Life and its happenings

                                                                Life and its Happenings

A Series of Connected Short Stories

                                                Lyles story

There were four of us in total. We were on such different paths and walks of life, but for that all-important moment we were used to set a country free. My country! Or should I say God’s country! It was in that conference room, on a misty foggy day that our paths converged into one, following the Lord. Of course, the journey was tumultuous for all of us, but so worth it.  For years I owned a construction business, which I started in my mid twenties. I was now thirty-eight, and very exasperated with life. What could it all mean? Was this it?  Was it just for me to get up every day and hate what I was doing? Sure, I had my fair share of broken relationships. They started off with such a bang of excitement and flair, but as soon as the one-year mark came and went the sexual chemistry died, and we were no longer compatible. Such was one of these days.

                “I’m starting to think you don’t want me.” How right she was. I was bored with her. She was just a pretty face; we didn’t have anything in common. How was I supposed to get out of this one?

 “I’ve decided to relocate.” I sheepishly mentioned.

“To where?” She questioned, sensing the inevitable.

“The road my love. I am closing shop.” Of course, this was all an elaborate ruse to rid me of her company.

“Okay… What about me?” I honesty didn’t care what she did if it didn’t involve me.

“Why don’t you go stay at your mother’s?” Now that really set her off. She exploded!

She raced into the kitchen, found some plates and smashed them on the tiled floor. She started clanking pots and blenders, and any equipment she could find! Finally, she ripped the food out of the fridge and dumped it in a rage all over the ground. She then screeched her final screech, dismantled the door, and hollered “We are through! We are through forever!”

                At that point I didn’t care what I said, so I simply said, “Good riddance psycho!” And that was the end of that. One final shoe was thrown at me, and I was free at last.

                Everything was so grey. Life had lost its color, and I was so alone. I tried to fill the gaping hole in my soul with every kind of wrong medication, but it left me empty- empty and bitter. It was on that day I decided to commit suicide. I planned on going out with a bang! I would jump off the statue of liberty. How fitting that would be. Maybe I’d be free?

                New York City was a stone throw from my jazzy three-bedroom Bungalow. I was an avid collector of musical instruments, and I frequented all the local clubs. I possessed no musical talent, but I enjoyed the night life in local Jazz bars. It was a crockpot of human interaction and a good place for a hookup, for those of us with wandering eyes. This was my final night on earth, so I was going to enjoy every moment of it.

                “Scotch on me!” The tempo of the bar became hysterical. The irritating music and the clashing drums did little to brighten my mood. After all this was the end of the road. How had it come to this? Why was there such dissatisfaction? I wanted to make love for the final time. I kind of wished my tornado fling was with me, at least I’d have some guaranteed action. I was too tired to be on the prowl. This was all just one giant disappointment.

I saw a girl entering through the dingy doorway, she seemed apprehensive. In my stupor I glared at her up and down; what a babe! Stumbling I made my way through the dancing partiers, intoxicated I slurred out my words.

“You must be the prettiest thing I’ve ever saw on this green earth… Are you up for it honey?” She peered at me for a moment, and I saw something in her eyes. Yes, that something was light.

“It’s okay darling… Forgive me for my drunk…” And that is where I blacked out…

                                Tiana’s Story

My alarm went off at 5:32 AM. As I struggled to open my weary eyes, I knew that God was going to use me in this day. I said a quick prayer and dragged myself out of bed. Work was horrendous as it usually was, but I am trying to keep myself from complaining. There are people who have it so much worse. I performed my morning routine of a hot shower, and my beautifying regiment, and I headed out at ten to seven to my dismal mundane job- there I go again, more complaining.

When I arrived things were far from usual. The atmosphere was foreboding, nobody even looked me in the eyes. I wondered what was going on. This was strange even for my fast-food job. I approached the manager hoping to become informed of my situation.

She remained silent. She just glared at me through menacing eyes. I didn’t understand what was going on! I was losing my mental faculties. Finally, someone spoke, “Tiana, don’t you realize it’s been a year since you died?”

