#like some sort of deranged Oprah | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

unexpected, expected beginnings pt. 2

Summary: Ice skating was tolerable, especially with Jonathan by Y/N’s side, but how will things be during dinner?

word count: 1,487 reading time aprox: 5 mins

part 1

Narrator’s pov

It seems that the hours of prancing on ice with Jonathan has uplifted Y/N’s spirits as her smile seemed brighter and her eyes shone a natural glow. Although, their sore feet and aching ankles has sent them into a quarry of discomfort and exhaustion, without even mentioning the unspeakable roars Y/N’s stomach began to produce.

With this, they’ve gathered their belongings and made their merry way to a familiar diner near the ice rink, bringing along our jubilant Timothee and his companion.

y/n’s pov

With one foot into the door, being held graciously by Jonathan, the variant smells of waffle fries and homemade pecan pie hugged my nose. I took in a generous inhale as chatter filled the cozy and inviting atmosphere, a smile appearing on my face. A small event in which was inadvertently reciprocated by Timothee while he observed from afar, but soon fell short as Jonathan did the same.

I gave Jonathan a curt nod, thanking him for the simple gentlemen act and proceeded to grab a round booth at the corner of the restaurant. Shortly after, a waitress came by to give us menus and take orders, spilling out the daily special and various deserts offered after dinner.

I turned around to speak to Jonathan next to me, but was cut off by Timothee’s voice hastily overpowering my own.

“Jon, what are you ordering?” He asked, staring intently at his menu, not bothering with the simple courtesy of eye contact.

“Uh...I’ll take some homemade lasagna with a coke” He responded scanning the menu in front of me.

“I want some lasagna too” Timothee’s company chided in, speaking with such a perky and shrill voice that made me want to stuff my ears; Timothee giving her a dreary smile in response.

Focusing on my own menu, I browsed through the array of combos, drinks, and something that resembled my uncle Tom’s sunday meat loaf, until, I recognized my go-to meal.

I went to speak up, but the waitress had already arrived, leaving my mouth at an inopportune state once again. With that, I closed my menu, letting out a breath of impertinence and proceeded with the evening.

“What would everybody like this fine day?” She had asked, peering at all of us while she took out her notepad.

“Uhh, I would like New York style waffle fries with a grilled chicken wrap, if you’ll have me” Timothee began, humorously ordering the same platter he would always have when we’d go out on our late night dates. “Also, two orders of Lasagna and-” He paused, turning to Jonathan and the girl. “Jon you said you wanted a milkshake right?”

With a nod from Jonathan, he directed his attention to the girl beside him that was neatly folding her napkin into- what looked like a goose that had been run over by a tractor many times.

“Mikaile?” He asked, awaiting her response.

Mikaile, huh, so that’s her name. Mikalie the one who can’t skate. Mikalie with the shrill voice. Mikalie who folds her napkins into crippled birds. How...imaginative?

“I’ll have the same as Jonathan, please” She replied.

Well at least she has manners.

The waitress nimbly wrote the orders down, humming while she did so. Anticipating for Timothee to finish, I took this as an opportunity to announce what I was going to order, in which I was again left with my tongue stapled to the roof of my mouth as I was, apparently, unable to speak with Timothee dictating the table.

“Yes, two orders of chocolate milkshakes for them, an ice tea for me...” He continued. I leaned back on my chair, crossing my arms in discontent, scoffing at the complete disregard he’s been displaying in the duration of dinner. Nevertheless, I was proven wrong when catching the last bit of his order.

“...and for Y/N, Parmesan chicken with extra Mac’n Cheese on the side with a peach ice tea, please” Timothee ordered with a sense of confidence in his tone.

I pinched the skin of my knuckle, hiding the redness forming on my cheeks while Jonathan and Mikalie stared at me with surprise and underlying malice. Then, Timothee did the unthinkable and bore straight into my eyes stating, “Unless that isn’t your favorite anymore” hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

“That would be fine” I replied in the most conquerable diplomatic tone and strayed my eyes away from his, attempting to be stone cold.

