Now and Forever by Alexandra Heep

 Every once in a while, a friend will allow me to post one of their creative pieces, a sweet poem, thoughtful reflection or a chilling tale. This time I thank Alexandra Heep, who blogs at a Heep of Everything for the honor of hosting one of her many poems.

Now and Forever by Alexandra Heep

Now - it is here in the blink of an eye
It can stay and make a moment so still
Or float on like a cloud and pass you by
It can move quick as lightning if you will

Forever can't be without many now's
For some it is pain, for others it's joy
It's also part of many vain vows
Hard to keep, hard to hold, never a toy

Now and forever beginning or end?
More than words, more than time, they're destiny
Either can break, sustain, or even mend
They cause and affect, never cease to be

Use either wisely and pay them respect
Sages know they bring what you don't expect

The Kiss by Carolina Chapman

The Kiss, a poem by Carolina Chapman

She kisses him goodbye as her heart softly whispers
Please, oh please look into my heart
I need a solution, an answer not an ending
Their lips touch as he holds her close

Please don't say goodbye my Angel
Stay in my arms forever; that's where you belong
His heart silently breaks as his dreams crumble
How could this happen? We are meant to be

Be my friend she says,
please be mine! He pleads

Silently, she cries as the words she longs to speak
Refuse to be spoken

Kiss me my love, listen to my heart
I Love you, I want you, I want us,
These feelings, I don’t understand, I’m scared

Their lips part, Causing his heart to harden and break

As he drives away, he promises
“I will never forget my Angel or my love for her”
He leaves hardened and empty as his heart and his love
will forever belong to her

They each longed for a future together, yet
Her fears, turned the beginning into a goodbye.

Her heart fills with tears as it weeps, come back my love
Hear the words my lips are afraid to speak

Both cling to the hope that someday, somehow they will be together again.

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Carolina Chapman is a charming, sweet, lovable lady who claims to have been in a writing slump and this poem was her first attempt after a long hiatus from writing. Well, I do believe she's now quite out of said slump, don't you think? You can find her other writings on topics as diverse as health and fitness, beauty and style, Relationships, religion, home and garden, and personal finances at Helium.

The Big Win by Raymond Alexander Kukkee

My bonsai master friend Raymond Alexander Kukkee has allowed me to present his short story today. This one, however, isn't so short...it's definitely not  flash fiction! So relax, set a spell and enjoy. When you're done with it you can run along over to his insightful blog Incoming Bytes. Say hello to Raymond for me.

The Big Win by Raymond Alexander Kukkee

The tiny bits of paper floated on the wind and I watched as they drifted away and fluttered downwards one by one, finally settling on the water below. The current carried them downstream and out of sight.

"Out of sight, out of mind" I thought to myself, smiling inwardly. It was time to go back home and mow the grass, and I know that if I hurry, I can finish just in time to go to work. It's 6:00 am and I'm an early bird, I always have been. I took a last look at the river, kicked the front tire again just to be sure, and climbed into the old half-ton.

The truck started, that was a surprise, the battery is getting a little weak. No wonder, I was sitting on the bridge, listening to the radio, and after all, I can't blame the battery, it's eight years old. Time to buy a new one. A new battery, I mean. The truck sputtered and started.

Mission Impossible: Mission Accomplished by Amanda Dcosta

Mission Impossible: Mission Accomplished by Amanda Dcosta

It was that time of youth when life was carefree and logic never existed.  Those were the college days, the good old days of fun and mischief. 

Did I just say mischief?  Apparently so!

Every afternoon, while in the final year of college, our classmate Nina was out on a date.  While Nina was a friend, she’d never trust anyone with her ‘secret’.  I am told this is typical female behavior, but what can you expect with two scores of women involved?

Winter passing by Julie Helms

If you've visited Glory's Garden at anytime this year, you're likely to know our guest today, Julie Helms. She not only keeps sheep and chickens at Wooly Acres, but she also has quite the knack for poetry and short stories. Today she allows me to present to you a flash fiction piece which really sings to me.

Winter passing by Julie Helms

 Tara was a true free spirit of the summer warm winds. Her little eight-year old legs danced in the tall grasses of the meadow, twirling her about. She picked wildflowers and wove them into elaborate wreathes for her hair. She picked more to bring her mother bouquets who put the blooms in quaint old glass jars and lined them up on the windowsill. Tara would wriggle her toes in dirt, run with her dog across the fields and quietly watch the baby bunnies in their nest as they grew.

Where did the time go by Alistair Marquise

My friend Alistair Marquise has the guest spot today with one of his flash fiction wonders. If you are not aware of what flash fiction is, it is a story told in as little as 100 words. At Helium they are a bit more forgiving and allow 400 words. Alistair is a master of this genre and while his stories may not classify as nice, little romances (Most of them send shivers up my spine!) but they are wonderfully creative and well told. So, here is Alistair's first (I do so hope he will allow me to feature others in time) flash fiction story.

