Beneath this Earthly Trial

There once was a young man
     who walked the straight and narrow.

His boots laced tight
     his back an archer’s arrow.

With steady footfall
     toward true north did he persist.

Though at each step he gained
     the need to bend was harder to resist.

One day the man,
     no longer young and swift.

Did notice, to his dismay,
     the ground beneath him shift.

Steadfast the man continued
     ever onward to his goal.

Till the day he glanced behind
     and found himself with heavy soul.

Twas time to stop this journey
     his heavy burden down he lay.

If one should tell his story,
     what was it they would say?

There was a crooked man,
     and he went a crooked mile?

For even good intentions
     bend beneath this earthly trial.

Crooked Path

Surviving Steam

My name is Aribell. 

A simple enough sentence to pen one should think, but when I look down at my uncouth penmanship I cringe and from more than just the god-awful racket I’m producing.  I can sense Dr. Cogsworth  over my left shoulder trying his best to act a gentleman and not read what I am writing, but I also know that his curiosity will win out.  As well it should one might be presumptuous enough to say because without his assistance I would surely have perished in the dreadful locomotive accident. 

I was pinned beneath an overturned rail car for five hours.

It looks as if the paper so crisp and white is out and out rejecting such an absurd statement as my words drift drunkenly across the page, but it is true.  Minding my own business I started across the Hedgefield crossing on my way to post a letter when I heard the most terrible sound of squealling gears and grinding metal.  The 3 o’clock to Bristol was early and had jumped the track.

My right side was crushed, and it was believed that I would be among the casualties.

A loud hiss startled me knocking my inkwell to the ground and releasing a deluge of India Ink.

“Miss Aribelle,” Cogsworth said with a gentle reprimand in his voice as he began to mop up the mess, “you must acclimate yourself to the pistons my dear.”

“I know,” I consented my head hanging slightly, “of course you are right doctor.  It is just…there is no pattern to the noise, it comes and goes, such anarchy is an assault upon my senses.”

“After the terror you faced with the steam engine it is no wonder that you start at, what you must concede, is a common household sound,” Cogsworth said matter of factly as he set the empty well next to my discarded piece of stationary and fountain pen.  “Even a kettle issues steam Miss Aribelle and it is not frightening.” 

His knowing look is more than I can bare.  The way he pities me mixed with the awe, he can not hide for his handiwork, is stifling.  I take a deep breath and push back from the table, “I do believe I am done with my writing exercises for the day doctor.  If you should need me I will be in my rooms.”

He opens his arms wide inviting me to leave unescorted, but his eyes are on my stationary not my face.  As such he misses the grimace that sets upon my visage as I stand, accompanied by a myriad of grinding sounds, and limp from the room.

With my door secured behind me I force myself to the vanity.  Hands upon the lacquered top I lean in and face my demons of industry.  Contained to my once crushed right-side where smooth plate brass, gears, and clockwork have replaced my marrow and tendon.  I look hard scrutinizing every inch of what I have become.  In my mind I can hear Dr. Cogsworth from that fateful day, “I may yet be able to save her…well partly at least.”  What part of me I wonder was the ‘good’ doctor able to save, my strength of will perhaps.  For that is all I have left as I attempt to survive this steam. 

I am Aribelle, the…automaton.

http://ambraphotography.com/2012/08/07/steampunk-phantom-of-the-opera/

Once Bitten Twice Shy: Harry Potter FanFiction (Remus J. Lupin) The Full Moon

The woods ahead of him were throwing long shadows across the small field which separated his house from the trees. To him the shadows moved with sinister intent as the wind through the branches caused them to sway forward as if reaching for him. However, with a single burst of moonlight from behind a cloud the shadows disappeared causing Remus to laugh in the face of his enemy’s defeat. A branch snapped just at the edge of the tree line to his left.

“Archimedes is that you,” Remus asked the laugh still in his voice as he moved closer to the sound. “You should have been home hours ago mum made the most delicious treacle tart for dessert…”

A much louder tree shaking sound cut Remus off mid-sentence. “Archimedes did, did you find a, a friend?”

The winds picked up stirring the nearly silent woods into a symphony and causing the flickering lights in the sky to cease as the full moon could finally shine unobstructed upon the clearing. A mind piercing howl rent the night freezing Remus in place mere inches from the leading edge of the forest.