With a nod, the waitress gathered our menus and hurried off into the kitchen. Timmy then paid his attention to his guest, ignoring the silent standoff that occured and proceeded to whisper sweet nothings to her. I scoffed as I visibly peered at the two, a sinking feeling in my stomach really eliminating any hunger I had. Until, I felt a warm hand clasp over my clenched ones. There lay Jonathan’s palms, his fingers running over my thumb as a comforting gesture.

I smiled at him in appreciation, scooching over to lay my head on his shoulder for some reassurance and warmth, while I processed my emotions.

After dinner, we all agreed to walk each other to the 7 train, chatting about school and our future plans.

“I want to be an engineer” said Jonathan. “After finishing up my 2 years in Columbia, I want to transfer to M.I.T” He elaborated, staring forward at the streetlights, like his future was laid out in front of him. “I know it may sound ambitious and cra-” He bashfully began justifying, before I cut him off.

“No, no. I think it’s amazing that your aspirations are out of this world, not a lot of people have that sort of luxury” I replied, a forlorn expression crossing my face which seemed to have caught Timmy’s attention as he listened to mine and Jonathan’s conversation.

“Well didn’t you want to be a surgeon Y/N?” Timothee proposed out of nowhere. I turned to observe him, noticing the stale sympathetic gaze that his eyes would uncover.

“Well, yes. But, I don’t think that I have enough- or am good enough to”

“I know you’re good enough Y/N. You’re capable and intelligent, I know whatever you put your mind to, you’ll do” Timothee butted in, speaking with such authority and displease the second he heard the words begin to form on my lips. “At least, well- at least that’s what I’ve learned in the many years that I’ve known you-” He paused, hesitating to continue, while he kicked the small pebbles that were scattered along the cracked sidewalk.

“And trust me, I know you”

No one said anything after that, Jonathan had tried clearing his throat a few times to make small talk, but I’d reply with dry responses as my mind was too hectic. A plethora of uncensored thoughts would run around my head in a frenzy, disturbing any sort of sanity I upheld.

It seemed to be the same for Timothee as he gazed at his phone screen, not even looking up to reply whenever his date would speak to him. Mikalie would occasionally glance sideways at me and Timothee, suspicious of the whole interaction, but kept quiet the whole way to the station.

When we arrived, we said our silent goodbyes as I hugged Jonathan and gave a mannerable nod at Mikalie, watching them as they turned their backs and boarded the train. Jonathan stared at me from the window with a pitiful, yet reassuring look, seeing that I was left alone with Timothee. With that, the train’s engine began to chug, eliciting an ear piercing noise while the wheels grazed against the metal tracks.

“It’s amazing how we’ve lived in New York for the longest and I still can’t get over that noi-” He attempted to make small talk, gazing at the invisible stars above.

“Okay, what do you want Timmy? Because I- I’m so tired of dealing with you, especially tonight” I shook my head at him in frustration, my mouth unable to form the words fast enough to keep up with the unladylike thoughts running through my mind. “Like the dinner, the ice rink, th-the impromptu inspirational speech, like who are you Oprah?”

“Well, I wish I was Op-”

“Oh my god, Timmy. You’re actually deranged, it’s incredible”

“You think I’m incredible”

“I can’t. Just what was all that. Th-then, your date and-nd like, why her?”

I continued to ramble my uncensored thoughts with every breath, pacing back and forth like a lunatic as I dragged my fingers through my hair. I would’ve proceeded to spend the night scolding Timothee, but it seemed like he had other plans as cupped my cheeks in both his hands and decided to press his lips against my rambling ones for a few seconds, then pulling away.

“Pardon me, you’ve always looked cute when you were mad and it looked like you were losing oxygen by how red your face was beginning to appear”

228 notes · View notes

unorthodoxx-page · 3 years

Text

Blurb #2 - Numbers and Monsters

I’m not going to lie, this one was hard to write. I couldn’t really find a voice or figure out what story I really wanted to tell. I’ve given myself a time limit when it comes to these blurbs as to not over think them, and I used every last second.