“What do you mean?” I pondered.

“As in we buried you. We laid you to rest.”

“I…” I didn’t understand. How could this be?

Freakishly my manager replied: It was that darned herb you ate before you died. Thyme.  

                                                Betta’s Story

I was so in love! Every part of me burned with an internal fire, that literally increased my heartbeat into triads. Around him the pheromones flickered like lights on a hill. I could not contain myself! All I wanted was his undivided attention. The trees around me reminded me of his strong arms. The lichen his soft ginger hair, the moss his caress on my body. Yes, I was opening to him, opening, opening… Until I realized it was just a mirage. I lay there, spent… Yes, spent and so distant. So distant from the fantasy I had allowed to pillage my mind and senses. I gave him everything, and he… Did he return my love?

The slugs slurped across my weather torn tarp. It had rained much in that day. You can call it providence, or God’s favor, but I was going to meet my love. I thought, wasn’t he already with me? Didn’t we just express it? No that was not real… Yet it felt, ooh it felt so, so, filled with desire. It stirred my very passions, but where was he now? I’d find him. I’d find him someway.

                                                                ***

I perceived my Betta. I kissed her tenderly on the lips. It was such a tragedy that I only existed within her mind. I was very much alive, and very much in Love! How did I exist? She made a place for me in her lonely heart, ever since she was a child. And I just, well… Fell in love with her all the while. Some would call it mental illness, others would call it demonic, but the truth was we were one body holding two souls. Sometimes, only sometimes she could see me so clearly, and other times she saw nothing. It was the most painful, agonizing part of my existence! My dear Betta I’ll be here for you despite all!

                                                The Path Converges

I Lyle awoke in a foggy, blurry, large hall. How much had I had to drink? Was this the afterlife? I had never been more anxious. I knew I was in for it. I quickly realized my sins had stacked to heaven. Then I discovered I was not alone. There were three other people in the room, but they were sleeping.

One of them awoke. “Where am I? And who are you?” I meant to ask the same question. “I am Lyle, and the last I remember is blanking out drunk.”

“We must be here in this conference study for a reason. Yes, you see I was buried a year ago, but there is something for me to do. My time has not yet come.”

A third awoke, as Tiana and I examined her.

“I am afraid I have been so rude. What are your names?”

“I am Tiana…” She answered with dignity.

“Where am I? Who am I?”

“Wait a moment and it shall come to you.” I assured her.

“Ah. I am Betta.” She recalled almost immediately.

Then something supernatural happened. A body of light plunged its way out of Betta, and suddenly become flesh. It was the man she had loved all these years!

“You’re real!” She embraced him, stroking his face. He reciprocated.

“I have always been real, and so in love with you.” He responded.

“What is your name?” I asked, a man privy to details.

“Qutan.” Betta jumped into his arms, and he spun her around like a child.

“How I have loved you these many years! Finally, we can express it!”

I Lyle understood that this was my second chance. That God because of His mercy (Jesus) was giving me another opportunity. Not only to me, but also to these three people I had just met. I Lyle knew that we were connected in some way, and that we were about to embark upon experiencing grace in a measure we could have never imagined.

An aged but dignified professor entered the conference hall.

“Good. It appears that you are all present, and you Mr. Lyle Reds I hope your hang over is treating you well? Perhaps next time you’ll learn that excess has its consequences. I caution you to use discretion while in your tent of a body. And Miss Tiana Rose you had so much potential to blossom, but you never had the courage. My darling courage I shall teach you. Betta… Oh Betta. You were so consumed by unguarded passions that you created your own character, your own hallucination to help you contain. I will help you find a real man. Qutan get out of here! You are just a demon trying to subvert Betta’s true destiny! All right! Class in session!”

Qutan quickly vanished into the deep. Betta reached for him. “Child! He is not reality!” Betta began to weep and shout, for she was so broken.

“Let him go Betta!” The professor commanded.

