The Boy Who Didn't Exist

   The boy sat quietly at the front of the room , staring out one of the windows , waiting for Mrs. Kennedy to finish reading the letter that his foster mother had sent to school with him. Through the open windows , the sounds of children at play could be heard. In fifteen minutes , the bell would ring , signaling an end to first period recess. Every now and then the boy would smile , perhaps seeing something outside that caught his fancy , or recalling something pleasant from his past.
    As she read the letter , Mrs. Kennedy glanced up at him every so often. He never once looked her way. He just stared out the window , smiling that half smile. When he wasn't smiling , his face was devoid of emotion. Blank and empty. He hadn't said a word since his mother dropped him off with the letter. She remembered how the other children had stared at him as if he were an undiscovered species of insect. She had asked him his name ; he had not looked at her , and he had not answered. He had just stood there with his hands behind his back , and his head lowered , as if in shame.
    He was an enigma. But the letter did explain some things about him. He was a loner. He kept to himself , and did not socialize with others , especially with children his own age. He seldom spoke , even when spoken to. 
    No one knew where he had come from , or who his birth parents had been. All that was known of him , was that one day he had suddenly and mysteriously appeared on the doorstep of the Third Street Orphanage , in a fruit basket , with a note that read : My name is Jeffrey. Please take care of me.
    Because nothing was known about his background , other than his name , most people were reluctant to adopt such a child. The first six and a half years of his  life had been spent in and out of the orphanage. From the time of his arrival , the Sisters noticed something strange about  him : the child never cried , not even when he was hungry.
    The other children knew  that he was different , not like them. They had heard  the nuns talking about him , and so the boy became an easy target. They did their best to torment him. They made fun of him and called him names , and once he had received a beating  sever enough that he had to be hospitalized. As he lay in a pool of his own blood , some of the children swore that the boy had become translucent , as if he were beginning to fade.
     But , these were children , and children could not always be believed , so the Mother Superior dismissed it as an attempt to distract her attention  from their guilt.
    Jeffrey was adopted soon after his seventh birthday , but was returned to the orphanage just after six weeks , with no explanation. He was almost eight when he was adopted a second time , but once again was returned , this time after two weeks , again with no explanation as to why.
    Mrs. Kennedy finished reading the letter and put it away.
    "Would you like to go outside , Jeffrey?"
    The boy didn't answer. He continued staring out the window. He was no longer smiling.
     "I'll let you go outside , if you answer some  questions. Do we have a deal?"
      He was silent so long , she didn't think he would answer. Then , without looking away from the window , he said in a voice so low that she could barley hear him , "It depends on what you want to know."
     "I guess I'd like to know why you're so distant."
     "People don't like me."
     "Why do you think people don't like you?"
    This time he did look at her. Tears welled in his eyes , and his lower lip trembled slightly.  She felt a sudden urge to hug the boy. 
    Turning back to the window , he said , "I think it's because they...can sense that I don't belong here. They know I'm  different , and it scares them. They don't know how to behave around me. They're afraid of me. I don't want them to be afraid of me! It's not my fault it happens! It only happens when I get really lonely , and  want to go home."
    "What happens , Jeffrey?"
    "When I fade  out."
   