Where did the time go by Alistair Marquise

The steps of the tower wind above and below him in interminable, vertigo-inducing spirals, light from unknown sources accentuating the twisting, jagged stone, offering no hope for escape, the despair of eons twisting its way with equal ferocity into both Heaven and Hell like a mammoth screw.

Guest post: Don't take the girl by Jim Bessey

(Inspired by Tim McGraw's "Don't take the girl")

Dark room, flickering candles, hard floor under my knees. I'm shaking, sobbing. "God, take me instead. Rip the heart right out of my chest. Please, God." Darkness surrounds me, and I see every moment of these past fifteen years.

* * *
Gray dawn light, on green wet grass, and Daddy's smiling that goofy "we're goin' fishin' boy" smile, whistling something familiar from the radio. I've got my brand new pole and shiny tackle box, my very first one. I look way up at him, take his hand as we head for Daddy's rusty red truck. And then that little brat from next door comes strollin' through the gate, carrying her own pole like she's invited. I'm furious, don't want her to come with us, and Daddy knows it.

"Son, we can't just leave her standing here all ready to go, now, can we?"

I can think of fifteen kids I'd rather have come fishing with us, and not one of them is a girl.

"You just wait, Johnny, one day you'll see things different, you'll see." Daddy tells me, still smiling. He waves to the brat, and holds the door for her to climb up to the front seat.
* * *
My head is pounding, my vision blurry, still on my knees there in that awful dark room. I'm all alone, just me and God, and I'm ready. My voice is barely a whisper, my throat so tight I can barely breathe.

"God, I never asked you for any favors. I'm ready to go now. Take me instead, I'm begging you." Darkness fills my mind again, then a vivid memory of another day
* * *
Hot Friday night, Fourth of July weekend, the two of us lost in our own little world. We're in the shadows near the theater. Her body fits mine perfectly, and the taste of her breath in my mouth is sweeter than any dessert could be. We're eighteen years old and haven't a care in the world for anything but each other. We don't even care who sees us kissing right here on Main Street.

She whispers, "I love you, Johnny MacDemmick," and my heart soars higher than the top of that big old oak in the square across the street.

The next minutes are a blur of confusion. Her lips are gone in an instant, and she screams. I can't see his face, but I can see that ugly, black gun barrel pressed against her soft belly. His voice sounds like truck tires crunching through the underbrush.

"You do just what I tell ya to and she might not get hurt, Junior." I can't move or breath. She's crying now, and my heart breaks to hear her sobs.

I'm pulling money out my pockets, change and bills - anything I can find. Grampa's watch, my car keys. I'm crying too, but don't realize it til later.

He's laughing softly. I keep saying something like, "Take this, please, take this, you can have it, just don't hurt her, mister, please."

And then he's gone as fast and mysteriously as he appeared. I can't hold her tight enough to stop her tears. We're both shaking, but she's fine. She's just fine.
* * *
Spring sunlight streaming through our bay window, making me squint to see the ballgame on the living room television. From the bedroom, her voice is urgent and giddy at the same time.

"Time to go, Johnny." I look toward her and smile like an idiot. "Time to go, honey," she says again.

 

"It's time?" I ask her, still in moron land. And we race out the door, laughing and crying as she struggles to squeeze her big belly into the front seat of our Ford Fairlane. We beep and run through stop signs all the way to the hospital. She's holding my hand so hard I worry for a second about broken bones. I'm hyperventilating and still laughing, stealing glances at her there next to me. Her face is aglow, and she is even more beautiful than she was the first time I kissed her.

Bright lights, strangers racing in and out, distant words on the PA system echo outside our room. She's breathing fast; sweat streams into her hair. Her eyes seek mine, frantic. White-coated doctors and blue-smocked nurses rush about, murmuring things I don't understand. Strong hands clamp my arms and lift me from my space beside her bed.

"Give us some room, son," the doctor tells me. Now I can't see her. She's surrounded by white and blue figures and they're moving her onto a gurney. Their whispers are incomprehensible to me, but I know something terrible is happening.

One of the nurses holds me by the elbows and says, "Come with me. Let them do their jobs. She's in good hands."
* * *
A voice interrupts my solitude in the dark room. I can't hear the words at first, but the phrase "it's a girl" comes through loud and clear. Then: "There were some complications, sir."

Blackness surrounds me, pinpricks of light whirl just out of reach. I'm certain I'm dying, and my last thoughts are of her.
* * *
White light, almost unbearable in its intensity. A loathsome beeping pounds my eardrums.

"Mr. MacDemmick, can you hear me?" I try to move my head to find the source of the voice. I know him, but feel confused. He's smiling, holding a clipboard.

"John, you're in the hospital, remember? You've had a heart attack, but you're going to be fine." He sounds like someone you'd hear on the radio, soothing and unreal at the same time.

Then another voice more familiar than my own heartbeat, "Daddy, I'm right here." My daughter!

"I'm here, too, honey," from somewhere nearby - my wife!

There's a strong hand on my shoulder, too. Fingers gnarled from years of hard work and fishing, a grip I'd know anywhere without looking. "Daddy" is all I can manage.

