prose

Creation

Creation

a poem by Anthony Andrea

Untitled II, 2019. Artist: Ginger Cochran, Mobile photograph, iPhone 6+

Untitled II, 2019. Artist: Ginger Cochran, Mobile photograph, iPhone 6+

creation exists

brute fact

it’s possibility

is uncreated

brute fact

there exists

potential

namely

that which is uncreated

brute fact

creation is in existence

existence is real manifest and palpable in experience

brute fact

reality is definite, supervening permanent and final

and manifesting all properties, qualities attributes

potentialities possibilities probabilities domains

and being in existence

existence is real

brute fact

and prevailing

and whereupon

and inevitably

and therefore

and hence

nothing is not possible

brute fact

nothing is not possible now

take it or leave it.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

[Anthony Andrea is] a 57 year old care worker and has been writing since 2018.

“I am not a writer. I mean I do not wish to ever feel obliged to say anything. I am not a professional anything. The professional refers to a higher human authority. I am an Amateur. The Amateur refers directly to the Divine. I have no biography - such a thing is antithetical to my natural inclinations since all Bio's are inevitably fictional. I have always loved words.” - the author


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Man, With a Gun

Man, with a gun

micro story by Ginger Cochran

A few years ago, I was leaving my neighborhood one day.
I came to a stop at a crosswalk.
In the short distance, a gentleman on a bike came approaching the walk.
He then stopped right in front of my car, put his hand to his head in the shape of a gun and playfully blew his brains out.
He then got on his bike and continued on.
I still think about it from time to time.

True story.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Ginger Cochran is an abstract painter and fiber sculptor, as well as emerging poet, residing in Denton Texas. She is currently working on her first poetry collection, Doorways, to be published in 2019. To see more of her prose, visit Self Labeled.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Tae a Puddle

Tae a Puddle

a Scots poem by Kit Duddy

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

Yir sic a bonny thing, that sees the sky

and greenery. Wi unkent fathom near

always black, maist mithers gled tae

see you gaun as the washin pile

gaes higher.

 

The street wains gaither roon yir girth,

wi wild sair smiles an fu owe mirth

tae see wha's first.

 

The canny yin gaes in wan fit first,

the next yin then daes twa.

The cheeky sod fae up the street

sends in his ain fitba.

 

Oh! puddle whit a playthin there,

nae even worth a shillin

Left ower fae the mornin’s rain

tae wains yir worth a million

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

[Kit Duddy is] a retired retailer and former housing officer, 72 years young and writes poetry both prose and rhyme as a pastime, […} and has been writing for approx 9 years.

My poems are of rhyme and prose although I prefer rhyme, I write in English and in Scots. My work is both creative and reactive, stemming from the work of artists/photographers, but also from personal inspiration.” - quote by the author

To read more by the author, please visit www.facebook.com/kitspoems.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com for application details.

I Want To Go

I Want To Go

a poem by Ginger Cochran

 

Rebirth, 2019. Ginger Cochran. Yarn fiber, cotton rope, beach wood, wire and found wooden ring, 38 x 14 inches

Rebirth, 2019. Ginger Cochran. Yarn fiber, cotton rope, beach wood, wire and found wooden ring, 38 x 14 inches

I want to go to a land that is bright

I want to go to a land that is safe

I want to go to a land that is free

 

I want to go to a home that is loving

I want to go to a home that is warm

I want to go to a home that is free

 

I want to go to a mountain that is bold

I want to go to a mountain that is brilliant

I want to go to a mountain that is free

 

I want to go to a valley that is awesome

I want to go to a valley that is fertile

I want to go to a valley that is free

 

I want to go far and wide

I want to go wild and proud

But I’ll go to my own heart….

The only place that is free.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Ginger Cochran is an abstract painter and fiber sculptor, as well as emerging poet, residing in Denton Texas. She is currently working on her first poetry collection, Doorways, to be published in 2019. To see more of her prose, visit Self Labeled.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com for application details.