    Jeffrey sat on one of the swings , watching the other children play. Mrs. Kennedy watched him through the same window he had been staring out only minutes ago. None of the other children paid the slightest attention to him.
    As if he knew she were watching him , he raised a hand , as if to wave. But  it took her a moment to realize that he wasn't waving. He was staring at his raised hand. He continued staring at it , realizing that something was about to happen , something he had desperately been hoping for. Then , with a wistful smile , he began to swing , propelling himself forward , harder and higher , faster and faster , building up speed , picking up  momentum , until he was swinging for the sky , swinging for  all he was worth , swinging as if for the first time in his life.
     He felt a sudden joy , and laughed  , and was surprised to hear himself laugh. It was the first time he could ever remember laughing , and it felt like nothing he had ever felt before. The confusion , fear , and loneliness of the past eight years - which were more like a life time - was slipping away. Now , all he felt was joy. Now he was beginning to understand what was happening to him. He was going home. Not to a place where he was feared , but to a place where he had already been accepted , long before he had been born. Where he already belonged , and always had , and his parents would be there , parents he had never known. He smiled again , remembering their faces. He knew he would see them soon.
    Mrs. Kennedy glanced over at the clock on the wall. In less than two minutes the bell would ring. When she looked back at him , he was gone. She gasped. She looked around the school yard , not seeing him anywhere among the other children. She panicked. She ran outside , and halted at the swings. The one he had been on was still moving back and forth , as if he were still swinging on it. Up and down it went , reaching for the sky. She stared at it , noticing that there was no wind.
    It continued swinging for a  moment or two , and then slowly came to a stop. Several of the nearest children were staring at her. One was a girl of about seven , with a freckled face and pig tails. 
    "Are you OK Mrs. Kennedy?" she said.
    "Did you see where he went?"
    "Who?"
    "The boy on the swing."
    The girl frowned. "There was no boy on the swing , Mrs. Kennedy."
    "Yes , there was. It was Jeffrey. His name was Jeffrey!"
     The girl frowned again. "Who's Jeffrey?"
   The bell rang. The girl turned and ran back to the classroom with the other children. Mrs. Kennedy started to follow , but stopped when she noticed that something was lying in the dirt below the swing. It was a piece of paper. Frowning , she picked it up and read it. It was addressed to her. It said : 
    I'm going home now. Where no one is afraid of me. Where I don't have to be lonely anymore. Please remember me. Jeffrey.
     As she stared at the words , tears filling her eyes - her mind unable to comprehend what had just happened - she noticed that they were beginning to fade. In a moment , they too would be gone forever , like the boy who didn't exist.
   

    
    
  
   
    
   

Dream Journal

   Had an incredible dream this morning. One of those dreams that stays with you long after you wake up , the kind of dream you look forward to. 

   I was at home again ( home , being the house I grew up in ). I seemed to have been in my late twenties or early thirties. Debra ( my older sister ) was still alive.

    Debra , Lori , and I were outside at night , wrapped in blankets ; it must have been chilly , although it didn't really feel like it. There was a dinosaur-like monster on our property that we were trying to avoid. It was tall and black , which made it more difficult to see in the dark. So , we ran next door , to the house on the left , where the Strevell's lived.

    Now , what's strange about this dream , is that the Strevell's lived there when I was in my early teens. As far as I can remember , they were gone by the time I was in my late teens , and I don't remember ever being in that house.

    As we passed the front of the house , I noticed that there was a bedroom window open and I could hear loud music.
    The dream seemed to skip from here to inside the house. Now we're in the living room ; I'm leaning back in an arm chair. The lights are off. The second oldest sister is in the kitchen , cooking. I asked her if she ever remembered anything strange that happened around a house I owned somewhere else in California. This must have been about the black monster that was after the three of us.
    I don't recall her answering me. The oldest sister came in after that and noticed that someone was sitting in the chair , but said nothing about the lights being off. She got real close to me , asking who I was. I told her who I was , and that must have been when I woke up.  

The Secret Life Of Trees

     This story is based on certain events in my life , and without them , I doubt I could have written it. It's been in my head for three years now , and such as it is , I'm content with it.






       My name is Sam , and this is my story.
   I never knew my parents.
   I only knew them as  people I was born to , who raised me and took care of me. Who fed me , and put clothes on me. Who sent me off to school when I was old enough , and took me to the doctor when I was sick.

   I knew things about them , but I never really knew them. I never knew them like I should have. I was never close to them like I should have been , like I longed to be. 