“Remus,” the panicked voice of his father sounded so small in darkness. Remus wanted very much to call out to his father, but for fear of what had made the unthinkable noise in the trees he didn’t dare. “Are you sure he’s out there? Remus!”

Remus turned his head slightly needing to see if his dad was coming any closer, but unable to lose sight completely of the woods. Without warning or reason Remus was sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him thrashing through the tall grass. Making it just five rapid steps before…

Burning erupted across his back as he was pitched forward. Remus writhed in pain, as the nightmare above him slashed and bit every square inch of skin it could reach, trying to get enough of his breath back to scream.

“H…H…HELP! Noooooo!” A loud crack followed by a flash of blue light startled Remus awake. He was twisted in sweat soaked sheets, heart racing, and breath ragged. Sitting up in bed and dashing the unshed tears from his eyes Remus realized that he had woken everyone up. More than that a dazed James was sprawled against the far wall glasses and hair more askew than usual and everything near his bead looked as if it had been blow back by a strong wind. Remus jumped out of bed and ran for the boy planning to apologize, but Sirius’ hand in the middle of his chest stopped him immediately.

“Why would you go and do that,” James asked rubbing the back of his head.

Peter still in bed with the sheets up to his chin shook his head turning his eyes from James’s prone body to Remus, “How did you do that?”

Sirius helped James up and walked him over to his bed before facing Remus again, “Yeah how did you do that?”

“I did, didn’t do anything,” Remus pleaded.

“You were asleep,” Sirius said angrily, “how did you do magic in your sleep?” With those words everyone turned to look at Remus with wide eyes waiting for an explanation.

“What were you dreaming about,” James asked with an intense look in his eyes, “I mean you woke me up. You were muttering in your sleep and clawing at your bed so I went to wake you up and then…bam. I was all buggered up against the wall like a blue tornado hit me.”

Remus turned away from their questioning looks and started to straighten all his personal items. “I don’t remember,” he lied righting his upturned chair which was holding his house robes, “just that I was running from something.” He re-stacked his school books refusing to look over his shoulder.

“Running from something, I would have guessed someone was killing you the way you were carrying on,” James said matter of factly.

The words caused Remus’ eyes to sting. He needed the safety of his blankets to hide his emanate tears, but his curtain remained helter skelter. Grabbing the corner of the curtain brought him right up to the window pane, and there in the sky, hanging low over the Black Lake waxing toward full, was the moon. “Almost,” he said to himself.