All in all, I think its ok, but not really great.

As always, let me know what you think!

P.S: This was also a book idea but idk. It’s not really speaking to me.

THE BEGINNING

It started in Andorra, or that’s what the ICTF tells us, it’s hard to be sure. It happens like this. Twenty years ago, an Andorran boy named Biel posts a picture of a mysterious tattoo on his arm. It’s a simple tattoo really, just eight small numbers going down the length of his forearm. In the post he claims to have no idea where it came from or what the numbers represents; and he asks if anyone else experienced the same phenomenon. The post receives little attention, a few comments mentioning dates and hoaxes, but doesn’t break over fifteen likes, and why would it? There’s nothing interesting or remarkable about the post, just a blurry candid shot of his arm. So, it gets lost in a sea of viral hopefuls turned losers, their account holders sighing in disappointment when their special moments are deemed mediocre by the world. There’s nothing about it after that, and there’s a half-hearted vacation pic on his Facebook the following day.

Ten days later an avalanche in Arinsal buries Biel and his mysterious tattoo along with him. His accounts are deactivated, and the world keeps scrolling.

Sometime later, a blurry picture comes out of a small town near Konkan Hills, India. The picture shows a ritual of some sort, capturing a man praying over a child. Old as the land he kneels on, mouth frozen in hymn, he sprinkles the girl in vibrant dust. this picture captures the hearts of a small group of photographers. Some call him a Pujari, due to the religious nature of the ceremony, while other academics are hesitant to label him as such since no one really recognizes the ritual. It’s a small argument and it gains some traction in a tight circle of religious scholars, but the influence is negligible. Either way, the priest gains some notoriety as a testament to older and unknown practices still being performed in isolated areas, but he’s not important.

What’s important is the child. The young girl, no older than 10, sitting before the man. She is surrounded by flowers and incense and shrouded in a simple white gown. Her head down and posture demure, she accepts the prayer with a rare grace that’s not typically found in one so young, but that’s not really important either. What is important are the eight black numbers peaking just above her dress collar.

A mudslide swallows the town two weeks later.

This keeps happening.

Barbara goes missing in Yellowstone, Lucas disappears in the Australian outback, Hiroto’s tragic death in Toyama Prefecture. Akim. Kofi. Camila. Daiyu, and many, many others. No one takes note but a fringe conspiracy group called The Knowing. They saw the important parts, which were the tattoos of course. A few of the victims took pictures of these new additions to their bodies before their timely demise. Posts and text messages claiming that they woke up with the numbers on their bodies. Each laughed off by loved ones or the internet labelling them pranks or hoaxes. Which isn’t unusual, there was an epidemic of pranks that crossed the line back in those days, so it was easy to write them off as such. The placements weren’t identical, but the eight digits is what connected all the victims. The Knowing talked about it day and night, cataloging each new victim they could, trying to map out a pattern. They were close, but unsuccessful. Both in their investigation and attempts to spread the word. There was a huge global problem happening, and the world was none the wiser.

Until Anderson Keery.

Two years after Biel, an up-and-coming actor is invited to an up-and-coming talk show. Vivian Lance has worked hard to get where she is, toiled and struggled in every network she PA’d and Anchored for to finally get this reward. It’s her debut morning and her first guest matches the infancy of her career. Anderson’s not a nobody, but he’s definitely not famous enough to draw a significant audience. They have less than a hundred guests in attendance, but for right now it’s enough. It’s a standard interview, going over his ups and downs until the big reveal of his casting in a major studio franchise. The crowd will go wild and hopefully her ratings will too.

Vivian is ready to launch herself into history. Oprah didn’t become Oprah in a night. It takes time to become a legend, and Vivian Lance was on the road to becoming one.

The interview goes smoothly until it doesn’t. Vivian receives a note from her PA that a fight broke out between Anderson and his team before he came on set. She doesn’t need to guess why they’re telling her this.

