Around the Corner

Beneath the city skyline two old men watched the world walk past on the stoop of an apartment building. "You are so lucky. I wish I could still hear the sweet call of the birds as they frolick on the lawn." Said the old man to his mate.
His mate turned in astonishment, "What I wouldn't give to see the glisten of a black birds feathers or watch the sun as it falls from the sky, just one more time." His voice was a shout to accommodate the old the man's hearing defecit. Tears welled beneath his darkened glasses at the corners of his cloudy eyes.
While the old men sat talking a buisness man walked by. His gait hurried, he shuffled his brief case from one arm to next while holding a cell phone to his ear and chewing an apple between "Yes "and "sure". With a nod he passed the men a look of envy on his face. Whimiscally he uttered, "What I wouldn't give to spend my day just watching the world pass by."
The buisness man rounded the corner, the apple he half heartedly chewed slipped from his hand into a trash reseptacle as he fumbled between phone calls and files. Between the buildings he briskly passed a young woman in tattered clothes eyed his discarded treat. She rushed to the trash reseptacle on his passing and plucked the half eaten apple into her heavily dinge covered hands. Retreating to the darkness of the alleyway she pressed the juicy red to her lips with a far off look in her eyes, " What I wouldn't give to have enough food to waste half an apple."
From an adjecent building an old woman peered from her window watching the young girl chew a delicious red apple. A low hum filled the air in the room around. Faint electronic whirls and beeps of the machines that kept her alive. Trapped inside four walls with only a birds eyed view of the world walking by she thought to herself, "What I wouldn't give to be able to feel the wind on my face, the dirt beneath my feet, taste food once again. Even being a beggar would be better than the life I'm in."
Just up the block the sound of sirens filled the air. The static filled chirp of a first responders radio, " MVA vs bicyclist corner of Broadway and Pine. DOA." Shaking his head he placed a sheet over the remains of a tiny body. Pink Barbie handlebars jetted from the tire of a sideways sedan. He looked from the apartment buildings in the area where onlookers emptied into the streets. The Sedan's driver stumbled drunkenly around the roadway towards the EMT's oblivious to the severity of the scene around him.
The Medic spoke quietly to his partner wiping tears from his eyes with blood soaked hands, "She couldn't have been more than four. Will people ever realize how precious life is?"
Life is but a fleeting moment in time. Don't let it pass you by.
(C) R.M. Brandon 2012

The Tide

The welcoming auroma of barbeque fills the cool breeze. Laughter echoes into eternity. 
Standing in the sweet embrace of the summer sun wishing this moment could carry on.
Time is such a fleeting and fragile thing. Life and it's counterpart death waltzing. A moment of tragidy for one. In the same blink a child is born. Time waltzes on.
In this moment, I seek a pause. A pause to reflect before life carries on.
How much has changed since the last blink of an eye? No more tears have I found to cry. While pondering here I realize, the change has all been on the inside.
Locations, situations the dealing of which only hang on the depth of my grit. Strong shoulders, wide like a line backer, long legs for speed, compassion, understanding. From all of these are formed me.
A whistful dreamer floating at sea. The sea of life carries me from barren shores,to white sand beaches, and the shade of emerald green trees. Laughter, tears, challenges unseen.
The water is life, it's tide is the guide. In this moment life flies by.

(C) R.M. Brandon 2012

Measure of A Man

What is the measure of a man? Who defines the value of a life? Is gold worth more than a grain of sand? Peace, tranquility, devine understanding, are these immeasurable traits or attainable goals?

Only in the Sweet Summer surrender am I able to find a tranquility in life. When the sun beats bright across my skin wrapping it in golden kisses. When laughter rings through the air and exploration is commonplace.
The things we find in this, the shortest of seasons, must cling to the mind during the bleakness of winter.

So how then do we measure a quality of life? Is it in the moments spent in sunlight, laughter? Is it the things we aquire through labor? Is it the memories we collect?
A dinosaur on a picnic table, a row of geese playing on a dock, a rain storm relinquishing the blight of a 100 degree draught, a day filled with collectable memories. Just a moment in one life. No money obtained, no great world changing discovery. Just a day.
Yet this day far more precious than a gem. More beautiful than Gold.

This day is peace in the madcap of a life in motion. So to answer my own question; the value of life is what you give it. What YOU make of it. If the value of your life is memories, share them and you will live eternally.
(C) R.M. Brandon 2012

The Stacks

Desert heat in the Midwest. The Summer sun sears the very breath from my lungs. Ribs bruised from the previous nights strain heave beneath the pressure. Nausea rises from the pit of my stomach. Acid hovers at the base of my throat' just low enough to feel like a shot of Jack from the wrong direction. Intestines threaten to empty their acidic contents onto the dashboard of my car. What I wouldn't give for some relief. The lake twinkles in the back of my mind. The gas light flashes warning the tank is emptier than my pockets. Where to go?

