Creation Song

So, here’s another poem. It’s a bit of an oldie (it looks like I wrote it about five and a half years ago), but I still like it. So, with a few minor tweaks from it’s original form, here’s “Creation Song”.

In dappled sun and softer skies
I saw six angels flying by.
And as they flew
in voices new
they praised,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

In webs of wonder, woven bright,
a spider sat all through the night,
and as she ate
with time to wait
she sighed,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

On open sea and sunlit wave
three ships await the breaking day,
and when it comes
with voices one
they’ll cry,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

No lasting rest and no reward
awaits us on these mortal shores;
we’re sinners still,
we hurt and kill,
and yearn,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

In hearth and home, with wood and bone
I’ve scraped a life from barren stone.
My race now run,
my toil done,
I moan,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

Engulfed in glowing, golden light
our feeble faith at last made sight,
where loud and true,
through me through you,
He sings,
“Glory, glory, glory!”

Mothering Day 2016

I love the way you care for us
And seek to meet our needs.
I love the way you parent them
And do it on your knees.
I love the way you love our boys:
You sing and dance and play.
I love the way you show them grace
And teach them how to pray.
I love the way your heart is soft
And aims to know their frame.
I love the way your heart repents
And doesn’t pass the blame.

Just don’t shoulder too much grief
Don’t carry too much sorrow.
His crimson grace will cover all
His love be new tomorrow.

He Welcomes Me Near

I am as near as I can get, as close as I’m allowed to be, which means I can hear, but there’s nothing I can see beyond this courtyard.

The Rabbi reads from the prophet Isaiah, his clear voice seeming to cut through the noise without overwhelming it or drowning it out. It somehow remains audible even when an approving babble of voices rises from within. He continues speaking and a hush descends.

“There were many widows in Israel is Elijah’s days, when the heavens were closed for three and a half years and famine spread across the land, and Elijah was sent to none of them, but only to Zarephath, in the land of Sidon . . .” A murmur rises within the room and though his voice remains clear, I lose the thread. The murmur grows into a roar that cannot silence the Rabbi’s voice. I hear him clearly despite the noise, despite the ruckus, despite the rage and hate vibrating through the air like the pounding drums of an invading army. Their voices rattle and shake, sabers meant to frighten off those who, like me, have committed the unpardonable sin of not being one of them.

The Rabbi still speaks, but I only catch the end. ” . . . And none of them were cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian.”

When the crowd surges out, forcing the Rabbi before them, our eyes meet, and though lust for murder surrounds him, he smiles at me. Me! A Gentile!

And the words I have just heard become a promise in my soul. There is cleansing; there is comfort; there is hope for all people: Jew and Gentile, slave and free. For me. No matter that they had kept me at a distance. This man has invited me near. No matter that they had kept me out. This man has thrown open the doors.

And when next I see him, many months later–bruised, bleeding, and broken upon that brutal cross–he is doing it again. Inviting everyone to come near. To enter in through the doorway of his flesh. To enter the Holy of Holies and find that there is, and always has been, a place prepared for us at the feast of all feasts. A place at the table is set for me and another is set for you. So come. Come and eat. Eat your fill and be satisfied. All are welcome. Even me. Even you.

A Choir of One

The story below was originally slated to appear in the January 2011 edition of This Mutant Life before, sadly, the magazine shut down after the December 2010 issue. I still count this as my second published short story, though in reality it never did see publication. I still like it, though there are some things I may go back to expand upon or rewrite. But I think, in this case, it is best to publish it here as it would have appeared had This Mutant Life continued. Maybe someday down the road I’ll revisit it and rewrite it, but until then, I hope you enjoy it …

* * *

Kuni opened his mouth to speak and a babble of voices filled the air. So he closed it and the voices stopped. Instead of speaking, he nodded and Mia continued.

“I’m really proud of you Kuni,” she said. “You know, most savants can’t attend schools except those specially designed for them. But you, you’re doing exceptionally well. Mr. Trotter said your essay on the rise of savants and the end of mechanized war was superb, though your conclusions were rather bleak. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

Kuni shrugged. He knew his essay was good. Kuni also knew why he went to school with regular people. For being “special,” he was quite ordinary. Why should being ordinary make him happy?

“How can you sit there and shrug like that? You have been born with a gift!”

Kuni met Mia’s eye and opened his mouth. A cacophony of voices erupted. Eyes fixed on Mia’s, Kuni let the words roll and tumble over each other in wave upon wave. As the avalanche of voices thundered, he grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write in his childish scrawl. When he finished, he shoved the paper across the table and closed his mouth. The voices fell silent.

She picked up the paper and read aloud, “How is this a gift? I can’t even make the voices say what I want. They just talk and talk and talk and there’s nothing I can do but shut my mouth. What good is being a savant when my gift can’t do anything of use?”
“Your gift is useful,” Mia said immediately.

