I woke up from a deep sleep to the same thing “nothing.” I guess I should be thankful; I have a job and a room of my own. But most  many days it is difficult to wake up to being blind. Have you ever wondered what the color yellow looks like? I can feel yellow, I can taste yellow, but I can never see yellow. When you hear the triumphant screech of a hawk that has seized its prey do you appreciate the swooping motion he makes as he dances in the sky? I can hear the dance – I will never see it.

I hate hearing. My ears taunt me with a knowing that my eyes will never experience. My teachers applauded the senses.

“your ears will hear better, you fingers will feel more intently as if to compensate for the loss of one of your senses.

“Easy for you to say teach you have all of your senses intact.”

“Tap,tap, tap.” my finely tuned ears can hear the white and red stick that acts as a replacement for my eyes. Not that I know what red or white looks like.

“Good Morning,” my ears hear an unfamiliar, melodic, perfectly tuned voice. “Good Morning Miss, ” hoping she can’t sense the insincerity in my greeting. She does something unexpected; she grabs my arm but she’s not steering me like most feel inclined to do out of pity. “I am new here; please show me to my desk.” I rarely am asked to help people. Obviously because everyone believes I am helpless. The smile on my face is now genuine as I deliver her to her spot. “Have a nice morning miss.” “It would be so nice to have lunch with a familiar face.” “Gladly. I’ll see you at the lunch hour.” I had never used those words before “I’ll see you.” For some reason I felt as though I might “see her.”

We could have talked way past the allocated lunch hour. She was so energetic, interesting, full of life. I imagined the way she looked. Tall, long hair, beautiful eyes, radiant smile, gorgeous. We established a routine. We met each morning outside, had lunch, parted for the day outside of the office. I didnt’ want to be too forward so I waited until Friday to see if she wanted to get drinks after work. She acted as though she had no other plans, no other friends, and made me a priority. It was nice to feel important to one person. We danced by the moonlight. I was grateful for my acute sense of touch; her body felt so good in my arms. Friday became a weekend of lunch, dinner and brunch.

Monday through Friday she found a fresh flower on her desk each morning from me.

One morning I heard a few of the ladies gabbing, “Oh how sweet for both of them.”

“Yes the perfect couple. Fortunately he will never know.”

“What “won’t I ever know? ” I wondered.

I was now grateful for my finely tuned ears. I knew her voice. Though she was cubicles away I  could hear her sigh or murmur.

I never thought it would happen but I was falling in love. I believe she was too. After a night of wine, good food, and dancing; she asked me in to her place. I held her, we kissed, my hands wandered, our bodies became intertwined under white gauze and moonlight.

Heaven must have been singing that night for I truly was. I woke the next morning with her head on my shoulder. My fingers had been so alert to her shape that it seemed as though I could make out her shape  and see black tresses cascade about my shoulder.

“Is this what love is like when you are tricked and you see images with your mind?” I smiled.

As we walked to work that morning, I experienced the colors of the rainbow raining down on my heart. Blues, greens, reds, pinks, purples, and yes yellows bombarded my senses. I walked her to her desk and beheld something not from my mind, or my ears, or my fingers. I saw the biggest chocolaty eyes peer up at me accompanied by a radiant smile. For the first time I saw!

The doctor examined my eyes and said, “It’s a miracle. Be careful as you adjust to this new sense and enjoy.”

My ears were still acute as they heard the women “I wonder how long it will last now that he can see. Once he sees how ugly the scars, from the fire, have made her, I wonder how long he will be able to bear it?”

That night as I touched the scars that my fingers knew so well.

I pulled her face toward mine, “the light has shown me how beautiful you are. I never want to let you go.”

Join me and read the other wonderful short stories on Theme Thursday. Our prompt was Light.

Thanks Velo Steve for the great Rainbow (perfect)

I answer

it’s not words

you are seeking

***

you answer

I look closely

striving for something

to grasp hold of

***

The question

freezes between us

it eludes the answer

like a game

of hide and seek

***

We coax and prod

searching not finding

not realizing it’s the search

which brings us together

with tear filled eyes

at someone who

once meant the world

***

empty shallow shell

encasing the place

where a heart once lived

and love poured forth

drip

when did the sun

stop rising on our love?

drop

when did the words “I love you”

become too difficult to say

plop

What did I say “yes” to

so many moons ago

Sadly

there’s nothing left

to shed a tear over

The moon crested over the hill

Its regal position

displaced by five shooting stars

that flecked the sky

What she lost that night a galaxy gained

Please go to Stony River for more Microfiction Monday

what did she see?