   My mother was a teacher. She taught grade school. It was the love of her life. If you ever got her talking about it , you couldn't shut her up. Dad worked for an advertising company. He wasn't always enthusiastic about his job. They worked hard to support us. They were both successful , and always busy. I guess they never really had time for me. I can't remember ever having more than one or two conversations with either one of them while I was growing up. We were like a family of strangers to each other. I don't remember ever playing catch with dad , or other things boys did with their fathers. More often than not , he would come home from work , turn on the television , and drink beer while he watched his favorite shows. On the weekends he would spend his days watching just about any sport that was televised.
   During the summer months - when he wasn't watching sports - he liked to go fishing. I only went with him once. It was the only time  I was invited  , and I never asked. I was ten at the time ... and I remember what a lonely day it was. All he did was drink beer and talk about sports. I wanted him to ask me how I was doing in school ; at least that would have let me know that he cared. And I wanted him to ask me about my friends. Truth was , I didn't have many friends. Being alone was the norm for me. I was getting used to it.
    I spent that entire day with dad beside me , one of the few that I could remember. But , I may as well have been alone. That was how I felt. He wasn't interested in getting to know me. All he seemed to care about was sports.
    I went through my childhood feeling lonely , afraid , and ignored. I felt as if no one cared about me. I felt ignored by my parents most of all. I wanted them to know me. Who I really was. My passions. My dreams , my aspirations in life. And I wanted to know them. I wanted us to be a family again.  Not a dysfunctional family of strangers that didn't know how to communicate with each other. But a real family that knew and felt love , that expressed that love every way they knew how. Were we that kind of family once? I don't know. I don't remember. I would like to believe that we were.
    When the loneliness became unbearable , I would visit a secret place known only to me. It was in the woods , behind the house. There was a clearing with a lake in the middle , ringed with trees. I would spend hours  at a time there , imagining that the trees had a secret life of their own , and that I was one of them.
    Mom passed away when I was sixteen. Breast cancer. She ignored the warning signs. I guess she was hoping it was nothing to worry about. When she did finally see her doctor , it was too late. She died quickly.
    I wanted to forget about school , at least for a while , and take care of her until the end , but Dad wouldn't let me. He took a few weeks from work to stay home with her.
    The day she died , I held her hand and cried for a woman I hardly knew , but always loved. I silently asked to be forgiven for not being better than I should have been , and that some day I would find the courage to forgive myself.
    After the funeral , I made a plaque in school , with the following words inscribed :  
    
     Trees have a secret life of their own ,
     they talk to each other ,
     they laugh ,
     they sing and dance , and celebrate all of the good
     things in their lives ,
     they give praise to the Creator ,
     and they mourn when one of their own dies.