Think Of Me

Think of Me

a poem by Dr. Gideon Cecil

Schoolgirl Crush, 2019. Artist Robin Pedrero. Oil, 12 x 12 inches, $200

Schoolgirl Crush, 2019. Artist Robin Pedrero. Oil, 12 x 12 inches, $200

Write of my love in the diary of your heart,
You are the book of my love poetry from the start.
Drink my poetry in your tea in the evening,
Think of my love verses in your heart my darling.
Bees and birds are singing of our endless love,
Our love is a fictive- truth to the God’s above.
I will love you until the end of time,
Time will never erase our love rhyme.
Your heart lives into mine everywhere I go,
Your eyes illuminate my day like the sun’s glow.
Neither wind nor storm can take your love from me,
Our love is stronger than a tsunami rising in the sea.
Think of me as you watch the sunrise at dawn,
You are the gorgeous sunrise that’s ever been born.

About the author:

Dr. Gideon Sampson Cecil was born on the 9th of May 1968 in Rose Hall Town, Corentyne Berbice, Guyana. He holds a Bachelor and Master of Arts Degree from Life Christian University in Tampa, Florida and a degree in journalism. He is a college lecturer and freelance journalist. He has so far published seven books of poetry and prose. He was recently appointed as a Senior Judge for The Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition 2018. He was recently conferred with a Doctor of Letters Degree. Purchase his book, The revelation of Love, here.

www.avid-publishing.com/gideon-cecil

About the artist:

Born in Connecticut in 1964, Pedrero studied painting with professional artists and exhibited at the Mystic Art Association as a teen. Pedrero is an award-winning artist with work in museum permanent collections, film, and collected worldwide. Pedrero worked from her Florida studio from 1989 to August of 2016 and now creates from her studio in Frisco Texas. She is an elected signature member of the Pastel Society of America. She was awarded Best Artist in Florida 2012 by Baterby’s Art Auction Gallery, listed in Florida International Magazine’s Florida Artists Hall of Fame, and her work won an international wine label contest and was  featured  on a  limited edition Artiste Wine label. In September 2015 Robin Maria Pedrero celebrated her first solo museum exhibit at the Lake Eustis Museum of Art.

www.robinmariapedrero.com / Instagram


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com for application details.

The Float

The Float

a poem by Ginger Cochran

I am very still.

My chest barely moves with each breath.

I am calm. I am warm.

I feel a rolling sensation across my skin and along my scalp, pushing every follicle straight.

I close my eyes. I am comforted.

I lift above and beyond my weight. Only like lifting a baby.

I feel the air all around me and the pounding of my own heart.

I feel a peace I have always known was there.

I open my eyes and find I am right where I was.

Not Your Whole Self, 2016. Photography, iPhone 6+

Not Your Whole Self, 2016. Photography, iPhone 6+

About the author:

Ginger Cochran is an emerging poet, residing in Denton Texas. She is currently working on her first poetry collection, Doorways, to be published in 2019. To see more of her prose, visit Self Labeled.


Want to share your work with Envision Magazine? Feel free to submit your visual art and/or literary works for a chance to be featured. Click here to apply online.

No Vacancy

NO VACANCY

a poem by Irma Kiss

Artist: Patricia A. Pecorella  Night Tears , 2017. Acrylic, 24 x 24 inches.

Artist: Patricia A. Pecorella Night Tears, 2017. Acrylic, 24 x 24 inches.

There. And there.

Some lingering scent. Unwashable.

Nostril in quivers and shudders of impatience.

Time stands still - a horse shot to death.

A gelatinous time with trapped sounds.

Insects caught in a net,

turning to dust between fingers.

Cotton mouth

and

an unwavering image

in the back of the eye.

An inaudible voice

before the heavy head hits the pillows.

the last conscious thought

of a tired mind.

An itch in the fingertips,

a sudden burst of heat.

Heartbeats fidgeting,

a taste of water,

an aftertaste of kiss.

A constant presence.

A room in one's mind.

No vacancy.