Kuni snatched the paper back and scribbled furiously. He knew his haste would only make his writing harder to read, but he didn’t care. Again, he thrust the paper at Mia when he had finished and leaned back in his chair awaiting her response.

“Can I lift cars? Can I fly?” Mia paused in her reading and looked up at Kuni. “Do you really want those gifts? Sure they’re flashy and impressive, but what about their minds? Will either of them ever be more than a three year-old mentally? Will either of them ever be able to ask the questions you’re asking now? And what about your essay? Didn’t you say that savants, just like every other weapon in history, would eventually be replaced?”

Kuni did not allow himself to be swayed. He just leaned forward and tapped hard on the paper with two rigid fingers.

Mia sighed and continued reading, “If war ever comes, who will they send to fight for us? Who will protect us from the other savants out there? Me?”

Mia didn’t respond; she only looked at him with pity.

Kuni grabbed the paper once more, and ignoring the message Mia had not finished reading, wrote in thick, dark letters, “I DON’T WANT YOUR PITY! I JUST WANT TO BE USEFUL!”

He slammed the pencil down and stood up, toppling his chair. He stormed across the room to lean, head and forearms against the wall.

A paper rustled once. Otherwise the room was quiet, the constant hum of the air conditioning the only sound keeping the room from complete silence.

Kuni wasn’t surprised to hear Mia rise from her chair a few moments later. He wasn’t surprised to hear her approach on quiet feet. Neither was he surprised when her voice broke the quiet just behind him.

“It may not make you useful for war, but the voices—I think I can help with those.”
Now that was surprising.

* * *

Kuni wiped away the tears that streamed down his face at the closing notes of the anthem. He wouldn’t look at Mia, wouldn’t acknowledge the way she had watched him when the song began and the tears followed. He realized that she had remained seated throughout the anthem—very unpatriotic of her.

The game didn’t interest him much, so after only a few minutes of back and forth between the teams he changed the channel, landing on the news of all things. War was brewing again and a dozen or more nations were readying their savants. He almost changed the channel then, almost turned the television off, but the map on the screen was too beautiful. Each country stood out boldly in a different color, each played its role in the image before him. But as he watched, the image transformed. Half of the colors, so striking when viewed side by side, turned to a deep red, rich and strong. And the beauty was destroyed.

He shut the TV off.

“Why does the anthem move you so?” Mia asked after a short pause.

Kuni shrugged and Mia came to sit beside him.

“I told you before that I think I can help with those voices. Do you remember that?” She paused again. “Of course you remember. But I think the anthem might be the key. I think if anything can bring the voices together into one, it’s the anthem.”

Kuni looked up at her, not quite willing to believe that what she said was possible. If he didn’t believe her then he wouldn’t be disappointed when it didn’t work. But he wanted to believe. He met her eyes and she must have seen something there, because she smiled, took his hand, and led him outside.

Perhaps it was the touch of her hand, or the hope she offered, or some mixture of the two, but whatever it was made Kuni’s heart thunder in his chest. They stopped beneath an oak tree and took a seat on a shaded bench. Mia released his hand.

Kuni pulled out a pad and pencil and wrote in a shaky scrawl, “How will the anthem help? What difference will it make? Why do you think you can help me with the voices?”

“It’s powerful, Kuni,” she said. “Somehow it cuts through defenses you don’t even know you have in place and grabs your heart. Does anything else do that? If anything will work, it’ll be this.”

Kuni scribbled a response with a hand that shook even worse than before. Mia read it and laughed.

“Of course we’ll start right away. Why do you think I brought you out here?”
Kuni’s heart pounded so hard he felt as if he rocked back and forth with each beat. Could this be possible?

“Do you know the anthem by heart?”

Kuni nodded.

“Good. What is it about the anthem that moves you so? Is it the words? The music? Or something else?”

Kuni flushed, but decided it would be worth a little embarrassment if this worked. He wrote, “The words and the music seem to speak of a longing for home and family. It’s beautiful.”

Mia looked up from the paper and gave him a look he’d never seen before. He had no clue what it meant, but his face grew hotter and he looked down at his toes.

“What I want you to do,” Mia said, “is concentrate on that feeling. Let it break your heart if that’s what needs to happen, but feel it. Can you do that?”

Kuni shrugged. But how could he know unless he tried?

He focused, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut, but nothing happened. He could remember the feeling, but he couldn’t feel it from memory. He tried again, this time gritting his teeth. Still nothing. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

“Okay, instead of thinking of the feeling, think of the anthem, remember the words and the music, and maybe that will bring the feeling back.”

Again Kuni’s brow scrunched and his eyes closed. The song was beautiful and he could even hear it in his head, but it was no use. The memory didn’t have any power to move him. He was about to open his eyes when a voice began to whisper the anthem, singing soft and low.

