Friday, April 26, 2013

The Alley






Thanks to Nicholas Schafer for the lovely picture that inspired this story. This is just an opening scene, and I don't plan to run it as a series on this blog. However, if you are terribly interested, let me know and I'll send you a copy when the story is complete.



I.
    Alois blinked several times. Paint dripped from his fingers. He could smell it. He stared at the wall in front of him, but he couldn’t see anything except a blur of browns and greens without his glasses.
    He wiped the paint off on the leg of his pants and wondered where he’d gotten the paint from this time. His head ached, right behind his eyes, and he drew his somewhat cleaner left hand across his face. He knelt down carefully and felt across the ground for his glasses, but he couldn’t find them.
    “Not again,” he muttered.
    “Hello? Alois?”
    “Jana?” he said, squinting at the figure coming toward him.
    “Thank goodness and mercy. I didn’t think I was going to find you.” She handed him a damp cloth and his glasses.
    “How long was I gone this time?” he asked.
    “I was out until about an hour ago. You were gone when I got back.” She looked past him at the wall. “What this?”
    He shrugged and turned to see what he had done.
    “This is amazing. How do you do such detail without even a brush?” she asked, leaning closer to the still wet paint.
    “I don’t know,” he said. He glanced at the scene, a sunny forest glade.
    “I feel like I could walk right into it,” Jana said.
    “You’ll get paint all over you,” Alois said without a hint of humor.
    “Probably.” She turned back to him with a smile. “We’d better go. It’s almost curfew, and you don’t want the badges seeing what you’ve done. Even if it is beautiful. They don’t like people painting up walls that aren’t theirs.”
    Alois gave a startled look up at the street light that stuck out of the wall and past it at the darkened sky.
    “Come on now,” Jana said, holding out her hand to him.
    He looked up at her. “Are my parents home?”
    “No, darling boy,” she said with a look around her eyes that was pitying. “Come along, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
    Alois rubbed at his temples, trying to stop the pain behind his eyes as he followed his nanny out of the alley.

II.
    At half ten, long after the curfew bells had rung and the lights had gone out, a boy about sixteen years old darted into the alley with the sound of boot steps following him down the street. He wasn’t surprised to find that the alley was a dead end. That was just the way his luck was running that night. He crouched against the wall, hoping the shadows would hide him and knowing that they wouldn’t.
    It wasn’t a part of town he normally hung about. The people who lived there were the posh of the nobs, and he was a factory worker who lived in the Shatter. The kind of guy who came home with grease embedded in every crease and crevice.
    He wouldn’t have been there at all if the Rocker Men hadn’t been waiting for him outside the building where he kept a room. He rubbed the back of his head where the first––and last––blow had landed. As soon as it had, he’d scrambled back up and run, because that was what he was good at––running, not fighting. He wasn’t used to having anyone so very intent on catching him though.
    They were going to gut him, he was sure, and he was very particular about the amount of blood in his body. If he could have his own way, it would be all of it. He studied the walls in the dim light, but they offered no way up. The one behind him was covered in a mural and smelled of still wet paint.
    “Come out, little Joe,” said a voice he recognized as belonging to Figs, the mouth of the Rocker Men. “We just wanna have a nice, little talk with you.”
    Four silhouettes appeared at the end of the alley, and Joe eased back, never minding the wet paint. It would wash out easier than blood in any case. But he couldn’t find the wall behind him. He slid back farther and his hand came down in something damp and soft. He drew it back at once, not wanting to think about what he might have stuck his hand in.
    He looked over his shoulder just for a second to see where exactly the wall had gone, only to discover that it wasn’t there at all, and neither, when he turned back, was the alley. He sat alone in a clearing surrounded by deciduous trees and filled with the faint but distinctive smell of wet paint.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Faye

She drinks the evening sunlight in
Amber and ocher, swirling steam
Like hot tea, it tastes of cinnamon

The fragrance of lilac hangs
Lazy drops of amethyst about her wrist
Silver bird song spins and twines
Through her hair, through the night

Moonlight wraps her in his arms
Starlight crowns her pretty face
Leaves move in the breeze,
Play a waltz as she dances

If you ever see her
No doubt you'll be enchanted


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Great Gray Divide



The darkness is
a living thing
that breathes
out coals and poison
and turns my soul
to ashes

The light is
a mighty force
that scorches
so brightly does it shine
and turns my soul
to gold

The gray is
where comfort lies
No change required
No pain to bear
and leaves my soul
just as it is

A dusty, useless thing