http://jolynnevalerie.blogspot.com/2012/07/waxing-moon-at-height-of-summer.html

~~~~~~~
Reader Note:
So since I started this little fan fiction Pottermore has released more facts about R.J. Lupin. Including his wand information and his parent’s names. Needless to say I did not get these 100% correct in my guessing, however I shall carry on. I hope you continue to enjoy the story even if it is fraught with minor inconsistencies, though I do try to read as much as I can before posting anything. Let me know what you think and best wishes.

Sliver of a Moment: Voyeur part 2

It was nearly time.

The sun was setting in that beautiful way it could, where one gorgeous color melts into the next.  Not a sudden change from blue to black, like when the storms roll through, but rather like a ripening fruit.  The blue sky holds a yellow orb, which matures throughout the day, its skin turning orange and casting the sky pink, and then finally so ripe and red it falls from the sky bruising it in purples that tend toward midnight blue.  He couldn’t have asked for a better backdrop, Lawrence thought to himself.  He took a moment and closed his eyes letting the warmth of the sun hit his face, the light sear red even through his eyelids, and the gentle winds brush against his neck.  He sighed contentedly, sometimes things just felt right.

Opening his eyes and shading them with his right hand Lawrence watched a small pond glitter in the fading light.  An empty boat rocked against a bank of cattails just begging for a picnic, but alas today no one had headed that call.  He turned slightly to his right where a weather beaten clapboard house sagged as if it too carried the weight of being a holdout farmer.  The rows of corn waved young and green behind the structure, but no happy hardworking couple populated the covered porch or ancient rocking chairs.  One final quarter turn to his right brought Lawrence to the park. 

Cedar-Rose was no Central Park boasting exotic animals or boathouse diners.  It was just a park.  It had a few baseball diamonds, empty on this weekday evening, numerous swing sets dotting it’s rolling fields, and a fishing pond complete with wooden foot bridge.  From his hill Lawrence could see most of the park.  A man dozed at the edge of the pond waiting for a fish to bite, a family complete with laughing children and yapping dog made their way from a playground, already in covered in long shadows, toward a minivan, and a woman sat on a bench beneath a majestic oak tree. 

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/tree-and-bench-silhouette-darwin-wiggett.html

The slanting light of the sun at his back seemed to highlight her every feature.  She sat watching the sunset with a pair of the bluest eyes Lawrence had ever seen trying desperately to ignore the lose strands of amber colored hair which had escaped her ponytail.  Her posture suggested that she was tense, perhaps from a long day at work.  He smiled to himself as he contemplated her sitting at some interior windowless cubical counting the minutes till she could escape to the park where she would bask in the simple joy of nature. 

He loved her instantly.

Just then a strong wind blew the whole mess of her hair into her face, and once she readjusted herself Lawrence knew she had caught him staring.  It was like she were right before him then.  As if with each breath more distance fell away.  She leaned in closing the final gap.  He felt the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t dare to brush them aside.  Her eyes were wide and thoughtful, her shoulders strong, her heart open, and in that sliver of a moment she knew him.

Completely.

His hands, which had been searching while his mind wandered, hit pay dirt.  The cold sting of bare metal touched him to the core.  He had found what he had come for, and now it was time.  Lawrence never paused, in case his resolve failed him. 

The motion was swift. 

The metal, cold, where it had touched his skin quickly turned into a line of molten heat.

The knife might have flashed silver in the light but he would never know, because he wanted nothing more than to hold on to that moment to her.  Because in her eyes Lawrence had found truth…an honest giving of one’s own self to another.

His eyes never left hers, not even when he hit his knees, or when the multihued evening went black…when everything else was gone Lawrence still had his sliver of a moment and that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~

These stories were my interpretation of a moment shared between to strangers.  Specifically because the man, Lawrence was looking for someone to share this moment with.  They never knew each other, but they will be forever connected now.  The idea was what if someone wanted you to see something, to show you something, share some event with you without your consent.  I hope you enjoyed it!

Part 1 link.

Voyeur

Her nerve endings burned with the need to be two places at once as she both found it impossible to look away and desperately wanted to run screaming for help…

The afternoon was as comfortable and easy as her favorite song on repeat.  Yet again Nora sat on her favorite bench watching the last hour or so of the day slip away.  She loved to sit here more than anywhere else in the park because it meant she would have to walk by the rose garden twice, because it rested beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, and because it was the only bench at a look out point, meaning she could pretty much watch anything happen anywhere in the park.  Nora took a deep breath and just sorta…soaked it all in rolling the tension out of her shoulders as she scanned the horizon.  A soft breeze wafted up from the roses tangling her honey colored hair across her face, momentarily blinding Nora.  As she shifted to keep the wind at her back something caught her attention. There was a man standing at the crest of the hill which lay due west from the park, making it the best setting for watching the sun set.  Nora could remember many evenings where she had watched the cosmic battles between the blue day sky and the waring orange and purple night sky from this vantage point, but somehow this felt different.