It had to be Mia since no one else was there, but with his eyes closed, Kuni couldn’t be sure—he had never heard her sing before. He didn’t want to open his eyes, knowing it would break the spell her gentle song was weaving. The words washed over him and one by one the emotions followed.

“Now sing Kuni,” Mia said.

Somehow he still heard her singing, yet clearly she had spoken to him. Was it her song he heard or some other?

Kuni opened his mouth expecting the cacophony to ruin the song, but all he heard was music.

* * *

Alexei yawned and rubbed his eyes with tiny fists. He bent down to pick up Teddy where he rested beside yet another charred and broken body.

“You have done well Alexei,” Teddy said in his fuzzy, far off voice. “There is only one more job for us to do before we can rest.”

“But I want to rest now Teddy.”

“No whining Alexei.”

His shoulders sagged and he nodded.

“I’m sorry to be sharp with you,” Teddy said. “This has been a long war for me too and my nerves aren’t what they used to be.”

“It’s okay,” Alexei said, stroking Teddy’s plush fur and squeezing him tight. “I forgive you. Where do we need to go?”

“East. I know we’ve only been punishing a few people at a time, but this time it’s a room full of people. They’ve been very bad, and they need to be punished—more than any of the people you’ve met so far.”

“Which way’s east?”

“It’s to your left.”

“Thanks Teddy. What would I do without you?”

Alexei gave Teddy’s soft, furry body another squeeze.

“Now hold on tight, okay Teddy?”

Alexei leapt into the air then sped off to his left, into the east, and toward those he needed to punish.

* * *

Kuni opened his mouth and for the fifth time that week, and second time that day, the voices said only what he wanted them to. It was progress. He promptly shut his mouth and smiled.

“You’re getting better,” Mia said. “I’m proud of you.”

Kuni grabbed the paper to write his response, but Mia’s hand closed over his. Her hand was warm and soft. His heart experimented with a new rhythm, beating with strange beats he felt in his ears.

“Why don’t you say it rather than writing it,” she said, not letting go of his hand.
Kuni spoke, or tried to speak, but the voices were no longer under his control. Still her hand did not leave his and his heart continued its irregular rhythm. Words continued to pour from his mouth in a multitude of voices, but gradually he began to hear in the cacophony one voice he recognized as truly his own. It wasn’t the tenor or rhythm of speech that alerted him, for he had never heard himself speak. Rather it was what the voice said.

Could she hear it? Could she pick it out of the noise?

“I love you,” it said. “I would give up all my progress with these voices if it meant you would stay and tutor me.”

He clamped his mouth shut. Those words, that declaration of love, were the only ones he had heard. It sounded as though they were the only words he had said, and all the other voices had gone still and silent.

Her head looked down and her hair, short though it was, fell in a veil, hiding her eyes from him.

His hand let go of the pencil and turned over to clasp hers where it rested. He leaned left and leaned right, hoping for a glimpse of her hidden features.

What had she heard?

Mia’s free hand reached up beneath the veil and did something, but even its motions were obscured. Its job complete, she let her hand fall into her lap once more. Kuni watched it fall and thought he might have seen a finger or two glistening, but it could have been a trick of the light. Still his heart stumbled along its uneven path, convinced she had heard him.

Kuni waited, afraid to move. Afraid the slightest motion would make her pull her hand away from his. He felt his strange pulse through fingers gently clasping hers. Even if she hadn’t heard him she had to feel the difference in that telltale pulse. She had to know.

“You’ve done well,” she said, sliding her hand off of his. “I thought you might progress with my help, but I must admit I didn’t expect to succeed.”

Did her voice tremble, or was it his imagination?

“I am proud of you, Kuni, but it’s time I was leaving.”

She stood and he rose to his feet with her, movements synchronized. Heart still stumbling, but picking up speed as though it was tripping down stairs, he opened his mouth.

Mia held up a hand, her left hand, the hand he had so recently held and wished he still did.

“I have to go.”

She turned and ran from him then. Wrenched open the door, she dashed through it. He stood and stared, shocked at her haste but hopeful.

Minutes dragged by and hope began to wither.

Five minutes after the door had closed, it opened a crack and Mia slipped halfway through. She did not look at him.

“Kuni, I just want you to know that I will be your tutor for as long as you’ll have me.”
With that she slipped out the door once more and left Kuni rooted to the same spot. It was only when the clock beeped the hour that he realized his mouth was still open, poised to speak, but no sound emerged.

* * *

Two days later, Kuni found a note taped across his door. It read:

Please forgive me for missing our tutoring session yesterday; I was called away to an important meeting. At that meeting I heard an update on the war. It’s not going well for us, but there is hope. I know this may surprise you, but that hope is in you. With the progress you’ve made, we think you might be able to help when the savant who has caused such damage arrives sometime tonight. Your gift is something he has never seen and you may be able to stop him, or slow him long enough for help to arrive. You wanted to be useful. Well, here’s your chance.