My sweet wife, my lovely teenage daughter, and my dad all move together so I can see them. They look like angels to me, but they are most assuredly real. I've never seen anything more beautiful.

"Now we're even, Johnny," my sweetheart tells me, tears glistening in her eyes. "You scared me just as bad as I scared you when Vanessa was born. Doctor says you're going to be fine, just fine." My eyes are heavy, but my heart is full of life and love. I fall asleep, surrounded by the three people I love more than life itself.
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Jim Bessey, I am proud to say, is one of my very best friends. Jim's an amazingly talented guy. Needless to say he can tell a lovely tale with ease, but there's more to him than that. By profession he is The Tile Guy and can be seen on a daily basis, alternately destroying and remodeling kitchens and baths. His passions include his lovely wife, darling step-daughter, two wonderful sons, writing and JUST CAMPING OUT. If you're in need of remodeling advice or simply love camping, do visit his blogs and say hello from me!

Guest post: Marika's Unicorn by Alexandra Heep

"So, are you really a unicorn?" Marika asks.

"Well, are you really a girl?"

Marika giggles as Sugar Magnolia emphasizes her return question with a toss of her chestnut mane and a snort.

"Of course I am! I am in third grade already and my Mom says I am smart for my age. But, my teachers and most kids say that unicorns don't exist. I asked my parents and they say they believe in them, yet have never seen one. Oh, we have pictures of them in our house, but they are all white. You are brown with white spots. How come?"

"That is because my dad had white hair and my mom had brown fur. How about humans, do you think you all look alike?"

"I guess we don't. I never realized a difference until I moved two winters ago and people told me I was white. I told them that they were wrong and that I was peach, but they all laughed. I don't know why they call themselves black anyway. I never noticed really, but now that they told me they are, I still say they are wrong. To me they look purplish or tan and different browns really."

Marika adjusts her seat in the saddle to be more comfortable while waiting for an answer. She also loosens the reigns and stops pulling on the bit, so Sugar Magnolia can be more comfortable.
"Yes, we unicorns come in many different colors as well. They are the same colors as horses in your world. Our horns are all alike though, that is why we look like horses in your world. Our horns are of each color yet none at all, that is why most people can't see them."

"So, why can I see it?" Marika inquires curiously.

"Have you been taught about imagination?"

"Oh yes, my parents answer a lot of my questions by using that word. Like when I ask them what I should paint about. Or when I ask them how I can have nice dreams."

"See, that is why you can see my horn. To the other riders in your class I am just an Appaloosa mix. However, you never lost the imagination that all humans are born with, yet teach each other to unlearn."

Marika ponders this answer silently.

"So, how can you talk to me with that bit in your mouth?"

"I am talking to you by using my mind. I don't need my mouth to speak like the people do in your world. Matter of fact, if you notice, right now you are not using your lips either."

"So, what is your world like?" Marika inquires.

"Would you like to see?"

"Oh, yes, please! What do I have to do?"

"Just close your eyes. See the golden arch in front of you with the emerald green vines around it? Just guide me through it and you will see!"

Marika closes her eyes and feels the secure gentle gait on Sugar Magnolia's warm soft back. Her horseback riding teacher would call it a collected walk. However, all thoughts of her teacher disappear as she guides Magnolia through the arch.

"You can open your eyes now!"

Marika does so and gazes around in wonder. There is a rainbow and pink fluffy clouds are draped on the background of an azure blue sky. A crystal blue stream weaves its way through emerald green, lush foliage. As Marika takes a deep breath from all the excitement, she notices that the air smells . . . she is not sure how to describe it. It somehow reminds her of an aroma of cookies baking, the scent of fresh flowers in a meadow, and her Mom's favorite perfume - all rolled into one.

 

As she looks closer, she sees other creatures. A lot of them are kept airborne by wonderful delicate wings with all the colors of the rainbow; in all sizes. Sweet music fills the air. She recognizes some parts being played by flute, because it's the instrument Marika started to play this summer.

"Wow! This is just what I thought it would be like!"

"Indeed!" Sugar Magnolia responds. Now that I have taken you to this place once, I have given you the secret key and you can come back here anytime by picturing the arch with the vines that we came through."

"Are there other unicorns here?" Marika asks.

"Yes, there are. But they only show themselves to the persons that have the special keys that belong to them."

"Thank you so much!"

"Mariiiikaaaaaa! You are supposed to jog! You need to kick the horse if she does not obey your signals the first three times! Marika, do you hear me? And don't slouch, you need to sit straight up!"

Miss Sally's voice echoes through the woods as she shouts out her instructions.

Marika jerks upright, to the disapproving frowns of the parents who showed up this Sunday afternoon to watch their kids ride in the ring at the Mulberry Acres stable. Her eyes come to rest on her Mom's face, who smiles at her knowingly and with love.

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Alexandra Heep is a freelance writer who just so
happens to be my friend. She has her own blog
A Heep's Tale in which she weaves a storyline
using songs from her favorite band Uriah Heep.
You can find her collection of stories, poems
and informative articles at Helium.com on her
about me page.