“Why! Why are you taking my only love from me?”

“You’ll soon be comforted. Just trust!” The professor remarked.

“Leave me alone in my grief! For you’ve taken my love from me!”

“You’ll get over it. It was never real.” The professor said barbarically.

“Now class I shall read you the syllabus of this life altering program. Firstly, you have been chosen for this task out of thousands of applicants, so you can know it has nothing to do with your own pride. Secondly you are expected to complete all the course work, and the exam at the end is a practicum. This course is entitled “Restoring Repentance to a dying Religious Renaissance.”

“What?” The three of us chorused in unison.

“To paraphrase: restoring your country to the fear of the Lord.” I Lyle was starting to get excited.

“So what do we do?” I asked rigorously.

“You? You do nothing! That’s the beauty of it all! The Holy Spirit will do His works, no matter the battle going on inside of you! Lyle there is a great war inside of you! You don’t yet feel it, but when you do, look up for your redemption draws near. As for you Betta and Tiana, your mission is the same. Preach the gospel, help the poor, care for the invalid, the widow and the Orphan. Give what you have, and trust in the Lord, for in due time He will lift you up.”

Betta and Tiana could not stop weeping, for Jesus had circumcised their weary hearts. “Go ye!” was the message they received, so “Go ye…” they did!

“What war?” I asked the professor. A tear trickled down his cheek. “The war where Satan sifts you like wheat. That war will commence tonight. Hold on to the truth.”

That evening I Lyle tossed and turned with some of the most graphically disturbing nightmares that I have ever had. Sick voices, disturbing images that sought to haunt and torment my soul. But it didn’t stop there! My mind was being torn asunder, as the demons tweaked it with their perversions; I lost my sanity.

When I awoke in my own bed, I was surprised. Where was the professor? Where was the conference room? Where were the girls? I didn’t need to think long before I started hearing thoughts that were coming out of the abyss.

“Welcome to hell, soon it shall be yours. Where you will rot and die, for all those sins. Oh how you loved those sins. Oh, how they titillated you! Now it is time to pay!”

“Stay away from me!” I demanded.

“We shall always be here. Even when you can’t sense us.”

“Get out!”

“You should kill those who oppose…”

“I will not kill anyone! You’d better get that straight!”

“All men are eventually crushed!”

“Away!” I once again yelled.

Fleeting feelings remained a moment then…

“We have an assignment for you.”

“Go to hell!” I roared.

“We are already there! C’mon it’s your destiny! You have no power over us!” I knew that they were correct. I was sinking into the miry depths… Good-bye soul. Good-bye sunsets and rainbows, and true Love.

 I in that dismal moment remembered being a little child. I remembered asking the Lord Jesus into my heart. I remembered being forgiven! I cried out. “Lord! Lord Jesus help me.” “Do you love me Lyle son of John?” “Oh Lord I have been so evil…” “I took your place Lyle son of John.” “Lord… I’ve sinned against heaven and earth…” “Lyle son of John! I took your place! Do you love me?” It suddenly dawned on me… “Lord, you’ve loved me all of these years! Jesus, I love you! Thank you for taking my place! Oh Lord, make me yours.” “You are mine!” He looked into my eyes, such pure Love I beheld. “Follow me.”

For Joy

Near a stream by the knoll, she was searching for her soul,
where the child would be found in her tears.
Mixed with salt, mixed with wine, her reflection was divine,
but I’m afraid that’s the last time I saw her.

When a child loses hope, they grow older and they float,
upon the currents of degraded laughter.
When a daughter is lost, in the woods by the cost,
of a disengaged merciless father.

Her veiled face is an anonymous race,
The color of her skin achromatic...
She’s gone, gone, without the slightest trace,
The tale of her woes dramatic.

She’s out, out, to find what was herself,
but I think it’s been consumed by nature.
The trout, trout, sing aloud by night,
she’s been given a new form by the Creator...
She’s been given a new form by the Creator...