This man was not looking west at the gorgeous painted sky he was looking east, toward Nora. Even at such a great distance she would have bet good money that it wasn’t the tree which had caught his attention. With the sun behind him it was impossible to see the direction of his gaze, but the crawling sensation on her skin left little doubt, in Nora’s mind, that she was his focus. Immediately an internal struggle erupted within her; should she wave, walk away, or ignore the man completely. Her uncertainty froze Nora in place so completely that she nearly choked on her breath, which she seemed unable to either pull in or release. Leaning forward she scrutinized the silhouette wondering; what the man might want, why he wanted her attention, what was he doing?

The last thought sent alarms ringing through Nora’s already befuddled mind, what was he doing? The man had broken his pose, his hands searching for something, but his head never moved an inch. There was an uncomfortable feeling to the expectant silence, as if Nora had, somehow, agreed to participate in this inexplicable event but still he refused to look away, lest she break her unspoken word and bolt. So she watched, mesmerized by his need for her to watch, which was a tangible thing filling the distance between the two strangers. There was no way for her to have seen any emotion on his shadow of a face, but Nora knew when he had found what he was looking for.

There was no telltale sign or signal, no perceivable nod or motion of any kind. In a distortion of time and space it became as if the man was close enough to reach out and touch. Still shrouded by the fiery orb of the setting sun he was distinctionless, but she could feel his pain and sadness, his person nameless, but she felt a kinship as she rose to meet his need, alone in this moment Nora would be there for him. Her perspective shifted back to normal just as his arm jerked suddenly bent in an upturned angle. She watched helpless as he fell to his knees. Her left hand shot to her mouth stifling a scream the other reached for him across the acrers. Her nerve endings burned with the need to be two places at once as she both found it impossible to look away and desperately wanted to run screaming for help.

His eyes never left her’s.

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Please let me know what you thought of this short story. I wanted it to be brief, but I need to know if it made sense 🙂 I am contemplating continuing the story so please please please comment. Feedback, even negative, is helpful. Thank you in advance for stopping by.

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The Midnight Listener

Shower scene from Psycho

Sofia had no idea what had woken her up, but based on the fact that the TV screen was showing nothing but blue she must have been out for quite awhile. A muffled snore to her right suggested that Drew hadn’t made it through the movie either. Sure enough Drew was reclined in his favorite armchair, head back, mouth open, remote hanging by a pinkie. Sofia smiled and shook her head shifting to grab the thing before it crashed to the ground scaring him awake. As she snatched her prize the coroner of the afghan that remained covering her legs slid into the puddle of brightly colored yarn already on the floor. The shiver that ran up her back was so sudden she nearly dropped the remote herself. With a quickness at odds with her supine position Sofia managed to juggle the stupid hunk of plastic onto the coffee table without a sound, but the damage was done. The warmth of her spot had immediately vanished in the fractions of an inch she had moved. Another shiver racked her body this time causing her shoulders to lock and her head to tilt to the side. The sheer yellow curtains, which looked a sickly green in the TV light, billowed away from the wall on an icy breeze.

“Damn it Drew,” Sofia swore under her breath, “it’s almost October you know.” His unconscious body gave no indication that he had heard or cared. She practically ran to the window, then shut and locked it in one fell swoop. Chafing her arms Sofia tip-toe danced over to the armchair and softly said, “Hey Drew, baby, I got too cold with your fresh air window open; so I’m going to take a hot shower before I go to bed.” Her only response was a gurgling snore. “Drew!” This time she punctuated the word with a rough shake. His sleepy eyes lacked focus as they fluttered open, “Whadiya think of the, the, the movie?” She had to smile at that, he hadn’t even stopped while yawning. Already he was turning over just seconds from his next REM cycle. “No, baby, wait a sec,” Sofia grabbed his face and waited till his eyes opened again, “I’m going to take a shower why don’t you just go to bed.” Drew blinked twice and nodded, “Probably a good idea, Sof,” he said, “or I could join you.” She threw him a wink as she handed him his scruffy green housecoat, “Sounds good to me,” and walked into the bathroom.

The white tile floor stole the last of her heat reserves as she turned the shower on, but in just minutes Sofia could feel the steam start to stick to her body. She quickly undressed and slipped under the boiling hot shower water. Her head fell forward and she just stood there letting the deluge of warmth wash over her. Till the sound of the door shutting startled her. With water in her eyes Sofia groped for the opening in the shower curtain. Eyes streaming she saw a blurry version of Drew’s robed back heading for her vanity chair, “Jesus Christ Drew! You scared the life out of me,” Sofia shrieked as she closed the curtain angrily and placed her hand above her quickly beating heart.

He scoffed with a quiet laugh at her exclamation.

She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders relaxing again in the muggy waters. “You know this is kinda nice, we haven’t had a shower chat in years.”

“Uh huh.”