    One day , I placed the plaque at the base of the largest tree , and left it there , hoping that some day someone would find it , someone who was lonely like I was ,  and would understand the meaning of the words. And the meaning of the words are : that life is too short to worry about what others may think of us , or what we think we need and don't need. All we need is love , and hope.  Love comforts us , and hope drives us. It gives us the courage to  continue when our lives seem empty and bleak. Without it , there is no reason to live. We are all born for the same purpose : to help make the lives of others more bearable. It doesn't matter if they are lonely , mentally ill , or homeless.  What does matter is that they need to know that they are important , that their lives are worth living. It's the only reason we're here , to help each other. We all share a divine connection. We all come from the same source. It's the divine responsibility of every human being , to help those who cannot help themselves. It's been said that God helps those who help themselves , but God blesses those who help others.
    After mom's death , dad and I never really did become close. We talked a few times , mostly about mom , but not the things that should have been talked about. There was no healing , and that left me feeling emptier  than I had ever been before. Dad remarried sometime later , and joined his new wife as a full time member of the local church.
    Three years later , I met my wife , and less than a year after that , we had our first child , a son. We've since had two more , both girls. The births of my children were the best times of my life. I held their tiny bodies in my hands , and promised them that we would never be strangers to each other. That we would always be close. That we could always talk to each other , no matter what. And , to this day , as they are now in their teenage years , we have never been strangers to each other , and never will be.
    Dad passed during my thirty - fifth year. It was a heart attack. We flew home for the funeral. We had seen him no more than five or six times in fifteen years , and in all that time he had barely kept in touch. I guess the two of them were just too busy to pick up a phone , or write.
    After visiting mom's grave , we visited the clearing behind the house. I hadn't been there in sixteen years. It hadn't changed much in all that time ; it looked almost as it had the day I'd last seen it.
    The plaque was still there , right where I'd left it , leaning against the roots of the biggest tree. I'd left it there sixteen years before ,  hoping that someone would find it and discover what the words had meant to me , and what they will always mean. That love is the answer. Love is the meaning of the words. If you have love in your life , even if it's  the love of just one person , then celebrate it. Sing and dance , and laugh , and love. Be grateful that someone loves you , because life is short , shorter than we realize , and if we don't show our gratitude today , tomorrow may never come.
    Life is worth living. Even with all the crap that weighs us down and holds us back , our lives still have meaning. You may not believe that when you feel hopeless and alone. Know that you are never alone , and that you are special. You  were born for a reason , and that is to bring love and hope into the lives of those who have no hope. That's where your life has meaning.
    There were other words on the plaque besides my own. In the sixteen years that I had been away , someone had etched their own below mine , and the meaning of these words , to me , were clear.
    A plea for hope.
  I had found my hope , my redemption. My redemption was in the promise I had made to my children. A promise that would be passed down to my grandchildren. A promise that would never be broken.
    Sometimes , when sleep is slow in coming , I remember those lonely words , so full of promise , that someone had etched below my own :
    "In forgiveness is hope. Hope is in the knowledge that I will someday be forgiven. I can only hope that someday before I die , I will find that redemption."
     It helps me sleep.


    
   

   





   


   

         
    






     

RIVERS OF TIME - Chapter 2

  
   When I was eighteen , Sarah was murdered. Her boyfriend had strangled her. The day that she met him , she'd been so excited. She had come running to me and told me all about him , how tall he was , how good looking he was , how polite he was , and how smart. He was a senior , and she a freshman.

   "His name's Vincent!" she said almost breathlessly. "He's three years older than me , he's captain of the varsity football team , and every girl in school likes him! But he likes me , even though I'm not the prettiest girl in school! I want you to meet him and tell me what you think!"

   So , I met him. He seemed nice enough. He said all the right things , and seemed to genuinely like Sarah. But there was something about him that didn't quite seem right. Was it because he was three years older than Sarah? Or was it because she was the kind of girl that never fell for the obvious type? He seemed too perfect , too good looking , and most of all , too polite. I never trust people who are too polite. It seems like they're putting on an act , to try and impress someone.

   "Well , what do you think ?" she asked after he had gone.

   "Why do you care what I think? You're going to see this guy no matter what I say."

   "Be serious!"

   "Alright. I think you're too young. You're not ready to start dating , Sarah. You're only fourteen."

