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Friday, September 11, 2015



There was a girl. A girl you may have seen, chatted with, or even screamed at in frustration. She was an ordinary girl. She was frail and fragile, two in the same, yet in her case polar opposites. Annoyance was a noun she carried age with dignity and grace. And when she slept her dreams were blissful; creative and whimsical as her life.
She trailed when she walked.  Her footsteps never left her; molding the grass that traced the sole of her shoes like snow. It never disappeared or frightened her. Her imprint stayed in a sacred frame. One that she continued to play around, one she picked flowers from, one she laid upon while looking at the stars, one she walked atop many times. 
Her, and grandmother infested themselves into a simple world.

They lived as decent people, well as decent as decent can get. Everything was minuscule to them, except and their cherished Sunday night dinners.  Those Sunday's meant a lot to her. The anticipation of smothering smells, that travels not only to your olfactory, but through your body, and tickles not only your nose but your bones, and fixate on your brain constantly. This may seem mundane to us, but special within this household. 

In a quaint white and pink cottage, there they lived. A secluded area, with peculiar large size tree; the tree was so big, that you’d never have known there was a house behind it.  Wind blowing a swing on the right side, and a tire hanging on the left side. The decorated porch with wind chimes evades the eardrum, with sounds of crystals pinching together. Tacky lawn chairs, with an abundance of gnomes encircling the front porch. Paint on the house formed into chips, with a touch of hands it crumbles.  The house was a piece of junk, but there was something peculiar about this house.  The wind blew with precession. The sunrise, moonset, and sunset, set right on top of their home. The day and night end with crepuscular rays made into a halo.
Everything flourished in this home, but as we all know, everything that flourish must die.
Whenever she closed her eyes she sees fire, and in that quick instance she forgotten the thought.
She stood there waiting for her grandmother. She didn’t remember they were traveling, or for that by train. It seemed ethereal, surreal, like a secluded dream, yet others participated. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Naively she did make an attempt to make sense of it, just agreeing without knowing.

Our innocent child just stood there waiting. Eventually, her thoughts went dark.  Was she alone?  Did her grandmother desert her?  No, No, never. In a panic she encircles the pavement looking for any inkling of her, anything to remind her, of her. 
With a little tap on her shoulder, she turns and sees her grandmother in a state of confusion.  She held in her hands tickets and there other a suitcase. “Where are we going?’ With wide eyes she scrambles to release the suitcase that was eerily lightweight. She stutters “I don’t know.” She scuffles to find their tickets “Lovell, Wyoming?”
Why are we going there? Where are we now?”  “Grandma ….”
“I don’t know” was all she could muster to say. Unlike her grandchild, she was not so blind. Her eyes were open, and fearful.
The announcer walks with a bell and states “The Trains to Lovell will be departing in three minutes. The Trains to Lovell will be departing in three minutes. “He repeats.  He’s not speaking to the crowd; he looks directly at the two them.  “Should we leave grandma?” she asked in a panic. She doesn’t say anything, just grabs her soft babyish hands and guides her to train.
Senses are enlightened when you feel calamity is near. You see, smell and feel everything. And, so she did for the first time.  She gradually aged and as the minutes progressed, as life exists on this train.
The pedestrians walk swiftly onto the train, ignoring each other. You smile, they frown, they smile you stand unsure. The unnatural diplomacy we place high in public places, nevertheless we silently walk alone, yet our battles are similar.
She observantly noticed that no one left, and passengers were disappearing.
We all looked at one another.  Death was in the lounge. When one eye witness answered our fears “It’s a grizzly, gruesome sort of creature.” She escapes, but as she utters her last vowel she vanishes.  

We flee to the emergency exit. Some were left behind; some selfishly moved alone, some gladly stayed. The desperation was now airborne, as we dropped and rolled one, one by one.  Rolling down the pea green grass that felt like nails on the skin. The color green went alone with our gullible glee of a getaway. Believing we’ll see another day.
We hid together in a hotel room. We knew naught where to run or where to hide. But we knew what was in lounge will resurface.  We stayed behind another door telling our story of confusion of how we got here; and the last thing we could remember before this nightmare. We hinder closeness, names were not needed, professions, desire and our aspirations, no, we lived for our last breath.
The last thing I remember... Is getting injured in line of battle…”I recall, talking to my husband. He kissed me, and there was an intruder…”  “My wife kept insisting I take these vitamins…..”  We spoke atop of one another out loud.
There was loud breathing at the door, and it made no attempt to open it.
The room grew quiet.
 “Do trains even travel through Wyoming?”  She asked in a whisper
It just keeps fucking breathing at the door” and with that, she was gone.
No, this can’t be…. No, no.. “Grandmother
What?” everyone shouted
We must be dead?”
Think of it.  Our last memories were of us in danger. . Nothing else.” she said with tears in her eyes
“I refuse to believe that. I’m getting married tomorrow. ”
My grandmother looked at me and mouth “I’m sorry. I didn’t protect you” she grabbed her and held her close to her chest.

After a few days locked in a small room, curiosity and fear sets its foot in the door. Not what’s behind the door, but a stalking mindset that erodes the spirits, and decays hope.
The cozy room was now somber, quiet, even the heavy breathing at the door stopped.  The door opens, the room shakes. One by one were picked off. Capture and enraptured.
 Locked curled in a fetal position, head in her knees.  It was death. Death wasn’t beautiful, grim, or starkly. It was distant, it wore eyes of loneliness.  What she saw in it was human, more humane than that of the common man. She wasn’t an afraid anymore, but embracive to seek fate.

It was a tall glass human figure, with mirrors of past lives as its bones.  Its body was designed for two different worlds. The torso was light and gay, everything blossomed there, but the waist held a harsh, darkness to death. The upper torsos was quiet as night, while, the bottom half was loud as day. But if you look closely on its elongated body, in the abdomen you’ll see those in foolish limbo.  Its legs were the world in its present day. It held the world in its body; heaven and hell, and life.
“Who are you?”
I’m a friend.”
 “So why were they afraid of you?”
We embody your belief of death.”  “She” he pointed at the beautiful woman, now stiff as a mannequin “Death embodied a dangerous creature. We’ve been waiting for you. Your death will be meaningfully
What about the other people? “She acquiesced 
“They’re you. They were waiting for you.  You were supposed to return to us, a year after your birth, but, we desired for you to have peace and love, before your journey.”
And granny?”
She’ll find you

The tall figure takes her tiny hand and lures her to the medicine wheel. 
She closed her eyes and didn’t fight the inevitable. And the tears that shed from her now lay underneath her in a puddle of tears with floating black lilies. Her bare feet drenched, battling with stones.  She saw not only her death, but those in the train, and nameless victims of the most unimaginable things.  She saw those she’ll save. She cried and laughed in her finally moments as a child. Now she’ll be a prisoner of the world, a world that must be freed.

  The sounds of wheels on a track, locomotive engine noises, and loud horn at the medicine wheel has been documented. But know sightings of a train. No train exists there, nothing but stones.

Hello? Was I Missed?

Did I ever cross your mind? Well, no fear Nailah is here! 26, Gosh, I know. Still terribly young figuratively, and literally.
So what you been up to? eh, Life. It's had its ups and downs. But, I walked away from a blog to work on writing. Seems it didn't benefit me much. I just learned today, I lost a writing contest. Aww.. I know I always lose. I want you guys to read what I written tell me what you think... If you're still even there..
I should let you see the other woman, I left you for. And now here begging for your forgiveness? Naughty me

Always & forever
Amour Toujours
Nailah D'arcy  


Romantique Innocence By Nailah D'arcy