“So,” she begins. The interviews been going well, but now it’s time to shake things up a bit. “A little birdy told me there were some issues with your team? Is everything ok?”

Anderson’s smile stretches and she knowns she’s asked the right question. He cuts her a look, aryan features twitching in anger before he controls himself. Ooh, a temper problem. She definitely needs to poke at this.

“Oh,” He laughs, “It was nothing. My team just played a little prank on me.”

The crowd chuckles and oohs on que and she leans forward, smiling conspiratorially. “Don’t hold out on us. What was it?”

His glare is scorching, yet polite. Anderson didn’t want to be here anymore than she wanted him as a guest. Both believed that they were better than where they were at that precise moment. Or at least that’s what history tells us.

“They put a fake tattoo on me while I was sleeping.” Anderson smiles sheepishly, throwing a shy look to the cameras. “I kind of flipped because I thought it was real.”

“Really!” Vivian laughs, leaning back to really sell it. The crowd laughs with her. “Can you show us? Or would it be……..inappropriate?”

The crowd whistles and catcalls. Anderson laughs again and turns his back to her, pulling down his collar. “Here. I hope the back of my neck is safe for TV.”

“One..one..two,” she leans forward to read the rest, “three…two…zero…two…four?”

“I know,” He deadpans, “It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

Vivian sits for a moment, before jumping up, shocking her audience and guest. “Wait! Its eleven, twenty-three, twenty twenty-four. That’s today date!”

“Wow,” Anderson replies, and the crowd burst into laughter. “I guess you’re right.”

“Why todays date?”

“You’ll have to ask them. I’m still-.”

The building shakes and the camera falls, throwing Vivian and Anderson onto the floor. The crowd screams and someone shouts “Earthquake!” before a bone chilling, tonal wail fills the building. It cuts through the noise and leaves nothing but silence in its wake.

Vivian is the only one still fully in frame. Her face is wide in fear and confusion, “What-?”

The building shakes again, debris starts falling, the air is filled with screams of fear and despair before the camera goes black.

The reports after that are a little fuzzy, but here’s what we know. During Vivian's first live broadcast, in the middle of the day, something destroyed the Studio. Conflicting reports from eyewitnesses will say it was a bomb, another will say a plane, but most will say a Hand. An open palm reaching from the heavens itself to crush the tiny building out of existence.

Everyone in the studio dies and just like that, Vivian becomes a legend overnight.

It’s a mad scramble after that. All major governments and internet sleuths were turning the world upside down to figure out what happened. It took no time at all to find The Knowing, they weren’t exactly being secretive and before you knew it, they were everywhere. Every news station was talking about it. Outraged that the world governments hadn’t noticed an issue, even though they missed it as well. It took one hour to figure out that the numbers were dates and two to connect that they were expirations.

The story was everywhere, and then more people started posting their numbers. A lot were fakes, but the ones that were real? They didn’t stand a chance. Many hid. Some disappearing to never be heard from again and others taking whole building and towns with them. People were getting desperate, but what changed things again was Amanda Edmund.

Amanda was a regular girl. She had no special talents, had average grades, average looks and average friends. The world would have never noticed her if it was for two things. One, the most important, she was the Presidents daughter, and two? She was marked. There was no hiding it, how could you when the girl was branded across her forehead. Some were relieved, believing that if anyone would survive and end this madness, it would be the President. There’s no way he would let his daughter parish. The other half of the country held their breaths.

The day after Amanda’s date passed, the media converged in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. They presented, voices stuttering and palms shaking, the death of the president and his daughter. They reported in front of a massive hole where the president and his family had been hiding. The aerial photo proved a lot of theories. No one could deny the obvious finger scrapings around the edge. To most, it looked like god himself plucked the bunker out of the dirt, but the survivor’s testimony will prove the opposite.