“To read and to write are like drinking water. And i am always thirsty... “ - Irma Kiss

Photo source: Irma Kiss

Photo source: Irma Kiss

About the author:

I was born in 1978, in the small town of Hunedoara, in western Romania. I am bilingual in Romanian and Hungarian, as I am of Hungarian ethnicity. I have completed my studies in Romania, with a BA and and MA in English and Romanian Philology. I have been teaching English to students aged 10-18. I am currently teaching English grammar and literature at Iancu de Hunedoara National College and I am preparing students for Cambridge, Lelts and Toefl exams. I also published a book of grammar exercises for students: Practice Makes Perfect, in 2015. Writing is a hobby that I practice whenever I feel that simple communication cannot express the load of emotions that are trying to free themselves and be born.

Blog / Facebook

About the artist:

I am an emerging acrylic artist based in Santa Fe, NM. A life-changing sojourn in Japan and especially experiencing the ability of the Japanese people to "make space" inside no matter the surrounding noise, greatly influences my work. As a modern abstract expressionist, my work starts with mark-making to form a base, then continues with a multi-layering process moving between dark and light, adding and then subtracting, as I explore the experience of alternating constriction and expansion, of finding space to breathe amid the tangling nature of human relationships. The result is abstract imagery with a strong underlying structure.

ppecorella.com / Instagram


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Transcending Definitions

Transcending Definitions

a poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

 

Art is not an institution…

Untitled, 2016. Photography, iPhone 6+. Ginger Cochran

Untitled, 2016. Photography, iPhone 6+. Ginger Cochran

it is an inner fire

born out of those

whose eyes pierce deeply

into hidden burning beauty.

 

Art is not a class taught by Academia…

it is a holy vibration

pulsing through the veins

of those who sense the truth

of this world’s perfect purity.

 

Art is not a transaction…

it is a soulful expression

that has no choice

but to be released

as a reflection of the Source.

 

Art is not a sales pitch…

it is an intense emotion

coupled with a vision

of crystalline transcendence

that ruptures open new dimensions.

 

Art is not yet ready for the grave…

it is a raging protest

against the mortal flesh

that sings the sweetest melody

about overcoming life’s suffering.


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Miami Beach

Miami Beach

a poem by Brandon Marlon

Considering all the eye-catching pastel and neon

of a haven where every building is uniquely named,

where every hour is happy, small wonder

you only realize several days later

that you've been treading all this time

along pink sidewalks cool as the breezy mornings

greeting risers eager for sand and surf,

for the pushback of salty Atlantic waves;

tread nimbly, stroller, else you're bound to startle

scurrying lizards or grazing chickens down below

while high above by rooftop pools loungers

sipping margaritas and mojitos tan

and speakers blast reggaeton like they mean it. 

We all don and doff per activities and weather,

usually paradisal, occasionally catastrophic,

luxuriating for a time always too fleeting,

prompting vows to return and explore

even more in sessions of sun still to come.

Adventures, 2018, Mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. Ginger Cochran

Adventures, 2018, Mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. Ginger Cochran

About the author:

Brandon Marlon is a writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. in Drama & English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. His poetry was awarded the Harry Hoyt Lacey Prize in Poetry (Fall 2015), and his writing has been published in 275+ publications in 30 countries. www.brandonmarlon.com


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The Unique Half-Moon Shape

The Unique Half-Moon Shape

a poem by Ginger Cochran

Embrace, 2016. R. Suzanne Beltran.  Acrylic on canvas, 36 x 29 inches

Embrace, 2016. R. Suzanne Beltran.

Acrylic on canvas, 36 x 29 inches

The Light filters softly through the window

highlighting the dust particles in the air

 

the unique half-moon shape from the shadows of collected items in the lights path, rests on the maroon, floral carpet

 

she counts the petals in their motif and imagines a secret garden

she descends into the light and clumsily attempts her sultry look

 

The curve of her mocks all pre-conceptions of beauty and grace. And her eyes playfully dance at the shadows of the trees onto the walls

Her veil is strategic

Her mystery is breath-taking

About the author:

Ginger Cochran is an emerging poet, residing in Denton Texas. She is currently working on her first poetry collection, Doorways, to be published in 2019. To see more of her prose, visit Self Labeled.