So many decisions to be made, but my body revolts against reason. I just can't think when I feel like my insides are falling out. When was the last time I ate? Have to remember to eat. Not right now. What little there is in my stomach is trying to jump out. Okay mind over matter, if you don't mind it doesn't matter. A twinge of pain in my ribs. It lasts just long enough to feel like a dagger sliding in and out.I have to find somewhere to cool off and hydrate or when anyone finds my body it'll be days in the hospital with IVs .
Maybe a restaurant? Free AC. No, fast food places lack outlets for junk laptops to be plugged in and right now finding a way to make up for gas funds is the priority.

That's when I saw it. Rising from the ground it's looming three story brick frame beckoning me through the doors. Like the arms of a mother to a wounded child, The Public Library. Walking through the double glass doors I felt like a kid again. The old familiar smell like Grandma's Attic filled with hidden treasures waiting to be discovered, wrapped its fingers around my mind. The book covers looked at me from the shelves. Long forgotten Friends, new lovers, mysteries, travels, worlds as yet unknown to me. The colors and textures reached out to me as they had in childhood, "Let us be your friends. We will never let you down.".

How many days had I skipped Algebra 1 and that hideous blob of a teacher to wander among these stacks? After practices and duties I would hide among them, enjoying their company until close. The Greats, the little known, the narratives, all still here. So I find myself once again lost amongst the magic. Only this time I am not a child. While tempted to curl up in the old wicker chair and read The Workings of Poe for the thousandth time, I will instead write.

Here in the safety of the only friends who have been with me my entire life, I will aspire to join their names. One day maybe a wide eyed little girl will escape the world in the arms of my pages. Maybe one day a teenager will walk through the world of my mind to escape the bitter reality of the world in which we live. Maybe one day a two time Divorcee who is struggling to fill the gas tank to make it to work, dying inside because of the innocent casualties of bad marriages, and suffering from heat exhaustion will walk in and smile will take the place of worry at the comforting familiarity of my name.

I write because I have to. Only so many movies can through the mind at one time. A heart can only hold so much emotion, I write to release. I Read because the stacks are the arms that have held me since I was a child. (c)R.M.Brandon 2012

The Ball

Standing in a crowded room all alone. Laughing as the show plays on. Tears trickle beneath the laughter. Unseen. Blend. Belong. Supress the desire to scream. Would it matter if it did? Would it cause a scene? Chameleon, conceal every bit of real. Blend. Belong. This won't last that long. Smile. Nod. Grace, fake it, hold still, don't fall. Standing in a crowded room all alone. For a moment, did you feel it? What was that? You belonged? No. Not really. Thank God, it's done. Get me out of these clothes! Layers of artificial. Nothing in this place is real. Smoke and mirrors. Plastic people. Just for a moment I want to feel real. Not a golden child. No precious metal at birth. No grande giveaway in a little white church. Smoke and mirrors trying to pretend. In the end just a fallen, forgotten, waste of flesh again. Standing in a crowded room. Alone. 
(C) RM Brandon 2012

The Journey

(One of my Awesome Shorties)

Life is an amazing journey filled with falls, flights, ebbs, flows, failures, success. It is captivating to watch the world spin past. The movie theater, with its many varied players, passing through the scenes unaware they are being watched.  But life is not just to be watched it is to be lived. Contention. Contention that rises when two players coexist independently. Neither is right. Neither is wrong. Simply different. A watcher. A doer. A dreamer. A believer. The doer can exist without the watcher yet the watcher has nothing without the doer. The dreamer will dream without belief yet belief can not exist without thought. Hence they become independently codependent. The misery of bring forced to action vs the stagnation of inaction. Beautiful compliment, or torturous imbalance? They exist dancing in the shadows. Believing in each other while doubting themselves. Change like a tiny stream eroding a great mountain side, they whither away at each others resolve by traveling together. The watcher unknowingly begins to do, the doer takes time to watch. They waltz. Contention becomes peace. Tranquility. Hand in hand in they move. Never do they lose themselves ,water cannot become stone nor can stone become water. They dance, conform, side by side. The beauty of one compounding the tranquility of its partner.
Life is a beautiful journey.
~(c) RM Brandon 2012

PEOPLE AND CRITTERS

On the bank of the creek. My pole taught in the water. I patiently wait. As I wait, a crow circles above. Two turtles play leap frog jumping in and out from the muddy bank. Slightly up creek a fish jumps. My mind soars with the crow. Up and down through the clouds, high above what I can see, he sees beyond.
If you follow my writing , you, by now, have realized I am facinated with wings and slimy things. Basically anything that flies,crawls, and croaks. Oh and the fuzzy critters as well. But what holds my heart the closest is a toss between birds and frogs. Looking back I guess it has always been like that for me, head in the clouds, eyes to the ground.
What is your critter? The animal that reccurs through your life, thoughts, writing. What does this critter represent to you? No I will not change the word to animal. I said critter and I meant it.
(In the background my mom is cringing over my word choice. Hi mom)
I'm curious. Talk to me. What is the creature that captivates you?