They spoke of the darks creatures first. The ones that preceded The Grasp. Gnarling, drooling things that held no shape. They dripped, one said. Dripped straight through the ceiling. The smell of death and rotting flesh filled the base, another described. They were small at first, the size of a wolf, then they got bigger. It was a bear, the last one screamed, eyes deranged, and no sense left in his being. With a row of teeth, a shark would be jealous of. Nothing we threw hurt it, in fact, they absorbed it. I watched it tear a man to pieces before eating his heart.

The three survivors’ stories were horrific. A gruesome retelling of an unbeatable foe because what else could it be? According to them, nothing worked on these monsters, and if the president couldn’t stop them?

More people died. Politicians, poverty stricken, sinner and saints, no one was safe. Before the world knew it, twenty years have passed by, and we are no closer to ending the threat. The Numbered are cast out now. They live in peace up until the night before expiration and the cities, towns and villages walk them out. Lead them somewhere remote and their story added to the remembrance board.

It’s sick. It’s routine, and it will keep going for years until Ahadi.

Twenty years after Biel, a boy named Ahadi woke up with eight numbers above his knee. He knew the process, and so did his town. The town cried over the unfortunate boy and threw him a celebration to honor his life. His mother sobbed day and night and his father held him tight, praying for him to survive. That night, the entire town walked him to the edge of the Congo Forest. An Honorist took his photo, and he shared his final goodbyes with his family before walking to his final resting place.

Two days later, he walked back out.

The town was shocked. The world was shocked. No one had ever survived an expiration. The ICTF and world media outlets descended on the town, each wanting to know how he survived and what it meant. Now this where things get a bit redacted. The ICTF didn’t release a lot of details, but what we know is that the tattoo is no longer a stark black, but a faded grey color. The world took that as a sign of the boys safety and a beacon of hope. That there is a way to survive these creatures. When asked how he did it, Ahadi would only say one thing.

“I held my breath.”

He would say nothing else. The world theorized that he couldn’t say anything else, a price for surviving, some whisper. A hint, others shout. That’s all the world needed, hell that’s all she needed, because history won’t help her here.

Aniyah doesn’t have time, in fact, she has very limited time. Her dates been stamped, and she refuses to be one of the Remembered.

#blurb #blurbs #writing #writer #writeblr #writblr #creative writing #monster #monster story #fiction #Author #writing prompt #original work #original characers #original writing

1 note · View note

cybermoonmoon · 3 years

Text

“...day of days”

"UNCLE SIDNEY'S INTERESTING DAY"

Some of this story is true, some is not.

Not yet, but it's all sincerely shared. I woke up this morning with Wings. Not little fledgling feathers, but with radiant Raphael renaissance wings. Think the Angel Gabriel in all them Annunciation paintings. I was in bed between awake, and dreaming when I felt an itch where I'd never felt one. Something was going on around my shoulder blades. I experienced that strange sensation amputees have, but in reverse. There was now 'more' instead of less. I touched my back. There was something there. I rolled out of bed nearly fell over,..my center of gravity had changed! I picked my way through the semi-light of early dawn to my mirror. Well there I was. I'll spare you the details, but there was a light over my shoulders. I half turned. Wings. I had wings. SIGNS, AND WONDERS A few days ago,...before the wings. I was standing on a corner waiting for the light to change. There were some school kids horse'n around near the edge. One of the kids spilled out into the street oblivious to the danger. An SUV big as a tank was speeding at 'em! The bastard wasn't even thinking about slowing down. As they say in these sorts of stories, time slowed down. The world, and all in it seemed to drift like feathers in a light breeze. Well I was standing right there so I just reached out, and pulled the kid in. Time resumed it's natural flow. The car flashed by. The kids didn't miss a beat. They continued playing. All unknowing of the tragedy averted. Life went on.