                       Here Lay the Struggle of my Inner man...
First, twice born, once into natural states,
and then again a spiritual man, but not mature yet an embryo!
I walk between the promise of light,
and the transcendent darkness, which plagues my kind, to bondage and decay.
Yet there I am in this perpetual struggle, if it eases for a moment it never eases,
If it ceases it never ceases!
I have victory, but have not drunk it up,
I have freedom, but have not yet obtained it!

I am engaged in a battlefield beyond flesh, beyond strength and weakness, beyond my own capabilities to endure, or even suffer defeat!
I am here to overcome, yet it is not in my overcoming, but in the overcoming of another,
My Savior, the world’s savior, in whom I am truly justified!
Yet I am still inflamed with equal and opposite passions!
Hear it now.
In one lies the quest for power, for dominance, for sexual arrival, for lust, for vanity, for the fulfilment of me! And yet the other, growing stronger still only by the very blood drop of Grace, lies my quest to submit, to surrender my sensualities, and to just utterly die!

Will I ever be able to trod this narrow highway, through the one gate, to the place of my Father’s rest? Or is it even to do with my own capabilities? I submit that no man can enter by his own merit, and what merit were I to have even if I had merit, but the wager of death and lies on my lips?
Oh Pilgrim see to it that you find this world as nothing! Not a place to rest your head, lest you die here and become complacent, satisfied with the broad road to the Gates of destruction! Oh Lord Hear my plea! Let me be a man who walks this Holy highway, and walks it by the faith hope and love you have bequeathed to this lowly and Afflicted heart. Be Blessed YWEY, father of Fathers, God of God’s. Keep me in thy sight, lest I be taken in by the deceptions of my inner man!
Save The church from all her troubles! 

