be involved in two wars, and that I would be okay.  This came to pass.

A few years later, shortly after getting my first job at a doughnut shop post-high school, I knew for no reason at all, that the baker who was a woman four years my senior, was someday going to be my wife. No reason I tell you.  I was a dork in high school, her brother was ahead of me and a very popular football player, and she was a pretty bike racer who could have made it to the Olympics if she had had the proper support. But I knew we would be married- this came to pass.

And then, prior to my second deployment to a war zone on a year-long assignment, I just knew that both my parents would die, so I went to visit before hand, as I believe that funerals are irrelevant to the dead and are only for those who cling to memories and sorrows. I would rather see them alive one more time. I did not share my vision with them and yes, they were not in optimal health, but there was no reason to believe that they would not live many more years past their 76th.  This, too, came to pass as my mother died one month after my deployment ( two days before my youngest son’s birthday) and my dad three months before my return (three days before my birthday).

And the weirdest thing yet is that about a year later I received an e-mail from my mother’s hotmail account, the three lines truncated as if it was very difficult to type, listing three very unique, only-she-could-know things in my life.  Nobody in my family could explain it.

These are my premonitions.