Meet me tonight at the city council office at 6:00.


He arrived that evening, eager to see Mia and to prove himself to these people, whoever they were. Instead, all he found was another note.

* * *

Echoes of voices drifted down the halls so faintly at first Alexei couldn’t be sure they were truly there. Cocking his head, he strained to hear them more clearly, but couldn’t. He began drifting down corridors, feet hovering a few inches off the ground. There was no particular reason he went down some hallways and not others, he just floated, until he rounded a bend and the voices grew louder.

He sped down the hall and came to a T, but there was no confusion left in him. The voices came from the left-hand branch. A few turns later and he stopped in front of a door. Even though he was sure the voices came from the other side of this door, they were still hushed. The door had to be thick.

Alexei pressed his ear against the door and realized for the first time that the voices were singing.

“They must be punished,” Teddy said in his metallic voice. “All of them.”

Alexei hesitated. He didn’t want to punish anyone else. He wanted to sleep. At the thought of sleep he yawned and rubbed at one eye with a fist. It wouldn’t even have to be a comfortable place. He just needed somewhere to lie down without Teddy telling him what to do.

“I know you don’t want to do this,” Teddy said, “but you must Alexei. This is the last time you’ll have to punish anyone.”



“Do you promise?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“And after this I can sleep.”

“For as long as you need. Now, the sooner you open that door, the sooner our job is done.”

Alexei reached out and with strength beyond his small stature pushed through the heavy wooden doors.

* * *

The doors opened and Kuni’s mouth snapped shut. The anthem hung in the air, echoing back from wall to wall for a few moments while the young boy stood and looked around him. He was just a child. Kuni could almost imagine him with one arm tightly holding his teddy bear and his thumb in his mouth. The picture in Kuni’s head was nearly complete before him: the boy clutched a teddy bear tightly in one arm, but he doubted this boy had ever been allowed to have a thumb near his mouth.

Their eyes met and the boy asked a question in a language Kuni could not understand so he shrugged and shook his head. The boy tried again, though Kuni couldn’t tell if he had repeated himself or said something different.

“I’m sorry,” Kuni said in one clear voice, “I don’t understand you.”

The boy nodded then and paused. After a few moments of silence he began to hum and pointed at Kuni.

He understood then and focused on what Mia had taught him, letting his mind and heart sink into the longing stirred by the anthem. He began to sing. It was his voice, and his alone that sang. The boy watched him, looking vaguely unsatisfied. So Kuni relaxed his control just a bit and a couple voices joined his.

The boy looked at him more closely for a moment before leaping into the air and soaring around the room. He looked behind chairs and under tables. Obviously finding no one, he flew back and landed closer to Kuni. The boy watched him closely, eyes blinking only occasionally.

Kuni relaxed his control a little further and more voices joined the song. The little boy’s face lit up and he crept even closer.

With every voice that Kuni allowed to join the song, the boy moved closer, until Kuni let his control fall the rest of the way and a choir joined the song. The boy dropped his teddy bear and clapped, a huge smile spread across his lean, tired face. He leapt the last dozen yards and sat at Kuni’s feet, still smiling.

A metallic voice screeched from the teddy bear, but the boy didn’t even glance toward it. His eyes remained fixed on Kuni.

When the anthem ended, the little boy clapped again and cheered in his foreign tongue, before sitting still and waiting, eyes expectant. So Kuni began a softer song, a lullaby sung just above a whisper. The choir of voices sang together, soft and gentle, and gradually the boy’s eyes began to close. His body relaxed along with his eyes and Kuni kept singing. The boy inched down until he was curled up on his side in a little ball. The teddy bear screeched and hissed again, but Kuni kept singing. The boy’s eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and even.

Just watching the boy made Kuni drowsy, but he let the song continue. The little guy needed rest.

A side door opened behind Kuni with a soft squeak and quiet footsteps crept toward them. He heard these sounds, but continued singing. The footsteps stopped behind him, something was set down, and latches were undone, their clicks louder than the squeak of the door or the creak of the floorboards. Kuni wanted to turn and shush the newcomer, but he continued singing, afraid the boy would wake if he allowed the song to stop.
But a pinch at the base of his neck interrupted his song. He reached back to brush away whatever insect had bitten him, but was surprised to find that he couldn’t lift his arm. Strong hands supported him beneath his armpits and at their touch his legs gave way beneath him. The hands guided him to the ground to rest on his side, facing the still sleeping boy.

The newcomer walked around Kuni to squat by the boy’s side. He slid a needle out of a sleeve and gave it two slow shakes. The fluid in the syringe swirled. The newcomer pressed the tip of the needle against the base of the boy’s neck and pushed. The needle bowed and threatened to snap, but the newcomer eased off the pressure. He appeared to think for a moment and all the while Kuni’s body grew heavier. He felt as though he were sinking into the floorboards beneath him. All he could do was watch.