A giant

the size of the sea.

He had hands

so big and strong,

but his moon size smile told her

nothing was wrong.

She smiled back.

Monkey Man has a microfiction in 160 on Sundays. Come join us for stories in 160 characters.

Get on quick

for the ride of your life

bells and whistles

action and light

***

The Merry -go- round

will not wait

it will cycle through life

get on before it’s too late

***

Join the laughter

remove the cares of the day

as your horse rears and jumps

beckoning you to play

***

It may ache

when you leave

for the color my friend

has the ability to deceive

***

makes you believe

it’s something it’s not

just runs in a circle

and then – a stop

***

If you know there’s an end

it’s just a fun ride

then hop on my friend

come join us this  time

Thanks for the delightful picture of the carousel to skrobola

*http://www.flickr.com/photos/skrobola/214011922/

Charles sits back reading a magazine and holds a bear when a frame  (like a movie reel) flashes through his mind.

There she is , Mae, his beautiful little sister. His breath catches; he loves her so much. He sees her run into the house  at 456 Ivy Court. He quietly peers into her room as his father forces his body into hers. “Daddy don’t you are hurting me,” she shrieks and clutches her bear close. “Don’t hurt my bear; I will do anything daddy,” she says as her father pulls the bear and rips off an arm. “She’s dying,” Charles moans as he sees Mae lying in her blood. Charles runs at his father with the first knife he finds – a fillet knife.

“Stop you stupid fool.  A fillet knife would barely scratch me.” His father chuckles.

The next frame slows and shows Mae lying in her bed hardly moving. “She’s still alive,” Charles sighs with relief. He brings her food and treats – nothing.  He realizes what he needs to do for Mae.  Shaking out the last of his coins from his piggy bank Charles goes to the store to buy Mae a new bear.

“Is there any way someone could sew a heart on the bear? It’s for my sister to replace a bear that got hurt.”

The lady at the counter with tender eyes took the fabric the boy offered and sewed on a heart. Her eyes sparkled as she threw her arms around her brother’s neck.

“I know momma sent an angel to bring me this bear. I love you Charlie.” Mae kept her bear close. Charles Sr. marries several months later.

The next frame  pans in to the campus of the University of Tennessee in Memphis where Charles Sedgewick Sr. is an acclaimed writer and  literature professor.

“I am proud of you Charles – first in your class. I hope Mae does as well when she goes away to college this coming fall.” Charles’ father pats the grad firmly on the back as he smiles.

The beginning of many sad frames move through.  Charles receives a phone call from Mae. He can see her sitting on her pink fluffy comforter in the dorm at the University of Louisiana.

“He is the man I have been hoping for. I know he loves me. I love him more than life. He is handsome and smart like daddy. He says one word to me and I melt.”

He got the call several months later;  his sister was pregnant and the professor was married.  “Mae I will be there for you honey,”  he angrily hung up the phone. He convinced Mae to meet with the professor one more time. He told her it was best to say goodbye  in a romantic setting. The Hotel Monteloene was perfect.  Mae’s professor was found dead the morning after.

Charles could feel the weight from the next frames as he gave up his dream to be department head to take care of Mae and his niece. Mae was able to live on the money the professor had put into her bank account. Charles, Mae, and Rosie moved to Seattle where Charles took an adjunct professor position at the University of Washington in Seattle. Mae registered for classes. She never loved another man like she did Greg but Mae had a soft spot for lit professors. This one was dark and handsome like the others. He was a poet and spent hours weaving words through Mae’s heart.

“Mae you inspire me. We should be together.” She sighed hoping at last she had found true love. She had until her professor found out about Rosie.

“I could never love another man’s child.” His face reflected consternation.

She begged for a last night at The Edgewater for “old times sake.”

Charles sees the frame of wear on Mae’s face as she flees rejection. The frames whiz by as he sees Boston and professors, San Francisco and the historic Fairmont, Chicago,and an utter waste of time. Faces of police and questions and Mae fleeing one last time.

Then there is the frame of home in Memphis. Rosie going to school the first day.

“You look so like your mommy Rosie.”

He looks in the mirror and sees a man who resembles his father. He see’s Mae crying in her old room

”Men have failed me,” she wails as her father wraps his arms around her.