“It must have been all the way back when we first moved in together,” Sofia mused aloud. “I remember thinking that if we passed on any chance to spend time together that I was somehow sabotaging the relationship. Can you believe how dramatic I was?”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh you have to think about it huh?” Sofia flicked water over the top of the curtain and giggled. “Well I just think it’s sweet that you came in here to check on me, it’s almost as if you still love me or something,” she joked.

His sigh of, “Mmm huh,” was his only response.

“Mmm huh to you too baby,” she said imagining him head in hands doing his best to not fall asleep. “You must still be half asleep Drew I don’t think you’ve managed a complete sentence since you walked in.”

“Eehh.”

“Then go to sleep baby, I’ll be there in a minute. I think I’ve finally warmed up.” He didn’t say anything but Sofia could have sworn she felt his hand brush across her shoulders through the curtain. When she looked he was gone.

As she opened the bathroom door not even the steam behind her could stop Sofia from gasping in the cold air. Afraid that she hadn’t shut the window as well as she had originally thought Sofia went back to the living room before heading to bed. The first thing that registered in her mind was that Drew was exactly how she had left him, asleep in the armchair, but not the robe. Rather, Drew’s robe hung from the handle of the sliding glass door which was not just slightly ajar but wide open to the dark and chilly night.

Do you promise?

Promise.

The smile and deep look make the exchange feel so real.

     Like it really could be true, forever and love.

Such beautiful theories which when outlined on paper smack of logic and certainty.

     But…

Is it possible that the want, for these things these ideas, to be real and tangible out weighs everything else?

     Can we, so blinded by our desire to have this paper perfect emotion, create it?

     Does it only survive in our desperate need for it to exist?

     Is it manifest only while we allow ourselves to perceive the delusion?

If we are honest can the high school sweethearts grasp even the concept of forever, or the college coeds the enormity of monogamy?

     Then maybe the answer lies in the abandonment of the words till they can be fully comprehended.

Perhaps love, especially true love, should never be promised for who, in all honesty, can know if the moment will not come when the words meant so fervently will come to be despised so vehemently.

Once Bitten Twice Shy: Harry Potter FanFiction (Remus J. Lupin) Becoming a Gryffindor

Remus had never been so lost in his entire life. He had lost count sometime after the third right turn, the second moving staircase, and the seventh or eighth trick stair. Without the beacon of red curly hair that floated out behind Alyssa, one of the Gryffindor prefects, as if bewitched Remus was sure he would have fallen through the last staircase. Which had been more a sloped game of hopscotch than a flight of stairs. It was worth it though to find himself at the secret entrance to the tower, even if he was sure he could never repeat the trek.

The staircase, which was currently stationary, ended at a short landing. The landing was flanked by two suits of armor, each carrying a sword and shield, a trio of narrow arrow slit windows high on the right side, and a number of paintings which ranged in size from an antique locket portrait to a mural which was larger than any wall in the Lupin family home. Remus eyed each painting suspiciously trying to determine which might hold the secret. Just as he had decided that it must be the one containing three men at a table rolling dice and holding daggers, he heard Alyssa say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” Just then a portrait of a very dour and doughy woman raised her hand slightly, as if in welcome, then her painting swung forward on its hinges revealing a gaping hole. “We are home Gryffindors,” Alyssa said as the first years made their way into the common room, “consider your selves welcomed.”

Remus had slowly circled the large round room trying to get a feel for the place, but his head was still spinning. He, Remus John Lupin, was in Gryffindor tower. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window glass, as he started up the stairs to the boy’s dormitories, and wondered in what hidden recesses the sorting hat might have seen actual courage in him.

At the top of the stairs four boys sat around the fire place talking, but they all went quiet and watched Remus as he walked over to his trunk. For a moment he just stood there not sure if he should just go to bed or try to join them.

“What was your name,” the boy with the grey eyes asked.

“Oh, I’m Remus,” he said still not committing himself in either direction.

“This is James,” he pointed to a boy with messy hair and glasses who waved, “Martin,” a freckled boy that constantly blinked, “Peter,” a roundish boy who nodded but not towards Remus, “and I’m Sirius.”

“Pleasure,” Remus said shyly as he moved half a step closer to the group.

“Hey, Remus,” James said in false casual tones, “why did the professors act so strange when McGonagall called your name?” He paused and looked over at Sirius. “It was like they had heard of you before.”

“I didn’t…”

“Are you famous,” Peter asked leaning forward so that the firelight played across his face giving him a sinister look.

Remus tried again, “No, I’m…it must be about my mum. She’s real, um, sick…uh…so sick I almost didn’t get to come this year.” The lie fell flat from his unpracticed lips.

He watched as James and Sirius’ eyes slid to the side and met, but James just smiled. “So cool that they just planted that Whomping Willow over the summer, huh…”

*******

Well I almost made it. Here’s my third instalment of Witchcraft and Wizarding Wednesday, what a shame its Thursday 🙂

I hope you enjoy please leave any comments below.

I have no ownership of JK Rowling’s characters but I do so love to have them alive in my mind once more.