The newcomer reached across the sleeping boy and stuck the needle into the boy’s open mouth. With a slow pressure he let the liquid dribble out to mingle with the boy’s saliva. The boy didn’t wake.

Still squatting the newcomer turned to face Kuni then and with a surprise dulled by whatever drug coursed through him, he saw that the newcomer was a woman. He tried to focus his eyes on her face, but they refused, only growing blurrier the longer he kept them open. Kuni closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His heart beat slowly, pounding as it too seemed to join with the floor beneath him.

“I’m so sorry Kuni,” the woman said, her words barely a whisper.

He felt a tingle in his ear at the woman’s whispered breath.

“They told me to do whatever I could to train you, to break through your block. I hoped I wouldn’t succeed. Because success would only lead to this.”

The woman’s voice broke and in the silence that followed Kuni tried to make sense of her words. His brain felt hazy and unclear.

“You were right, you know, in your essay. The savants’ time has ended, but not to be replaced by something new. We are replacing you with nothing. There will be no weapons, there will be no war. Kuni, you and Alexei are the last of the savants, and soon, even you will be gone. And with you . . .”

The haze lifted just a little from Kuni’s mind, enough to recognize the speaker and follow her words.

“Who are we kidding? Killing the savants won’t end anything. It may give us a break, perhaps even a long one, but there will always be war.” He felt her gently brush his hair from his face. “You’ve known that for longer even that I have. But we have to try, right? We must try!”

Kuni tried to open his eyes, tried to look at Mia’s face one last time. She was killing him, but with her hand still brushing his face, he somehow didn’t mind. His eyes would not open.

So he stopped trying and focused instead on all the things she had taught him. He pictured her face. And with one voice, his own voice, he hummed.

She gasped and pulled away her hand. Seconds later both hands were on his face and he felt more than heard her soft crying just above him. One drop fell onto his face and with one kiss she brushed it away.

Kuni hummed until his breath ran out. The last sound he heard was Mia’s gentle voice singing the anthem over him.

From Fantasist to Son

I have seen the ice dragon rise
glistening and glittering
from the depths of the western sea.

I have seen the rusting hulks
our forefathers left us
power still thrumming through metal limbs.

I have seen the wolfman shift
and slide from man to beast
and from beast to nightmare crowned as king.

I have seen man’s mangled body
made whole
sewn and bound with threads of light.

I have seen you, my son,
nuzzling your head into my chest,
content to let me hold you as you sleep.

And that is the magic that stirs my soul,
no less powerful for being common,
no less beautiful for being simple,
no less wondrous for being true.

This poem was written shortly after the birth of my first son in late 2009 and originally appeared in the print edition of Jabberwocky back in 2010 alongside such excellent writers as Genevieve Valentine and E. Lily Yu (whose 2011 short story ‘The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees’ was nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, Locus, and World Fantasy awards) and can still be found on the Jabberwocky website.

Weak Made Strong

I was the bait in their trap. I knew it. They knew it. But he knew it too, and he walked right into it with eyes wide open.

I could feel their eyes on me throughout his teaching. I wanted to hear his words, wanted to let them wash over me as they had done to others I knew, but those eyes boring into me from the sides and from behind made it nearly impossible.

I fidgeted.

I squirmed.

I nearly got up and left, but just as my mind had resolved to do so, something he said ended the power of their eyes.

“Come and stand here.”

I knew he spoke to me before I even looked up and found his eyes on me. My heart leaped and I scrambled to my feet, keeping my shriveled right hand close to my chest out of habit. Them gleam in his eyes the brightness of his smile encouraged me, but they both disappeared when his face turned to them. I looked out with him at their tasselled robes and pious, mocking faces.

“I ask you,” he said, “on the Sabbath is it lawful to do good or to do harm, to save life or destroy it?”

I saw rage heat their faces, saw them fighting for any response that would protect their standing in the Synagogue while denouncing the man. I can only imagine what he saw.

No words came from their lips. But seeing that they could not answer, his lips spoke once more to me.

“Stretch our your hand.”

And I did. The hand I kept close, kept hidden so others would not see my deformity and shame, I stretched out for all to see. And as I did spasms and snaps throbbed and flowered along my arm. What was weak and withered became whole and strong. The fig tree must feel like this as fruit sprouts from leafy branches, but what takes the tree weeks to achieve took only a moment for me.

I looked from my now perfect hand to the man who had made it so. The light and brightness of his face nearly blinded me, and though I often saw him after that the sight of him always dazzled me. But it didn’t dazzle them. Hatred had joined rage to twist their faces into a mockery of human form. And that was hatred was as much for me, I saw, as it was for him. But still he shone beside me and in his light even their hatred and rage could not disquiet me.