Life is Like a new cell Phone

MY STRESS RELIEVERS

While attempting to master my new cell phone, I realized it's a lot like life. We get this amazing machine, complex, sometimes even boggling, and we have to figure out how to make it work for us. Everyone is different. Some people never get past their first text message. Others move quickly on only to struggle with something different Yeah, leave it to me to find some philosophical meaning behind arguing with a new method of communication. Think about it for awhile. Life is an ever changing technology that we will never truly master. it can not be master because it is always improving on itself. So we can get the hang of a few aps or even out grow a model, but as soon as you think you've got it..... A new technology is released. Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Learning never stops.
NEXT POST FREE SHORT STORY!!!!!

A beautiful life

How does one sum an entire existence into a few words? I have been blessed to live a hundred lives within the short time I have tallied on this earth. This section of the blog is to take you, my reader, deeper into the thralls of my subconscious. Ultimately to reveal to you, and maybe even myself, the fuel for the fire of my literary insanity. If anything you read within this blog makes you question my work, good, if it helps you question your life, great, if it makes you question reality, my mission is accomplished.
              Walking down the street, your breath visible in the chill on the wind, your overpriced coat wraps tightly around your healthy flesh. As you round a busy corner you notice a shell of a human peering up at you beneath ragged clothes. Her naturally straw colored hair is highlighted with punk colors vaguely bringing back memories of Rainbow Bright from your childhood. Her face is a thin tanned leather with worry lines far past her years already creasing the corners of her purple lips. Looking up at you with sky blue eyes sharp and bright like peering into a reflection pool, she holds out sock covered hand and asks simply, "Could you spare some change?". With disgust in your face you utter back ,"Get a job" as you scramble past her like running from the plague to your warm awaiting home. Briefly, your mind wanders through questions,"Where are her parents at, she must be older than she looks, Society is falling apart from all these leeches Why don't they fix it themselves?." Yet, You never stop to ask. So I will answer your questions.
                 Once, in another part of my hundred lives, I was that girl, here is what she was thinking as you hurried past. I am not invisible, am I? You approached and I could hear the change jingling in your pocket. The hunger pain in my stomach had become a constant reminder of the absence of the people who had brought me into this world. It was almost a comfort in its persistence as if to say it would always be there for me.  Part of me envied what you had achieved in life, the security, the steadiness of your gait, you must have friends waiting for you. The friends I had made on the street where running through my mind as you walked by. Street Kids, Uptown throw aways, we knew the names.
              It was one of those disposable people that weighed so heavily on my mind that particular day. She was two years younger than me at the time. Her story was far worse than mine, she had fled a sexually abusive home, to this. I had to protect her, to keep the world from hurting her anymore, but I was running from my own demons. She had become sick that week. The condemned apartment building we squatted in provided minimal resistance to a northeast winter chill and pneumonia was known to claim more that one each winter. The fever coursing her body had us all worried, but we had no where to go for help. If we took her to the doctor, like a few had done before, they would contact authorities who would either send her back to the abusive home she left or to kiddie lock down for being born into a crappy environment. No she was one of ours and we weren't going to let her down. She needed medicine, we had a guy that could get us the antibiotics we needed, but it wasn't cheap.
               We tried the safe house for help first. They were always great for letting us shower, giving us a warm meal, and helping us find education and yes even jobs. Rebuilding a life when you're not old enough in the eyes of the law to have one can take time. Time that you have to spend keeping yourself alive.  Wewere an odd makeshift family of lost souls.Kids and throw aways to the world, to you. Inside I still held hope that someone out there could look past thebag of bones that carried my essence through this world to my heart. Someone willing to see the diamond in the rough that was me. I digress, so back to the moment.
             As you walked by in your Armani suit, leather shoes casting a high polished shine to the sky, breif case clutched tightly by your side as if protecting the hope diamond,the chain in your pocket gave a sweet ring. The ring of hope. By the sound it was a few quarters, a couple of dimes, and a handful of pennies, not much in the grand scheme of things. When added to an entire family of misfits, six at the time, willing to sacrifice what little dignity they had left in this world keep another alive, it would have been plenty.
             We made enough by nightfall to get the medicine so your scoff did no harm. It did strike a cord in my soul I carry with me to this very day. I no longer wear rags, or sleep under the stars, unless I want to. I am now the person the hand is held out to. Each time I find myself confronted with that multilayered raggedy shell of a person I offer my hand out. It is not a hand out I give them, but a hand up. A tug back to their feet so they can walk on their own once again.
              In this life  we can be the change we want to see in the world, we can ignore the need, or we can the lift the weak that they might once again stand on their own two. You never know they might be the one to carry you some day.~R.M.Brandon~
               

inconceivable