About the artist:

I [ R. Suzanne Beltran] paint and create art with a deep sense of consideration for man and his fate in the ever changing world, using vibrant intense colours, creating layers, lines, shapes and textures, juxtaposed like thread that allows movement of images, that finds an outlet on canvas. The combination of these elements create expressions that are spontaneous but subtle, connecting feelings and thoughts, into mysterious pieces, not only of colour and form but of energy and hidden meaning. My style and perspective allows me to create art that is a relevant, instinctual life force and universal thread, connecting the dance of life.

To view more work by the artist, please follow the artist on Instagram @_zannieb_art.


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Before My Death!

Before My Death!

a poem

by Amirah Al Wassif

before my death,

I would like to sit beside an innocent homeless girl

in front of one of the UNICEF banners

in our hungry wide street

talking together about the biscuits

and the magnificent toys and the ice cream

before my death,

I will try my best to make her

taste the childhood flavor

and she will try her best

to draw a false smile on her face

and because her cheeks will be

mixed of rosy and dirty

I will convince my self that

she is very happy!

before my death,

I would like to kiss all the flowers

especially the lilacs

I will be able to toss my grieve aside

hoping to find a supernatural sign

one of those upper signs

which touches us gently

one of those upper signs

which take our souls for a long fabulous walk for free

before my death,

I would like to laugh in a loud tone

cause I will be close enough to the political posters

which will be hung everywhere

and I will sing one and last song

for the love and the freedom

and I will dedicate it to the lonely and the frightened

and the immigrants and the dreamers

before my death

I would like to throw

the most creative jokes

among the boys and the girls

and I will gather the most delicious fruits

sending them to those who used to plant them

but never tasting any!

before my death

I would like to kiss the famine babies wide-eyed

and saying "sorry" in another way

I will say it like a poem

escaped from the bottom of the heart

and appeared itself

in no-words

before my death

I will praise the woman who works in breaking rocks

who fight in the day

and come down in the night

an extraordinary woman know how

to struggle under the angry sun

an extraordinary woman know

how to fold her begotten cloths

among the mess of rocks

an extraordinary woman know

how to be a soldier in the battle

and clown in the theatre in one time

before my death

I will salute all the women

who works in breaking rocks

I will salute them with love and pity

before my death,

I would like to give

endless tickets

to the orphans around the world

and I will beake my ego mirror

for getting rid of my old grins

and trying to find a true

smilies similar to their ones

before my death

I would like to share my food with a lost dog

in the corner of the road

or in the dirty narrow tavern

before my death

I will learn how I have to live?!

About the author:

Amirah Al Wassif is a freelance writer. She has written articles, novels, short stories poems and songs. Five of her books were written in Arabic and many of her English works have been published in various cultural magazines.

Amirah is passionate about producing literary works for children, teens and adults which represent cultures from around the world. Her first book, Who Do Not Eat Chocolate, was published in 2014, and her latest illustrated book, The Cocoa Book and Other Stories, is forth-coming.


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Intragalactic Correspondence

Intragalactic Correspondence

A short story by Tanner Davenport

BZZZZT…

I assure… ou… …continue to exist. Unfortunately, I took your advice to smack Doug in the head while we were operating in low levels of interstellar medium, which caused a small puncture in his helmet upon impact with my fist. The subsequent deficiency in his oxygen intake before I was able to support him back to the ship likely caused slight brain damage, which contributed to his forgetting to refuel the ship when we stopped for gas.

Ionized Pixograph, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 952 x 952 p.

Ionized Pixograph, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 952 x 952 p.