Their mutters contained murder–murder of his light. I knew it. They knew it. But he knew it too; and one day, several years later, he would walk right into it with arms and eyes wide open.

All Things New

“Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”

“Oh shut up Bartimaeus!” a voice shouted.

“Jesus, have mercy on me!” he cried even louder, but his voice was lost in the crowd.

“Give it up! It’s obvious he can’t hear you,” another said.

But it did no good.

“Son of David! Have mercy on me!”

I opened my mouth, rebuke ready on my lips, but the words had no chance to fall. A clear voice, deep and sonorous as a bell, rang through the babble and hum of the crowd, stopping my tongue from sin.

“Call him,” Jesus said and so I did.

“Take heart Bartimaeus,” I said. “Get up! He’s calling you!”

The blind man threw aside his beggar’s cloak and scrambled to his feet. The crowd parted as he made his stumbling way across the square. Blind he may have been, but his path was unerring and straight as a loosed arrow.

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus said.

A murmur passed through the crowd.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

But I wasn’t so sure. I watched Jesus, watched his eyes, and it seemed to me that he saw more clearly than any of us. I might even say there was nothing his eyes did not see, and so there must have been something more to his question.

Bartimaeus said, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.”

Such simple words for so audacious a request, but my heart echoed those words, repeating them deep within.

For just a moment Jesus looked away from Bartimaeus, his piercing yet kindly eyes fixed on mine as though he had heard the words of my heart. He smiled and turned back to Bartimaeus saying, “Go your way. Your faith has made you well.”

Immediately Bartimaeus could see, you could see it in his eyes. A light had appeared in them and with it came wonder and joy. He laughed then, I can still hear it today. And though I stood far apart, I laughed with him, laughed with tears filling my eyes. As Jesus continued on, Bartimaeus followed, seeing everything for the first time. I was not far behind. And even though my eyes had always seen, they too saw anew. In Jesus’ wake I saw flashes of the world as it would be, flashes of his kingdom come, before everything returned to normal. Well, not really. For everything was different. Jesus was here and soon enough he would make all things new.

The Doorway to Winter

The doorway to Winter was heavy and grey, its lintel and frame rough hewn stone with square, sharp edges. A tree, barren and sad, lived upon that cold, dreary door, waiting for a spring that would never come.

Aulani had escaped across that threshold many times. The first time she fled the oppressive sweltering heat of the searing summer sun. The second time she fled the white hot wrath of her drunken father’s rage. The third time she fled her boyfriend’s burning lust.

But Aulani was not running from anything this time, instead she was running toward it, running not out of fear, but out of love.

She missed the crunch of snow underfoot, missed the crisp, clean whiteness of it all. She missed the peace, the calm, the quiet hush of falling snow. She wanted a home there, a real home, not like the one she’d always known.

There was life in Winter’s realm, even if everything looked like death. It was simply dormant, holding its life and heat close, for only by doing so could it live. The tree on the door knew this as did the door in the tree. They held their knowledge close and their huddled knowing kept them warm through winter without end.

Aulani knew all this, knew it in her bones, knew it with something that surpassed mere knowledge about a thing. She knew Winter, knew him well, and it was for this she had come.

Winter made his home in the frozen lands of perpetual night. His keep stood upon the highest peak that he might be nearer his brightly shining, but ever changing lover and wife. Their children lay strewn across the vast night sky of the rugged north, twinkling and shining an image of their parents’ love to all of Winter’s realm.

But they were distant children, never near, and Aulani knew Winter was lonely. He might be cold and he might be quiet, but his heart was soft and warm. He would welcome her as a daughter and call her his own. And she would live out her days free from the different kinds of burning in the land that birthed her.

She would find a different kind of warmth in Winter’s realm and it would warm her from within. No heat from without, no more fleeing. Just peace and silence, ever more and ever more.

The doorway to Winter closed behind her and the tree on the door shuddered before settling into stillness once more. Grey and cold, it looked out on the sunlit warmth of the Summerlands, baffled by Aulani’s decision. Its confusion, like its branches, would settle and still, even as it strove to drink light and heat into sad, stone branches, waiting for a spring that could never come.

And His Kingdom Shall Have No End

He came to me at night, as He often does—my mind unguarded and dreaming—with a message for my king. A vision he brought me. A vision of such staggering majesty all I could do was weep.

I saw a light, bright as the moon, enthroned in the darkness above. It gleamed, majestic and regal, for all the world to see. Until it went out. Another light followed it, dimmer than the first yet brighter by far than the darkness all around. It too went out and the darkness thickened.

But two more lights dawned, one after the other. Like a reflection of the moon to the moon itself were these lights beside the first, dimmer and hazy, yet reflections of that true, pure light nonetheless.

Darkness returned, then light, then darkness—crowned and seated one and all on that first light’s throne. On and on it went through centuries: light to illumine followed by darkness again.