Ocean and Time (Preview) Revised

                                                In Which They are Captured
        Night Mares; the unholy breed of inhuman savages had returned to Theodoris. They had returned to pillage her villages, to pervert her children, and to inseminate her women. But what they had failed to comprehend was that one ancient hero of lore still remained in the village: loyal to the Ocean and it’s precepts; loyal to the Grand Master and the powers of His eternal consciousness. As long as Gosemis remained; a possessor of the true light, the dark hordes and all of its masters could not penetrate her walls. So they sank back into the Hellish depths and bode their time, soon they would gather again, this time to ensnare her forever more.
    So reads the inscription on those ancient walls to this day:
    Many a valiant Dream have passed the coil of victory,
    Onto her pious sons’ to regard heavens true duty,
    But Ne’re a generation begot, so full of civility,
    Then that of Gosemis: The light bearer, Theodoris Nobility.
    Yet, as in all things, the ugly siege of time bore no mercy even for the brave, and in war Gosemis fell. Now it was his kin; Silverious, who payed his final respects to this reverent Dream.
Stroking the tombstone he read its engraved letterings aloud, to emphasize his savage emotion.
    “Here lies a Dream. Truth he bled for. Lacked none but stood on call. Died as he lived, so selflessly, for one, myself, and all.”
    Gosemis had been more then a hero, he was a father. He had been more then a father, he was a friend. A tear welled in Silverious’s Mocha brown eyes, as the light of the morning Zebron shone upon his ruddy face. His unshaven black stubble slowed the tear, until it vanished beneath the forest of his wavy hair.
    “He was a good Dream my darling Silverious.” A melodic female voice calmed his bursting emotions. A soft finger gently divided his long hair into lockets. He was comforted not startled, and very pleased that she had found him.
    “He was the best of us, better even.” Silverious was inspired by her kind sentiment. He knew she was honest, and the words she expressed directly were more then mere sympathies. They were meant. They were felt.
    <Silverious, you know I cannot bear it when I do not hear your voice in my mind.> A half grin momentarily embraced Silverious’s sober countenance. For the two Dreams had always been able to communicate in a dialect far more potent then guttural sound; they were able to converse in the tongue of thought.
    “Theodoris is a marvel this time of year. He couldn’t have asked for a better resting place.”
           “Aye my friend it is.”
    Without doubt it was. Her passionate red oaks swayed blissfully in the playful  wind. There were three oaks in the graveyard towering over even the grandest of monuments that clearly belonged to a forgotten era. A purple poppy had spawned its kin amongst the gravestones, adding a new dimension of color for the beholder. The air was clean and crisp; breathing was like kissing a girl you loved.
    “He didn’t die in vain.” Versillies was reading his deepest emotions. She peered into his eyes, his coffee shaded eyes and therein she found a restless agony.
    Silverious reflected on Versillies kind words. She was quite the woman, different then any other he had ever met before. She had a vivacious quality about her, a strong liveliness that propelled him forward even in these dark days of despair and grief.
    “He fought for our freedom. He fought for the freedom of all Flomoshia. He fought to rid our lands of the Night Mares. When will their oppression end?”
    Versillies wished she could answer him, but all the answers were swallowed up by the grim reality of their people’s bondage to the Night Mares. Theodoris was almost free, but at what cost? So many had died, so many had been martyred for the cause of liberty.
    It seemed the nations only hope rested in the hands of the Scrupalodian Empire. The Scrupalodian Empire was the resistance led by the gallant Cocomal against the dreaded queen Quasepella.
    “I’m going to join Cocomal and like my father before me I shall fight for our nation. We shall regain the lands that are rightfully ours.” Silverious was resolved, a fiery red flesh of light bolted across his eyes.
    Versillies saw it and for a moment, just a moment, she was afraid. Versillies had deep feelings for Silverious, but she didn’t know how to express them. She felt as though he could never share such passion with her. After all they had been friends since child hood; they grew up together. They had fended off mares together: they had shared intimate thoughts, for when it fancied them they fused their very minds together. They had the same fervent desire for the deliverance of their race, although Silverious would surely mock her if she told him that she too wanted to join the Scrupalodian forces. The army he would quip is the responsibility of a male not a female.
    “You’re a funny one.” She often told him, in a high pitched bravado. He would laugh and take her in his arms, wrestling to remain in that moment forever.
    Versillies was afraid that Silverious was seeking vengeance at any cost. Then the gentleness returned to his eyes the gentleness she had known her entire life.
    Silverious and Versillies exchanged glances. She was stunning but he had immense respect for her and her friendship. Inside he wanted nothing more than to let his savage side take over and kiss her vehemently like a wild beast. Her vibrant hair flashed radiant red in the light of the morning zebron. It was shoulder length. It was perfect thought Silverious. Her shape was slender and firm, her breasts were medium sized yet developed. Her eyes were shimmering green; her skin was smooth like the finest of silks.
    On her forehead was a mark. It was a peculiar symbol that all the females of her family line possessed, but it didn’t bother her in the slightest.  It consisted of two hand-written O’s with an infinity sign in the middle. It was most mysterious. Silverious thought it made her look distinct.
    Occasionally her countenance radiated. Sometimes when the two were alone together basking in friendship and gentle caress she literally illuminated. It was an intriguing ability that really made a difference in the dark. It was a gift.
    Silverious took her hand, “I miss father so much, but it really gladdens me that you are here.”
Versillies blushed, she longed for more touch. A flood of warmth enveloped her, and she wanted him. She wanted him to express it. She softly tickled his skin. A mare entered the graveyard!

Poems from my Wall (first two with iris)

Court Me Oh Centipede
Velvet petal, heart-shaped and sanguine
Silken riddle- woven intravenously
An enormous centipede-it's hundred legs a quivering, Tickles velvet petal with his ostentatious chivalry,
"Alas good sir!" The rose-cheeked maiden cried
I am a humble lady- bug someone else, all right?
I may be somewhat thorny, but I still have my pride.
She looked slowly from side to side and whispered:
"Come see me in the morning, I'll make your butter fly."
My darling, primrose, Oh So delectable, as mornings come and go. By that time and with my pride- I'll be leg-shabob in a perilous Gob, of worms who've sought you for their bride!!!
"...Oh my"                           

    Insanities Confession
The damning touch of reason caresses the gentle bosom of what has become my under-world, my new reality.
A shade away from madness: it's the color of eternity.
Ancient lore I have attained: all emotion cascading into one Pounding moment of insanity.
To break into new day; the cycle of infinity.