When we encountered the gravitational field around the planetoid C-43X2 several months later in our voyage, we had no means of escaping its influence and crash landed on the planet. Doug perished in the landing. I had to temporarily abandon my mission and assimilate into the alien society on the small planetoid, in which time I fell in love with a green-tentacled beauty named Cilqdreqrt. Within months we were engaged to be wed, until I caught her in the middle of one of her many affairs she had been having. She subsequently robbed me and left me penniless. I am now alone and destitute, living in a back alley while I attempt to repair the fragments of both my ship and my broken heart. I just received the bubblegum toothpaste and the whisk, which serve as bittersweet reminders of the home I may never be able to return to.

Also, while I am flattered by your assumption that I am an intergalactic traveler, I have so far traveled exclusively on an intragalactic capacity and am not yet licensed to operate beyond that.

[broadcast interrupted]

Alar of Rams Tom, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

Alar of Rams Tom, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

BZZZZT… BRZZZZZZZT… BRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZT…

…pologies, I am currently (sic) interruptions in my efforts… my …mitting responses. As the planetoid moves (sic) western quadrature in its orbit, the pathway of our correspondence… this …binary system’s stars their greatest propensity to interfere through solar activity…

[broadcast interrupted]

…is a shame about the wedding. I had booked the Wambarg Zarbooglers, the best neo tentacle-metal band this side of planetoid C-43X2, with special guest Juq’wus Ni’a’alqi, who of course requires no introduction. When Juq’wus heard about my engagement going sour, he invited me backstage… BZZZZZZZT …concerts (sic) even pulled me on-stage to join him in a duet. My thoughts were still on my beloved Cilqdreqrt, and I wept bitterly throughout the song, but it turns out that the noise of incoherent crying and drunken shouting is what the majority of mainstream radio airplay resembles on planetoid C-43X2.

Anime, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

Anime, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

My transformation from heartbroken vagrant to swaggering rock star occurred overnight – literally, for night lasts several weeks on the planetoid. My first three albums each went 60x platinum. Critics hailed me as a virtuoso in unintelligible sobbing. Unfortunately, with the fame came my first ventures into alcohol and drug abuse, prostitution, and soon after that widely publicized confrontations with the press, with other bands, ex-spouses, and my friends.

At the apex of a particularly raucous party I had held at my mansion, I hurled the very toaster you had sent me as a wedding gift at my dearest friend Juq’wus, who was struck in the head. Weeping, Juq’wus picked up the toaster with one tentacle and stared at me, crying, “Look at your life! Is this really what you want, Euripides? Is this what you want?” And he slammed the toaster on the granite floor. The toaster broke, so I am unable to return it to you in its current state nor can I be considered responsible for the damage it has sustained, but if you are agreeable I can provide you with an address that you can reach Juq’wus at.

[broadcast interrupted]

Wyvern Fun, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

Wyvern Fun, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

…deeply aggrieved to hear about the [misfortunes] you have encountered in your efforts to rescue me… BZZZZZT …regards to your vanishing message, I perfectly understand the need for secrecy. The umbrella was more appreciated than you know, although a previous package of yours unfortunately has had disastrous consequences for me: the bubblegum toothpaste, which I used as an additive to one of the dishes I served at a dinner in my manor with the Drurhiic, ambassador to planetoid C-4X32. What I did not know at the time was that the ambassador was a crucial figure in preventing a fragile alliance of multiple planets in the system from destabilizing into war. I also was not aware that Drurhiians are mortally allergic to bubblegum.

Aquaria, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

Aquaria, 2018. Digitally altered photography layers. 960 x 960 p.

Two months later, the old C-4X32 republic finally toppled, and the revolutionaries had strong political motivation to have me assassinated. All day and all night, the C-4X32 government forces rained hellfire on my remote manor, reducing it to rubble while I remained burrowed in the bomb shelter dozens of feet below.

In the morning I resurfaced and made my trek across the desert of Neimghod, with your umbrella my single cover from the acidic rain that descends in that region. The soles of my boots dissolved beneath my feet, and I bled profusely over the caustic sand dunes, but still I struggled on with my sights on the pillar of smoke on the horizon. My vision blurred, my head swam, my legs screamed, and the scarlet trail behind me evaporated in the heat of the two suns with a sinister crackle.