   "Who said anything about dating? Can't a girl just like a guy?"
   "Of course you can. Just don't start  dating until you're at least fifteen , or I'll kill you , and Dad will kill you. Speaking of Dad , what does he think of your new beau?"
   "He's not my beau ," she said. "Dad hasn't met him yet. I wanted you to meet him first and tell me what you thought of him."
   "Alright. I'll tell you what I think , but I don't think you're going to like it. Still want to hear it?"
   "No , but you'll tell me anyway."
   "He seems like a nice guy ," I said.
   She smiled. "That's it?"
   What I said next made her look like she wanted to kill me. "I don't trust him."
   "Who the hell asked you?" She left my room , closing the door a little too loud.
    "You did ," I said.
   My father seemed to like him well enough , but he strictly forbade Sarah from seeing him outside of school. That meant , besides school , she could only see him at our house , or his , just as long a parent or a guardian were present. But she couldn't be watched all the time , and it wasn't long before they were sneaking around. Sometimes they would meet at our house while I was out , and my father was at work. She even took to playing hooky from school , which brought her nothing but trouble.
   This behavior went on for some time before my father found out about it. he was furious. She was no longer allowed to see Vincent. He was no longer welcome at our house , and Sarah was forbidden to speak to him , not even at school. She was grounded for two weeks. She was not even permitted to see her friends , not that she had very many ; most girls considered her a book worm because she wore glasses and liked to read. She complained as any teenage girl would do when they believed life was unfair. But it didn't stop her from seeing him. Often she would sneak out of the house to meet him.
   One night , she climbed out her bedroom window , and never came back. Two days later , she was dead. her body was discovered in a drainage ditch , two miles from school. According to the police , she had been strangled. She had been tossed into the ditch as if she had been nothing more than yesterday's garbage. Vincent was the only suspect they had , so the police picked him for questioning. Later , he was arrested and arraigned for trial.
   After Sarah's funeral , my father suffered a break down and had to be hospitalized. The pain of losing a wife , and now a daughter , were too much for him. Before she was buried , I placed a letter and a picture in Sarah's coffin. I'd written the letter the night beforte. In it , I told her how much she was loved , would be missed , and how proud of her Dad and I had been. She had been blessed with beauty and intelligence. She could have been whatever she desired ; a super model , an actress , or even a scientist. But time's river had flowed differently for Sarah , taking her to a destination that was neither fair , nor deserved.
   I ended the letter telling her that she had been the prettiest girl in school. Sarah never fancied herself a beauty. But she had been. More than she knew.
   I read the letter aloud , and then placed it and the picture in her right hand. The picture was a family photo of the four of us during happier times , a million years ago. I thought she would like that.
   Watching her coffin being lowered into the ground , with tears streaming down my face , I wished I could have told her everything in the letter , while she had been alive.
   With my father institutionalized , aunt Becky would not let me stay in the house alone. I was working part time , nights , after school , and I had no desire to come home to an empty house , so after the funeral , I packed some clothes and drove my used mustang over to her house. She wanted me to stay with Jack , but I said I didn't want to invade anyone's space , so she gave me the basement.
   Except for a few large boxes and a roll away bed , it was empty , and cold. A plastic sheet was wrapped around the bed's mattress. I unfolded the bed , removed the plastic , and sat down , thinking about Sarah.
   Like my mother , I wished I could have been there to save her. I should have told her not to see Vincent , the day she had introduced him. I knew there was something wrong about him , but I didn't tell her that. If I had , would she still be alive? Would she have listened to me? No , she would have gone behind my back , just as she had always done.
   Aunt Becky came down the stairs with an end table and a lamp. "Would you help me with these , Tom?"
   I took the table and put it at the head of the bed. She placed the lamp on top of it , and plugged it into the basements only outlet and turned it on.
   "I bought these at a yard sale last month. I asked Jack to refinish them for me , but i can't get him away from his video games long enough to do anything. So , I stored them in the attic. And now I'm giving them to you."
    Looking around , she said , "now it's not so dark in here. But it is cold. There's a space heater around here somewhere. I'll look for it after dinner , which will be ready in about an hour."
   "I really won't need a space heater. A blanket will do."
   "Are you sure?"
   "Yes , I'm sure ," I said. "And thank you for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it."
   She sat down next to me and smiled. "You're welcome. I couldn't bare the thought of you being all alone in that house."
    I could smell her perfume. It was getting to me. I had to remind myself that this was my aunt , no matter how attractive she was.
    She sighed. "I know you probably feel all alone right now. But you're not , Tom. You have a lot of people who love you , us included.  We all care about you , and want you to know that you can talk to us about anything. You're a part of this family and always will be."
   I hung my head awkwardly and nodded. I loved this woman dearly. She had always been there for me. Whenever I needed someone to talk to , or just listen to me , I could always count on her. She would drop whatever she had been doing , and make time for me. She had been that way with Sarah , too.
   After dinner , which had been eaten in awkward silence - mostly on my part - I went back downstairs for a change of clothes before leaving for work. I had a part time job at the Shop And Go , evenings after school , which I'd missed because of the funeral.
   I was starting back up the stairs when Aunt Becky came down and handed me a couple of blankets and an envelope. "These are for you."
   "What's in the envelope?"
   "It's from your mother ," she said. "She wanted me to give it to you if something should ever happen to her. But it wasn't supposed to be until you were eighteen."
   "What do you mean , if something should happen to her?" I said.
   She sat next to me on the bed. "I don't really know. One day , four years ago , she came to me with this letter , and asked me if I could give it to you when you were eighteen. I asked her if anything was wrong ; she said no. But she looked so sad when she said it , like she'd just lost a best friend. I tried to get her to tell me what was bothering her. She said she couldn't tell me ; she didn't want to get me involved. And that was it. She left."
   "Did you read the letter?" I saked. "Maybe there's a clue in it."
   "No , I didn't. I don't feel comfortable invading someone else's privacy."
   I tore open the envelope. "Well , if you you need anything , let me know."
   She started up the stairs. "By the way , I called your boss and told her about Sarah. She's giving you the rest of the week off , with pay."
   "You did that?"
   She nodded , smiling. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind."
   "No , I don't mind at all. As a matter of fact , I really appreciate it."
   She smiled , and started back up the stairs.
   "Aunt Becky?"
   "Yes , Tom?"
   "You've always been my favorite aunt ," I said. After a moment of awkward silence , I said ,"I just wanted you to know that."
   It embarrassed the hell out of me to admit it , but was true.
   She smiled. "Thank you , Tom. And you've always been my favorite nephew." She went upstairs , quietly closing the door behind her.
   Was I her favorite nephew , or did she say it just to be nice?
   The envelope contained a key and a single sheet of paper , written in elegant script. It read :
 