Once more I happened to be there to pull someone in. Right place right time,...again. A few months ago there was that little boy I pulled back from slipping over a railing into the East River. Then there was that teenage girl I yanked back from stepping into the path of a bus. As them commercials go,...“But Wait There’s More”,...the old lady in the subway, the man at that construction site the little girl, and that car backing. Gets better. A couple of summers ago there were these two teenagers that were gonna knife each other to bits on the train. I stood between them. Don't ask me why I did it 'cause I don't know. One moment I'm sitting with everybody else hoping that someone would 'do' something. Next thing I know that someone was me. How the hell did that happen?! Hey, I'm a New Yorker, but I ain't that crazy! Now this sort'a thing has been going on for most of my life. Since I was a kid. I never questioned it. It was just something that happened sometimes. There's people that can shoot milk through their nose, me I save complete strangers from certain death. 'And no, I can't predict horse races or lotto numbers. My rotten luck, figures. Unfortunately this ain't a "gift" I can make a living off of. Don't expect to see me on "Oprah" anytime soon. Unless of course I happened to pull her from the path of a speeding Health Quack, and their publicists! Anyway through it all the folks involved don't got a clue. All seem more or less oblivious. I guess it happens too fast for them to notice that the very Jaws of Death had snapped at them! 'And because I was there,...missed. MY INTERESTING DAY PART II I was considering these financially useless miracles as I looked over my shoulder. They was still there, and seem to react to light like a prism. My every movement was creating rainbows. A pretty neat gift I don't think I ever prayed for it. Stigmata? That unasked for token from Eternity. I should say to those not raised by deranged Nuns.

The stigmata is a sign from G-d to the particularly faithful or insane. Take ya pick. Since I consider organized religion the worse disaster in human history. Well, I guess that narrows ya choices.

About the stigmata though. You're basically awarded, "awarded" mind you with the inconvenient, and extremely painful wounds suffered by Jesus during his passion. Good grief! Kind'a makes ya wonder what the other side is offering. On da other hand I've seen that episode of the "Twilight Zone". Ya know the one with Sebastian Cabot as the devil. Forget it. I got enuff problems. Them wings though, I seemed to have been let off easy on the the stigmata scale. They don't bleed, and they weigh almost nothing. I wonder if I can fly? Wait a minute, that 'would' put me on Oprah! Things might be looking up after all. I mean the t-shirt sales alone. As for them wings they’re a weightless weight edgeless edges presence without presence. Running my hands over them is like passing ones fingers through warm mist. They're just this side of solid. SIGNS, AND WONDERS PART II Dreams. I have too often seen things that will happen. 9/11, the Asian tsunamis. The dreams are the worst because so few believe them, and when they come true they don't remember I told them. If I bring it up they look at me like I belong on the front page of a tabloid shaking hands with a Yeti.

All I can do is see these things. I can't stop them.

I once begged G-d to take this "gift" away. I remember telling this to my dear friend when we worked in radio. The long time popular radio host Bob Fass. He said it was "better to 'see', and tell". This because a few "...might hear it", and believe. Some "...might benefit from your gift which is why you have it!"

Okay. Then there's the Spirits. They visit me, always have since I was little. They touch my hands, my face. They enter my dreams, the speak to me, and show me all manner of weird shit. Horrors wonders all that Revelations stuff. Angels, Spirits, Demons, remembering the future, pulling souls from the jaws of eternity,...and now Wings! Have I been given this unambiguous miracle so that those I pull from “Well of Forever’ ...will know from where their rescue really comes? “...hey it ain’t me pal I just work here.” Paradise has bestowed token. A Miracle for which I did not ask, and don't know what to do with. But I'm sure I'll think of something.

(...This is from my deep archives. I found it on one of my first blogs dated 2004.)

0 notes

cybermoonmoon · 4 years

Text

“This is Very LONG”

"UNCLE SIDNEY'S INTERESTING DAY" Consider this another docudrama from my strange life. Most of this story is true, one particular bit is not. Not yet, but it's all sincerely shared. I woke up this morning with "Wings!" Not little fledgling feathers, but with radiant Raphael renaissance wings. Think the Angel Gabriel in all them Annunciation paintings. I was in bed between being awake, and dreaming when I felt an itch where I'd never felt one before. Something was going on around my shoulder blades. I experienced that strange sensation amputees have, but in reverse. There was now 'more' instead of less. I touched my back. There was something there. I rolled out of bed, and nearly fell over,..my center of gravity had changed! I picked my way through the semi-light of early dawn to my mirror. I half turned. Wings. I had wings.