BZZZZT…


Photo source: www.facebook.com/ludwig.pachelbel

Photo source: www.facebook.com/ludwig.pachelbel

About the author/artist:

Tanner Davenport is an emerging author/artist residing in Austin, Texas.

“A self-proclaimed ‘punk-hippie singer-songwriter weirdo-artist,’ Tanner has always had his greatest passion in writing stories and poetry. Originally an English major at the University of Texas at Austin, he transferred over to Alcoholism and Waiting Tables Inattentively after a semester of college while continuing to create in the varied media he loved. After living in Austin for three years, Tanner released his debut EP ‘Invertebrate Musings’ in early 2018, written largely about his experiences and relationships with dear friends that continue to be among the most cherished parts of his life. His book further pursues the themes addressed on his music, most of all the personalized difficulties and tragedies youth experiences in the turbulent energies of the city.” - source Amazon.com

To view / read more work by the artist, please visit uhmuzing.wordpress.com. You may also follow on Facebook and Instagram @uhmuzing. You may purchase his published works online here.


Want to share your work with Envision Magazine? Feel free to submit your visual art and/or literary works for a chance to be featured. Click here to apply online.

Devotion, Illumination

Devotion, Illumination

a poem by Iris Orpi

Like we all are souls
who have bodies,
this moon is drifting on
the tense surface of our
collective sentimentality
flowing westward,
sphere of secondhand light
balanced on the fingertips
of outstretched hearts.
We seek it in the evening sky
but we are actually looking
for a compass, a clear line
of sight to the center
of who we are that shows
a mirror and a lonely mystery
that can hold its own
and inspires devotion.
We bathe in its presence like
a votive coronation
wishing to awaken the wolf
in our blood. We adore it
for everything the night
represents. We want to believe
our commonplace weaknesses
have an alter ego that takes
its form when the streetlights
come on, that our very essence
is made of base elements
that the daytime could never
fully comprehend nor claim
possession of. That we are
serene, powerful, and
the ambiguity of the silence
does not frighten us at all.
That the void can hear us,
and it sees how our mortal
beauty measures up to
the darkness, how our lives
are celestial satellites of our
desires, pulled by the tides.
That nothing is ending, just
fading its way to another world.
One where the past is drunk,
incoherent, uninhibited,
and brutally truthful,
dreams are torn from their
fancy paper wrapping and flung
out in scintillating symbols
along the arch of the bridge,
and love is the song that plays
from an invisible saxophone
while the moon looks on.
Naked and elegant in the cold.
Virginal, save for that one
brief affair with the son of Zeus,
more romantic legend
than history, really.
It made her even more sacred
and gibbous with answers.

Lily Pond, 2018. Photograph by Ginger Cochran  @gingysays

Lily Pond, 2018. Photograph by Ginger Cochran @gingysays

Photo source: google.com

Photo source: google.com

About the author:

Iris Orpi is a Filipina writer currently living in Chicago with her husband and son. Her alter ego is a university mathematics instructor who likes to incorporate CSI episodes and milkshake recipes in trigonometry and calculus problems. Drawing a hyperbolic paraboloid on chalkboard remains one of my greatest personal achievements. She has watched Memoirs of a Geisha at least 50 times. One of her life missions is to own all the books in Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe series. Some of her greatest loves include flip-flops, recycling, pho with lots of Sriracha, 1960’s jazz, algebraic number theory, the ocean, and the color olive green. She prefers her coffee a la breve but occasionally [will] order dark mocha when she wants to be fancy. She is broke but [intend’s] to travel the world someday.

To learn more about the author, please visit sheisiris.wordpress.com. To purchase any of her published works, please click here.


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Wake Up

Wake Up

a short story by Douglas King

Wake up.

The soft, female voice was clichély angelic.

Wake up.