Was I once a God? No this was God condemning me into my own catacomb of solitude- without her...
Cursed: like an hour- glass without its other half.
How can time ebb again if the glass remains in shards?
Thru the power of the will....

This house of cards, like pyramids, stands testament
Burn Burn Burn
Burn with envious passion: Envy of the contorted passion I once possessed!!
Learn no more through the wit. I am madness; finally confessed!!


Theme: Face-book and twitter and all of them critters.
Solo poem, intro
The Disgruntled User
Face-book thou hast made my contemporaries as socially awkward and politically backward as an upside down cluster of rutabagas! Oh I hear the masses cry- what the Hell is a rutabaga? Shall I inform you? Examine the picture closely- Yes see what I can do! I can make you feelest psychologically
connected to vegetables...

Face-book our relationship is a strained one,
But I Lovest thou like a hot bath in a lake of ice-cubes!
and I hatest thou as I hate the word hate,
Remind me again why a decent man needs to know- for instance, the exact measurement of a woman's teeth?
Daresay, perhaps she's a vegan vampire- sharing the recipe of the day- Rutabaga soup

Forgive me I do not Like that comment- I will not post the latest propaganda and that game is Horrific! Face-book, you have taken the beauty of my youth, and returned to me nothing but an endless strain of useless information....
Thou art an under-evolved mechanism of my dissatisfaction, but for now,
I'll Leave you on my friends list...


Welcome To the fun peeps! Post, comment, and show your ire and love for contemporary society...
Photo: Theme: Face-book and twitter and all of them critters. Solo poem, intro The Disgruntled User Face-book thou hast made my contemporaries as socially awkward and politically backward as an upside down cluster of rutabagas! Oh I hear the masses cry- what the Hell is a rutabaga? Shall I inform you? Examine the picture closely- Yes see what I can do! I can make you feelest psychologically connected to vegetables... Face-book our relationship is a strained one, But I Lovest thou like a hot bath in a lake of ice-cubes! and I hatest thou as I hate the word hate, Remind me again why a decent man needs to know- for instance, the exact measurement of a woman's teeth? Daresay, perhaps she's a vegan vampire- sharing the recipe of the day- Rutabaga soup Forgive me I do not Like that comment- I will not post the latest propaganda and that game is Horrific! Face-book, you have taken the beauty of my youth, and returned to me nothing but an endless strain of useless information.... Thou art an under-evolved mechanism of my dissatisfaction, but for now, I'll Leave you on my friends list...

Perhaps this pain, this excruciating inner, horrific pain I'am imbibed with at the moment is not for my own anguish.... No perhaps it is to learn that pain connects us- aye perhaps the reason for our shared suffering is to understand the depths by which we must have unwarranted compassion for our fellow human beings... Regardless of any preconceived notion, nuance or frailty which separates us from sheer unadulterated empathy... Dear God not only expressed through poetry, art, and words, but the action of the greatest gift one can give another and that is one's attention, and real time! Perhaps that is why we are forced into this cosmic bubble of degraded non-sense in the first place! Why we must share this mortal coil! The tragedy of Time! Aye... If we cannot pursue truth in the momentary- how could we in the infinite be anything but selfish devils! By the heavens! Love is more then feeling! It is more then orgasms and foreplay! It is more then the sick perversion of achieving one's heightened sense and forgetting the needs of the other, be they male, female, animal! Why do we hate... Why do we delve into selfishness when the greatest need of humanity is heartfelt communication... Why are we perverse and violent and empty and cold and sick when all that is needed is a tear of hope- hope that spans generations- spans religions- spans ethnicities! So may I have all the pain in the world Dear God, if I could take that pain and harbor it into something of promise, for those I love, and for all humanity...


    here's another one, Not as dark, but very thought invoking.