Until it stopped.

The pattern broken.

Darkness reigning. Darkness so thick and deep it seemed no light had ever pierced it. Darkness stretching on and on.

But in that darkness, seeming utter and endless, rose the sun. Brighter than bright. Light of lights it shone.

And the darkness raged against it.

Raged and cursed and flailed, but failed to unseat it, to diminish its shine even when it died only to rise and dawn once more, grown somehow brighter still.

Enthroned it sat, breaking forever the cycle its ancestors could not escape.

Enthroned. Forever.

“Do you understand?” the Lord God asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “His kingdom shall have no end.”

“No end,” the Lord God said.

“My Lord, who am I that such a message should come through me?”

“My voice and my mouthpiece, you bear good news of great joy for all people. You are not the first and neither will you be the last. Now go. Tell David all that you have seen and heard from Me this night.”

And so I went and told it all as the Lord God commanded me.

My king fell to his knees before his King, overcome.

A mumbled, “Who am I?” was all I heard before leaving him to his prayers. I wasn’t there to hear what he said, but I know my king and I know his heart. Faithful and true, he worshipped at the news. From the depths of his soul, he worshipped.

For though neither he nor I will live to see it happen, we know. The Lord is God and his words are true, this day and everyday. In all the darkness and light to come.

Two Feet Apart

This is the first short story I had published. It appeared on the Residential Aliens website (now taken down it appears) in April 2010. It was an exciting thing, having someone pay me for my writing, even if it was only a small amount.

Stephen’s eyes opened and his brow furrowed, puzzled. Something was different, but what? He looked around him, and his room looked the same; all his furniture was in the right spot, the central air conditioning and filtering unit was whirring away contentedly, and . . . he could hear the central air being pumped into his room. He had never heard that sound before. It had forced air into his room for the past twenty years and yet this day marked the first time he had ever heard it. Odd that something so simple can stand out all of a sudden, he thought as he got off the couch and headed into the kitchen for a snack.

As he stood in the five-by-five cubicle, his shoulders began to shake, gently at first, but with increasing force, until a loud laugh burst from his diaphragm. As if I could even get any food without my DLS operating, he thought happily. His chuckles continuing, he put on his jacket and stepped outside into the hallway of his high-rise apartment complex and headed for the elevator. The two-hundred some odd stories between him and the ground would take only a minute to pass, so Stephen didn’t have much time to focus on the polychromatic digital display as the numbers swept past like the flow of traffic on the multi-tiered freeway outside his apartment. But Stephen did notice, once again, for the first time. It’s amazing, he thought. Has this always been here or was it just recently added? If it’s always been here, I would have noticed it before now. It must be new.

The elevator touched down on the ground floor and Stephen strode out to the front doors and into the street. The air was clean and the sun was bright, but it was always like that. Wasn’t it? A steady flow of cars and pedestrians swept past him. As Stephen watched, he noticed each pedestrian walked about two feet behind the person in front of him. Hundreds of people passed by and each person was spaced evenly—two feet apart. The cars too, though they moved so fast it was hard to tell exactly, were spaced evenly it seemed—two feet apart. And strangely, with all the traffic, both human and machine, there was hardly any sound on the street.

How odd, Stephen thought, as he merged into the pedestrian traffic headed downtown, toward the DLS office. Stephen walked along with the crowd, looking around as he went. Splotches of green burst into sight as he rounded the corner—trees. Had he ever noticed those trees before? Stephen stopped and as he did, the traffic behind him did also. A ripple of confusion passed through the crowd milling in consternation behind him. A line began to form as confused citizens focused their eyes on this unprecedented roadblock. The man behind Stephen even began to sweat in perplexity. At first, Stephen didn’t notice the disturbance his momentary pause had caused; he was too enraptured by the soft speckling of bleach-white blossoms on a background of verdant green leaves. Nature was something he was used to seeing through his DLS, but not through his eyes. It existed in some far off place, but not in his own city.

Gradually another new feeling swept over him, and he was aware, for the first time in his recollection, of the people surrounding him. He felt their confusion and the press of bodies stacking up behind him. He glanced back at the sweating man, who grimaced as though physically pained by the interruption of his normal routine, flashed a small, apologetic smile to the obviously uncomfortable man and danced his way through the evenly spaced two-foot gaps to a spot clear of traffic. The pedestrian traffic immediately picked up in his absence, and no one spared him another glance.

How did I fail to notice these colors? Stephen wondered. They were so vibrant, so bold, they really were impossible to miss. And with the blue sky spread out behind them, peeking mischievously between the branches, he could almost have believed they wanted to be noticed. Almost. The tree may have been beautiful and that thought may have been interesting, but he had no time for either. Neither did he have the patience to ponder either in more depth than he already had. Perhaps these trees are new too, he thought, smiling, and jumped back into the flow of traffic.