"SIGNS, AND WONDERS" A few days ago,...before the wings. I was standing on a corner waiting for the light to change. There were some school kids horse'n around near the edge. One of the kids spilled out into the street oblivious to the danger. An SUV was speeding straight at 'em! The bastard wasn't slowing down. As they say in these sorts of stories, time slowed. The world, and all in it seemed to drift like feathers.

I just reached out, and pulled the kid in. Time resumed it's natural flow. The car flashed by, and the kids didn't miss a beat. All unknowing of the tragedy averted. The light changed the kids frolicked away. I 'happened' to be there to pull someone in,...again.

There was that little boy I pulled from slipping over a railing, and falling into the East River. Then a teen-aged girl I yanked back from stepping into the path of a bus. There's more,...

The old lady in the subway, the man at that construction site, the little girl, and that car backing out of the driveway.

Wait it gets better.

A couple of summers ago there were these two teenagers that were gonna knife each other on the train. I stood between them. One moment I'm sitting hoping that someone would 'do' something. Next thing I know that someone was me! How the hell did that happen?!

This kind of thing has been going on since I was a kid. I never questioned it. It was just something that happened sometimes. There's people that can shoot milk through their nose's, me I save complete strangers from certain death.

'And no, I can't predict horse races or lotto numbers. This ain't a "gift" I can make a living off of. Don't expect to see me on "Oprah" anytime soon. Unless I pull her from the path of a speeding Health Quack, and their publicists. Through it all the folks involved don't got a clue. They’re totally oblivious to the danger averted. It happens too fast to notice that the Jaws of Death" had just snapped at them! 'And because I was there,...missed.

"MY INTERESTING DAY PART II" I was considering this curious history as I looked over my shoulder at my wings. They seem to react to light like a prism. My every movement was creating rainbows around my bedroom. I suppose this is my "Stigmata", my unasked for token from Heaven. I should explain for those not raised by deranged Nuns. The stigmata is a sign from G-d to the particularly faithful or insane. Take ya pick. Since I consider organized religion the worse disaster in human history. I guess that narrows my choices.

As for stigmata. You're basically awarded,...awarded mind you with the inconvenient, and extremely painful wounds suffered by Jesus during his passion. One look at that blood-fest Jesus flick that Mel Gibson splattered across the cineplex's of the world should give you a good idea what this swell "gift" is all about. Kind'a makes ya wonder what the 'other side' is offering.

Them wings though, I seemed to have been let off easy on the stigmata scale. They don't bleed no pain, and they weigh nothing. Edge-less edges, presence without presence. ...they seem as a warm mist. I wonder if I can fly?

"SIGNS, AND WONDERS PART III" The Dreams. I have too often seen things that will happen. 9/11, the south Asian tsunamis. I had dreamed these, and other things over the years. The dreams are the worst because no one believes them, and when they come true they don't remember I told them.

All I can do is see these things. I can't stop them.

I once begged G-d or whatever runs this nightmare to take this thing away.

I remember telling this to my dear friend, and radio colleague Bob Fass. He said it was, “...better to see, and tell because a few might hear it, and believe.” He said, “...Some might benefit from your gift which is why you have it.” Then there's the Spirits. They’ve been around me since I was little. They touch my hands, my face. They enter my dreams, the speak to me, and show me wonders, and horrors.

Angels, Spirits, Demons, remembering the future, pulling souls from the jaws of eternity,...and now Wings!

Have I been given this unambiguous miracle so that those I pull from "Well of Forever" will know from where their rescue really comes? Paradise has bestowed on me an undeniable token. A Miracle for which I did not ask, and don't know what to do with.

Amen.

(...I wrote this near 20 years ago. I haven’t seen it since. Strange tale.)

0 notes