Thomas heard the voice again in the darkness of his mind. He mentally reeled as the vestiges of warped dream images faded and the realization he had fallen asleep to the rhythmic rolling of the train car rushed to his consciousness. He cracked one eye open and saw, just what he was expecting: the gentle smile of Mac—short for Mackenzie—and he immediately wished she was his girlfriend, not just the person with whom he currently shared a first-class passenger car with on the way to Inverness in Scotland, or, simply an acquaintance he knew through a mutual friend.

“What were you dreaming?” Mac asked.

Thomas rubbed his dry eyes.

“Eh?”

“You were mumbling in your sleep. You had to have been dreaming,” she said, smiling.

Thomas focused on her face and drank in the flawless fairy-like features as if he was a dehydrated man drinking from a desert oasis.

“So why did you wake me?” He responded, a bit more curtly than he wanted.

“Sorry, Mr. Grumpy Pants.” Mac folded her arms across her chest and sulked—staring out the window and biting her lower lip.

Thomas was immediately convicted. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just not fully awake yet. Forgive me?”

He knew she would and she did. Mac was too generous, kind, good-hearted and all the other positive attributes, to pout or hold a grudge for longer than fifteen seconds. She had once nearly made it to twenty seconds, Thomas noted, but then who keeps track of someone that closely?

Mac turned back to him with a bright light in her eyes and equal wattage in her smile. “So, tell me, what did you dream?”

Thomas loved (did he dare use that word?) how everything was a happy adventure for Mac. He often thought she would have made a perfect Care Bear character—probably with a rainbow on her tummy. She was so childlike in her views on life. The complete opposite of how he felt most of the time. He wished he could share her rosy-perspective, but a life of hard-knocks and unrequited feelings had hardened Thomas and cast a pall over his attitude.

“Um, let me think.” Thomas rubbed his palms over his eyes in an attempt to shut out the real world and capture his dream before it slipped into the murkiness of memory. “Okay,” Thomas said and opened his eyes.

Constructive Sea Monsters, 2017. 30 x 36 inches by Francois Cuny

Constructive Sea Monsters, 2017. 30 x 36 inches by Francois Cuny

Mac was sitting with knees up to her chest, smiling, waiting to hear his tale.

“I was riding a beast of some sort—swaying back and forth. It must have been my subconscious compensating for the rocking of the train.”

“Don’t editorialize, Tom,” she interrupted. “Just tell me where you went.”

Thomas had to smile now. Mac was just too cute. She loved adventure in any form, whether real or imagined.

“So, I was on this beast. Big majestic creature with horns gilded with decorative gold sheathes encrusted with gems that sparkled in the sunlight!”

Thomas was good at telling a tale, and Mac was even better at listening. It didn’t matter if every word was an actual description of his dream, what mattered was the passion in which he told it and the worlds in which they could travel together through his words.

“I rode in a basket on top of its back, swaying to the motion of each step,” Thomas continued. “Next to me was a lovely woman. Her features were like those of a fine porcelain doll. Flawless. Beautiful.”

Thomas knew he was describing the young women sitting across from him, yet he hoped she was not also aware of the comparison.

“We were traveling to a distant land to seek adventure and see an old friend. It had been a long journey but not an arduous one and we were both enjoying each other’s company and the scenery.” Thomas paused to gauge Mac’s reaction to his story so far and, like most men, was completely unable to discern any idea of what she might be thinking. Why are women so obtuse? Thomas wondered.

“Go on,” Mac said, breaking Thomas’ brief rabbit-trail of thought.

Jungle of Living Dreams, 2018. 24 x 18 inches by Francois Cuny

Jungle of Living Dreams, 2018. 24 x 18 inches by Francois Cuny

“The two were falling in love…”

“You mean, you and the woman?”

“What?”

“You started the dream by saying ‘I’. But you switched to third person,” Mac said.

“Did I? You know how dreams are? One minute it’s you in the dream, then you are detached, then you are someone else. Dreams are weird that way,” Thomas said. He debated about how much he should really share of his dream, which was obviously his brain dealing with the fact he was on a trip with a woman he had deep feelings for but could never—would never—express in reality.