But Stephen quickly grew bored with the two foot buffer zone between every person and began to vary his pace; walking first faster than normal, whizzing past people on his right and left as though he were one of those race cars the DLS was always showing, then walking so slowly that traffic once again began to pile up behind him, and the sudden focus of the people around him became a palpable thing. In truth, he found it all rather amusing. Imagine that people could get so flustered by something so simple.

In all, Stephen enjoyed his four-block walk, enjoyed it more than he could remember enjoying anything. There were so many things he noticed for the first time that he began to lose track. He heard birds serenading an unlistening and uncaring populace; he saw butterflies flitting and fluttering across the street, thinking butterfly thoughts and dreaming butterfly dreams; he felt the sun gently caressing his neck and shoulders with its tender warmth; he saw occasional clouds drifting past on errands of their own; he watched a trail of ants bustle across the sidewalk, each walking at its own pace in zigs and zags with no regard for space between them, carrying little scraps of food for their larvae; he even saw a stray dog sitting miserably in the shade of a building, all its hopes of an affectionate pat on the head extinguished by long months of being overlooked—or more accurately, by long months without even being noticed. The dog saw Stephen watching him and began to slowly wag her tail starting with the faintest flicks of the tip, and proceeding to full tail wags when she saw Stephen smile.

Stephen looked up from his new friend and saw the building he sought just a few yards ahead, “Direct Linkage Services” etched in the marble façade. He smiled once more at the dog, waved to her, and walked into the foyer. I’ll go back and scratch her ears on my way out. The dog watched him go and its tail slowly wound to a halt.

After a few minutes of searching he found an open repair station. As soon as he stepped into the small, metal-framed structure a handsome but unremarkable face appeared on the screen in front of him.

“Welcome citizen,” the face smiled inhospitably. “Please stand still while I verify your identity and check your account status.”

Two small pods dropped from the ceiling. One hovered in front of his face, scanning the iris of each eye, while the other zipped from his fingertips to the top of his head, where it removed a short brown hair. He nearly reached out to grab his hair back from the machine—he didn’t exactly have a lot of brown hair left to spare. The conquering army of age was advancing across his scalp, leaving outposts of gray sentinels guarding against any revolution by the browns attempting to reclaim lost ground. As each pod finished its duty, oblivious to his consternation, it disappeared into the hole it came from just moments before.

“I apologize for the delay citizen,” the face sympathized unfeelingly, “it will take a few minutes to process your information. I appreciate your patience.”

Stephen stood quietly looking around at the empty metal walls and soon became bored. There was really very little to see inside the machine, and the smiling face had disappeared—apparently to analyze his information personally. I can’t remember ever being this bored, he thought as he fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt. It seemed that days passed, perhaps even years, before the face returned, still smiling.

“Stephen Redman, it is my pleasure to service you. I am creating a new Direct Linkage System, which we will insert to replace your faulty one. It will be just one moment.” And with that, the smiling face disappeared again.

The years turned to decades as Stephen waited, still fidgeting with his buttons. Stephen’s right hand reached up to touch his hair as he idly wondered if more gray hairs had sprung up to replace the brown while he waited. His thoughts drifted back to the day when the DLS went on the market. He had been first in line, camped out the night before. “After all,” he had said, “what’s not to like about it?” Earbuds, screens, monitors, keyboards, touchpads, phones–all were things of the past. Wires had been done away with years before, but this . . . this was the future! Direct connections, always active and available. It was all of his communication and entertainment needs bundled into a product he didn’t even need to carry. It was a beautiful thing. But I’ve seen beautiful things today too, haven’t I? More beautiful than this, I’d wager, and actually seen them too, not just in my mind, but with my eyes.  The hatch opened and the pods came out again, thrusting Stephen’s thoughts back into the moment, the all-important now.

The pods descended slowly from the ceiling to hover, one at each temple, two feet apart. They circled his head, slowly at first, but with steadily increasing velocity. A field of electricity formed around the rim of the pods’ orbit, crackling and sparking. With a soft pop, the electric current around him dissipated and the pods ascended back into the ceiling.

The smiling face returned. “Your new DLS has been implanted. It will be activated in three-two-one-”SNAP!

Life returned to Stephen then and there. A steady stream of images and information filled his mind, connecting him directly with every other human on the planet, revealing events from around the globe. Messages from his friends had stockpiled during the hours his DLS had been down, asking if he was dead, or incapacitated in some way.

The doors opened and Stephen walked out, his eyes flitting unseeing past the shy flicks and wags of a dog’s tail, so consumed was he in watching in his mind the image of some foolish man with hair more gray than brown standing by a white-blossomed tree, holding up the flow of traffic. Strange person, Stephen thought as he stepped out into the sunlight, slipping without a thought into the traffic flowing past, everyone walking two feet apart.