Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Writing To Michael

I wrote a letter beneath the shimmering lights of the season,
not to a holiday icon, hoping for granted wishes,
but to a familiar name,
that has never had a face attached,
but feels like a match,
by blood,
or by spirit,
I could never tell which.

I have written a letter to the man who shares my surname.
We could be related,
or I could be caught up in a coincidence,
but with each word, it seems to matter less and less,
because he was somebody’s son,
the sunlight in someone’s life,
a smiling star that shone too bright,
and I think of him with a fondness that would seem strange to anyone but me,
wondering if we’d be close if I were his niece, or his cousin from another continent.

Christmas is coming,
and I’m wondering what his favourite part of it was.
Was Bay City lit up like a fantasy?
Was he as bad at wrapping gifts as me?
Did he wander the streets, wondering which pavement stones Madonna had walked upon before him? (I absolutely would have done that too) And also wondering why the Queen of Pop never released a full Christmas record? (Again, SAME!)

All I’ve ever known is his name,
and the city he slept in for the last time,
but he has been on my mind for months and years,
because I was lost in the trail of tragedy when he came along,
a familiar name,
some kind of anchor,
to keep me from veering off into a tidal wave of tears that have already been wept,
and I obsess,
desperate to know about the one who shares something of my own.

How could he be gone?
How could they let him go?
What would he think if he knew he could live nowadays?
What would he think if he knew corporate greed let’s people die these days?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Dinner Date

Your cultivation of my attention was swift, and somewhat impressive.
Blinding,
bad,
better,
bold,
it was dangerous to dine with you.

I hated to be your dinner date,
because your hands would rule a Kingdom under the table,
and I was a persecuted subject,
tormented,
tortured,
toyed with,
torrid.

Struck by the sudden sweetness of your stare,
I begin to wonder if I am in trouble,
or if I will find my power,
walking out of your hotel room at 4AM for a cigarette, leaving you on the bed,
shivering and shimmering.

I’m so sugary sweet,
so incompatible with your schedule,
sending you so out of sorts that it takes you a week to recover,
but there you go again,
inviting me to dinner.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Winter Morning

Leaves wave from the almost bare branches,
and though I am barely awake,
I am through with the day already.
The sky is a grey grimace,
glowering down at me,
giving attitude that I don’t deserve,
because we’re both getting going on a day that doesn’t promise us much.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Forever Faithful

Those bastards drove right past me. It was dark, but I had a torch, waving it madly from the side of the road as they approached. It didn’t matter, because they drove right past me, and now, they’ll get what they deserve.

I just needed a ride into the village. It wouldn’t have been too far. They were going that way anyway, but the trouble with people today is that they’ve got no kindness in them.

If they’d pulled over and let me in from the rain, I would have told them about Luna.

We all know about her round here, but they were from the city. Probably here for the wedding, I imagine. We always get weddings here, because the church is pretty and makes for great photos. The local hotel loves it because they always host the reception, and it makes money for the rest of the local businesses too, so we can’t complain, but Luna doesn’t like it.

They say that she was due to get married. It was back in the 40’s, just after the war. Luna was the most beautiful girl in the village, and her family were loaded too. They owned the hotel, and she was the only child, so everything was destined to go to her one day. Her parents wanted her to marry a rich man, even a Lord, but Luna fell in love with a local shop boy, and as young people tend to do, she thought she knew better and wouldn’t marry, unless it was to him.

It was quite the scandal, but her parents relented eventually, and a date was set. The whole village turned out for it, with the exception of the groom, and one of the chambermaids from the hotel. As it all turns out, Luna’s love had already given his heart to somebody else, and after making off with as much of Luna’s fortune as he could carry, they ran away to the coast, leaving Luna in tears at the alter.

She ran from the wedding, humiliated and heartbroken, and she was never seen again… Not in the state she left the wedding, anyway. Some think she was hit by a car, or drowned in the lake, but the truth was so much worse.

A few weeks later, the shop boy and his maid mistress were found dead in the forest that surrounded the village. Their bodies were mangled, torn to pieces, and it took a while for the police to even identify them, but eventually, they realised it was them. Somebody, or something had lured them back to the forest and massacred them.

Nobody would say, but everyone got the feeling it was Luna, and assuming that she’d had her pound of flesh, they began to breathe a little easier.

The trouble was, Luna hadn’t quite had her fill. Something bad happened to her out in those woods, something horrible. Not by the hand of man, oh no. Luna was killed by nature. She was walking through the forest, blinded by tears and lost her way. She called out for help but in the thick forest, nobody could hear her. It gets so dark in there. Even in the daytime, you’d swear it was night.

Nobody came to rescue her, so she was lost to the elements. She almost made it, bless her heart, she crawled out, hungry and thirsty, covered in dirt and rainwater. She made it onto the side of the road, but all the cars just drove past. They didn’t see her. They just drove past.

That’s where she died, where you just picked me up. People say that if you listen, you can still hear her by the side of the road, crawling on the floor from the forest, pleading for somebody to drive her up to the hotel. Anyone who’s smart will stop, and take her home. She’s always grateful, gives them a sweet smile from her swollen, rotting face as she leaves the car and runs up the path to the hotel.

Those two weren’t smart though. See that car up ahead? They came down for the wedding, just got engaged themselves, but they’re not going to make it down the aisle.

You see, Luna doesn’t like people that don’t stop to give her a ride, and she dislikes couples even more. I suppose it’s a bit of a sore subject for her, with all she’s been through.

Slow down a second…

They’re about to swerve off the road, just watch.

Don’t get out and check on them! Luna doesn’t like that! Just keep driving. Luna will take care of them.

Aren’t you glad you picked me up, eh?