In depth Consortium
The tragedy of my inner man is beheld not in my contempt for life, but in my inability to alter the fickle-breathe of my baised reasoning and incomplete logic.
Were I to be a syndicate-interconnected with the divine consciousness- my perception would be actual, and not re-directed by emotional events.

The conclusion of this self- examination is that of melancholy reality. It can only be assumed that the path from here is even more abstract then the morality of a sinful adulterer.

So I ponder in this state of analysis, have my feelings shrouded the compound of reliable decisions? Or shall I proceed into the depths of eternal consequence for deliberate rebellion? The answer is not apparent, and I am most distressed…

Examine me, what is it that frightens you,
Pursue me till the Gods' consume you,
I'm not here for anything but a slice of Retribution,
Like lichen on a dead birch,
Waiting to be Besmirched.
Till the Humanoid tells another anecdote,
I've got Hell's esophagus burning down my throat.
Dead mans sarcophagus incarnate devil in the moat.

Revenge so bitter it impales my taste buds
Was I reborn to forfeit life?
Or was the strife my conviction?
My passion for justice thwarts my reason.
And I am alone,
Forever.

                                     Angels Don’t Cry
    In the midst of the day, near the break of autumn in the cool African breeze a young girl searched for her doll amongst the rubbish. The dump permeated a nauseating odour for anyone who was not accustomed to its stench of raw waste. Molaika however was on a mission; she was determined to find the doll, for it had been her mothers last gift to her before the desolation of HIV aids had taken its final call. Molaika had thrown the doll away in a fit of rage and sorrow, cursing death in her young heart. She immediately regretted her decision, and was now seeking to make amends by finding the uniquely crafted home sewed dolly.

    It is amongst the slums that perverted men and their twisted carnal minds sleek as predators searching for their prey. Snakes and scorpions with poisonous venom awake from their slumber and strike mercilessly their fragile and hopeless victims; always too young to defend themselves, and always alone. It was no different on that day, and when it was over she lay violated; afraid; near dead; painfully aware of the raw hatred she now felt. The raw hatred she felt for men bubbled within her core. She grasped tenaciously onto a nearby stone, and she swore to the highest heavens and the deepest depths “Angels don’t Cry.”
And from that day for twenty -six years she never did.

    The day she finally did cry was a day that began like any other. As in any other day she went about her routine of sewing homemade finely crafted puppets. She had made thousands of them over the years, each one sombre and grave reflecting the bitterness still very alive in her soul. She sewed meticulously and obsessively sure to perfect their look of agony, it was her only source of income, and it was all she could bear to do. It was the only way she could express the still lingering pain that haunted her every crevice.

    It wasn’t until one of her puppets spoke to her that she knew that she was truly losing her sanity. It was her latest creation, and perhaps her finest, because she had never worked so tirelessly on one doll. It could be confidently asserted that this dolly was the last bit of her soul poured into her art, the last bit of the soul left before it was consumed by the wrath of her mortal wound. And like the little child she once was, before life had drained the vivacity out of her, so was her puppet, fresh and alive.

    “Molaika, Nakupenda Molaika.” Startled Molaika blinked. Perhaps she had been working too long on this particular puppet, after all it was the first happy one she had made in years. “Molaika Nakupenda Molaika.” Now she’d heard it twice; clearly, but there was no source of the sound. Was it possible that one of the neighbouring children was playing a trick on her? Yes she rationalized that was probably it: after all she was known in local circles as the crazy puppet lady.“Do you remember me?” The puppet quipped in a jolly off-putting tone.

    “Remember you? How can I remember you?” She thought herself awfully odd talking to a toy, and knew by now she definitely needed her rest.

   


    “I once was lost, but now I am found. I was once dead but now I live. I was so far gone, but I’m home  now. I once was lost but now I’m found!” Confused Molaika could not help but be intrigued by the conversation, despite her better judgment she continued her dialogue with the puppet.                                           

    “Tell me, what do you mean you were once lost?” She queried, unable to fathom what on earth was happening.