“Anyway, he… I, took her hand in mine. It was the first time we had ever touched intimately, and I was afraid I might be rejected, but she squeezed my hand back and I knew. I just knew,” Thomas trailed off, lost in the vivid memory of that dream moment.

Mac sat quietly, enraptured by the simple tale and waiting for Thomas to continue.

“It was perfect. We didn’t say a thing to each other. We didn’t have to. You know how in dreams you just know what each other are thinking? It was like that.”

“No editorializing.”

“Right. Next, we were no longer on the beast. You know…,” Thomas stopped himself before explaining dream logic, or illogic as the case may be, and he noticed that Mac had a slight frown from the new interruption.

“We were walking now. It was a skinny path through fields of grass greener than anything I had ever seen before. It was so lush and full of life. Blue skies, green grass, white pillow clouds drifting in the sky. It was like an Impressionist’s painting.”

Thomas looked out the window of the train as a similar scene passed before his very eyes as if he had returned to his dream. Or, was simply recounting what was happening to him.

“I was so happy. We were so happy. Even though the woman and I had never talked about being in a relationship, it was like we just knew it was right. Like we simply knew we were meant for each other,” Thomas continued.

He paused and looked into Mac’s eyes and wondered what she was thinking, if she knew he was talking about the two of them. She looked back at him with her innocent, friendly manner. If she knew what he was eluding too, there was no registration on her face. At least none that Thomas could discern.

“We walked on like that, then I think I did start to say something. That must be when I was mumbling,” Thomas said and caught Mac frown again at his new editorialization of this dream. He quickly continued so as not to frustrate and lose his audience of one.

“I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I think it was something like, ‘this is such a perfect day. I don’t want it to ever end.’”

“And what did the woman say? How did she respond?” Mac inquired.

Mills of Nature, 2018. 14 x 18 inches by Francois Cuny

Mills of Nature, 2018. 14 x 18 inches by Francois Cuny

Thomas thought. He couldn’t remember the woman ever speaking in his dream and he debated whether to lie and manipulate the story, or simply state the facts. Suddenly he felt flush and even a bit sick to his stomach, as if he now stood on the precipice of life, at least his love life, and the slightest move could send him crashing down into the abyss of loneliness below; a place he felt like he had spent most of his adult life.

In what felt like minutes, but in reality, was only seconds, Thomas, imagined a number of conceivable possibilities to how this dream, and the situation before him now, might playout. Like a chess player running through options, Thomas debated what the correct thing to say was, how honest to be, how vulnerable to be.

He decided to roll the dice, gambling that his story of two destined lovers might have found purchase in the heart of the woman he knew he loved.

“I don’t know. That’s the moment you woke me up. What do you think she said?” Thomas asked.

He waited. The two sitting in silence. Again, time seemed fluid and Thomas knew that the eternity he as living was only a brief moment for Mac. He waited, hoping her answer would wake him from the deep sleep his emotions had been lost in.

Mac looked at Thomas. Her eyes were like pools of the clearest water in the world, he thought. He waited, teetering on the edge of happiness or doom.

Finally, she said, “It would be grand if love happened so easily in real life.”

Thomas knew it wasn’t a direct response to his question but an answer true enough. “Yes, it would,” he replied. “It would be a dream come true.”

Photo credit to Doug King

Photo credit to Doug King

About the author:

Doug King is a talented artist, writer and film-maker living and working in Dallas, TX. He is currently Editor-in-Chief for Dallas Style and Design Magazine and continues to write freelance in addition to painting.

To view more of his work, follow him on Instagram @dougking5150. For information on film / screenplay and publishing, please visit www.dayiiiprod.com.

About the artist:

As an acrylic painter, [Francois Cuny] take pleasure it materializing … worlds of imagination onto canvas, hoping others will immerse themselves in whimsical/fun fantasy environments filled with optimism. To view more work by the artist, please visit www.paintingsbyfrancois.com. You may also follow the artist on Instagram @paintingsbyfrancois.


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