Charles in jealousy glares. He longed to be the one to comfort Mae. She had forgotten that day long ago; her father had not. When Charles walks in and sees Mae kissing her father, he loses it.

Kyle read a morning report and was on the next plane to Memphis. He knew who the killer was; he had actually talked to this professor about the murders. An APB was out for a man named Charles Sedgewick, tall, dark, blue eyes…

The overhead speaker squawked:

“Last call for flight 645 departing for Rio de Janeiro.” A stooping, blond man with glasses with a young girl gets up and walks down the jet way. As he gazes at the tarmac, he hears his sister’s voice “it was over before it had begun Charlie…” A tear slips unnoticed down his cheek.

Thanks to the Tenth Daughter of Memory for a great prompt – “The Morning After”

“Welcome to Heartless House,” the publishing rep said.

“We are confident that you will be one of our brightest stars.”

“Thank you,” she sighed as she clutched her manuscript close.

What he didn’t realize was each printed word was a drop of blood from her broken heart.

“Yes” she smiled “it makes a great story.”

This is just one of many stories in 55 or Flash Fiction. Mr. Knowitall hosts every Friday. Come join us!

These days I am so busy writing I am not shooting

grateful to Calliope for the nice shot

*http://www.flickr.com/photos/calliope/3277228386

Moondustwriter Thursdays – Featuring friend and poet Charles Martin

“Charles Martin inspires me and others to write from the heart. Charles hits some heavy areas of life in his writing…” —L.M.

A Jade Framed Mirror by Charles Martin

She looked over her shoulder one last time. It was a long lingering glance on a park bench; their bench. She wiped the tear from her eye as she saw a tall man sit down. He appeared bent, burdened.

****

She clapped her hands in glee. “Mommy i can’t wait to get to the pony ride can’t we go – pleezzzzz.”

“‘Yes my dear let me finish packing our lunch.”

They were attending a lunch sponsored by the church in the city park. There would be games and prizes, clowns, ponies, balloons and cotton candy.

“Your type isn’t welcome here ma’am.” The gentleman smiled as he looked at the mother and daughter. “This here’s a church social.”

“Please can’t I ride the ponies and have some cotton candy?” the little girl asked trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry wouldn’t be right. They wouldn’t approve.” The man said glancing over his shoulders at a group of women in their Sunday best.

The mother and the daughter went to the far edge of the park, sat on a bench, and ate their lunch while many eyes peered scornfully.

***

The  girl,now a beautiful young woman, had learned how to navigate around the influential  people in their very small town. She wasn’t bitter. She just didn’t understand what the bias was; why people couldn’t like her.

“Please come to the movies. The tall young man asked her.” This was the twentieth time he had tried to ask her on a date.

She was tired of finding excuses to say “no.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go out with him. It’s what the townspeople will say if they see us together.”  She sighed after setting the phone into its cradle.

“Yes I will go with you,” she said after the twenty-sixth call.

And so it began – lunches, trips to the beach, nights kissing under the stars on a park bench.

“Marry me and spend the rest of your life as my wife. Let me love you always.” he said as he held her close on their bench.

“Yes, my love.” She whispered into the misty night.

They were in heaven as they glided over the preparations and the anticipation of life together.

She had longed to be accepted by one person in society. It was enough to be loved by this man even if the rest continued to place the burden of unacceptance and reproach on her shoulders.

“You can’t marry her. Don’t you know who her mother is?”

“I’m not marrying her mother. She is sweet and innocent; the people have marked her without knowing her.”

“You will ruin our family’s good name!”

He would have easily endured the scorn had it been aimed at him once or twice. Everyday, at least once, his mother aimed her artillery at his heart. Everyday she spewed forth insults.

She saw that he was worn, unhappy. She clasped his hands as they sat on their bench. She gently took a tear from her eye and placed it on his cheek where it mingled with his own.

“My heart is broken and I see no way out.” He cried into the air.

She wrapped his fingers around a tiny box. “This is the only way out for us, my dear. I love you. Go find someone who will make you happy and accepted by society.”

She stood up. Not wanting him to see her heart breaking she ran to her car.

***

That day, years later, she saw him on their bench. Because he loved her so much he had taken on the pain and suffering that society had directed toward her. He was bent over looking like an old man with a heavy burden.

Theme Thursday is a great place to read and write short stories. Our prompt this week: Park

Join Us!