    “Oh Molaika, how could you not remember me? Has it been so many years?”
   
    “I...” To think of it the puppet did seem slightly familiar all of the sudden, almost like an old friend that had mysteriously vanished and then reappeared in the most unlikely of circumstances.

    “I am Morah!”
   
    “Morah?” Then it dawned on her, “Morah!” It was her long last dolly, at last, at last she had found her! Oh what a glorious day! And then she remembered...

    “You can’t be here Morah! The man will come... I’m sorry.” And ever so gently with great regret she opened the lid to her trash can.

    “Wait! Molaika! Wait! Listen to me! Angels do cry!” Molaika paused and pondered what her little long lost friend had just spoken, and in a moment of sheer rage whipped the puppet across the room and screamed “Angels Don’t Cry!!!” Immediately she was repentant of what she had just done, and she scooped up the little puppet tenderly in her arms, and rocked it as one would rock a child.

    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
   
    “Molaika, Angels cry for you.” No. How could an angel cry for her? She hadn’t heard Morah right, she couldn’t have. Could she?
                            
    “They cry because you do not cry... Because in crying you would forgive him.”
   
    “Forgive him! I could never forgive him! He’s a monster! He’s a beast, He’s a...” As her face swelled with anger a little teardrop came to the puppets eye. She noticed and tried to comfort it. “Don’t cry Morah, don’t cry!”

    “Why I must Molaika. I’m your mothers last gift to you, and as long as you live in the chains of un forgiveness and sorrow, so does her memory... So do I... I’m afraid I must die once again... Goodbye Molaika... I will always love you.”

    “No! You mustn’t go! Not again! You mustn’t leave me! I need you! I need you!”
   

    “Forgive him Molaika. Cry.” And then the puppet spoke no more...

    A crescendo of tears worth twenty-six years begin with one slow streaming teardrop, and that is what it was. It began with one tear; then became two; then became thousands. Firstly she wept for her puppet who had left her once more; then for her mother; then for all the hurt she had felt over the years, and finally she cried for him, and she released him. She let it go. In her heart she did the impossible, she forgave him.

    And on that very day standing before the king of Kings a little girl ran excitedly into her saviours arms. “I once was lost, but now I am found. I was once dead but now I live. I was so far gone, but I’m home now. I once was lost but now I’m found!”

    “Molaika Nakupenda Molaika.” She was surely an angel, and after all those fierce tears, she never needed to ever cry again.

New plays and stories that have emerged in the following two years include 'The Doorman' 'The Reapers perfection the musical' I have begun work on 'The Truth about being Ugly'

1. The Doorman (Full script) The play revolves around Jonny, a young girl of seventeen who is troubled by thoughts of suicide after being abandoned by her father, Peter, and forced to endure the abusive words of her schizophrenic mother, Rita. Jonny’s life seems hopeless until she meets Chris, a passionate and at times overzealous Christian, who by the Holy Spirit has power to cast out demons. By Chris’ one benevolent act of opening doors for people, Christ opens the door to Rita’s freedom from her illness, opens the door of reconciliation between Jonny and her father, and opens the door of Jonny’s heart to Chris and to Himself.
The Doorman, at its core, is a story of hope that Jesus has the power to save and heal us from whatever battle we face, whether suicidal thoughts, mental illness, pride , or even our own self-righteousness. It is clearly evident that Jesus’ purposes can come in the most unlikely and unexpected of places. 

2. Reapers Perfection: Annabelle of Rome has moved to Toledo in 1486 with her Bishop Father. She falls in Love with a Jewish Convorso and becomes tragically involved in the ongoings of the Spanish inquisition.

3. The truth about being ugly: Examines the old theme about beauty being skin deep, through the lens of a high school news reporter doing a story on a physically ugly girl, who is actually the most kind, heroic and compassionate girl he's ever met.