Wounded

What they see is happy-go-lucky, not a care in the world. Like cool watermelon dripping down a child chin in the hot, noon day sun or ice cream filled evenings walking the state fair midway. A kaleidoscope of happy colours swirling around a perfect life.

If only they could see the tears behind the façade. Years of unhealed scars festering beneath the surface.  Small pieces if flesh taken with every new cut. Revealed in the only place it can’t be hidden, in the black of dead eyes nobody bothers to peer into.

Demons trapped and screaming to be released but like a wounded animal concealed from the predators circling. The world begging us to celebrate our weaknesses like a badge of honour. Sycophants waiting to pounce for their own benefit, but I will never reveal what’s eating away my insides, clawing to escape my control.    

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Credits and Additional Information

A Homecoming Story

John Ronald lay in bed struggling to breathe, each drag more laborious than the previous. He knew the end was near, his lungs were filling with blood and fluid faster than his body could work to clear them. Making peace with the inevitable, he closed his eyes and waited. His wife had long since crossed over and there was nothing left for him to hang on to in this world. His kids, standing at his side in these final moments, would get on just fine after he’d gone. They were supposed to outlive him anyway.

At ease, he began to drift. Aimless at first but soon he was riding the crest of a current pulling him toward the light. Moving faster as his life passed before him until he was immersed in the glow. Everything faded in an instant as he crossed the threshold. Nothing more than a brief flash before arriving in a small shire on the other side.

Drawing in a long easy breath, he surveyed his new, yet familiar surroundings. There was an energy about this place that bristled through the thick morning mist. Although he could only glimpse moments of movement through the scattering sunlight, the bustle of this place was evident. The inhabitants flitted and danced about their business, filling the sweetly scented air with joy, song and raucous laughter.

As the air cleared and the scene settled into focus a shoeless half-man in a green vest, grey shirt and potato sack pants stepped up next to him. The halfling paused, taking a moment to look out across the scene before them. Then scrunching up his face he spoke, “Welcome! Welcome, Mr. Tolkien, it is a pleasure to have you back in Hobbiton. Your place in the hillside is ready for you and as luck would have it, you are just in time for second breakfast.”

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Credits and Additional Information