                                    Dear Tom ,

   If you're reading , it can only mean one thing : My death. I didn't want to have to put it this way , but I couldn't think of any other way. I was killed by some very dangerous people who wanted to steal my research , and they would do anything to get their hands on it. Even murder. But they were not entirely successful. They were successful in killing me , but not in stealing my reasearch. I made sure that my journal , and what I've been working on , have been kept hidden from them. Only you know where they are. I'll tell you where they are , but first I want to tell you what it is that I've been working on for the past three years.
   Almost four years ago , I created a devise that allows instantaneous travel through time and space , and to alternate worlds. I call it the Alternate Reality Locater , or Al for short. It contains an advanced and sophisticated computer chip. It locates and opens time portals , or worm holes. Some of these holes even lead to other worlds within our own galaxy! And once these worlds have been accessed , the computer then stores the information in it's memory.
   I know that this is hard for you to accept , as is the fact of my death. But , it's all true. I'm not crazy , as you might be thinking. And to prove it , I'm going to tell you where you can find the ARL , and my journal.
   With this letter , I've enclosed a key. It is to my safety deposit box at the Union Pacific bank. That's where you will find them. I've left instructions with a certiain employee. She's a friend of mine. She will allow you to access it's contents if you should ever need to. All you to do is show her an ID. Her name is Susan.
   With the journal and the ARL , I've left simple instructions on how to use it. I want you to use it wisely , Tom. It is not a toy. Be careful with it ; it is a very sensitive devise. If you break it , there will be no way for you to fix it.
   I want you to use it to explore , as I would have , had my life not been cut short. There are hundreds of inhabited worlds in this galaxy alone. I have visited some of them. And so will you.
   But , I must warn you : you cannot change the past or mess with the timeline of this , or any other reality. If you do so , there may be serious consequences. Be careful! And trust no one! you will not know who your enemy is. They will not hesitate to kill you , Tom. I don't want that to happen.
   Before I gave this letter to your aunt , I considered burning it. That way the ARL would be kept hidden forever , and you would not be in danger because of it. But I would be depriving you of something you so much deserve. I  have no right to keep that from you. I could not forgive myself. The ARL belongs to you now.
   Good luck , my dear , sweet Tom. tell Sarah and your father that I love them both , as I love you.

                                     Mom

RIVERS OF TIME - Chapter 1

  
   Note > This story was conceived six years ago. I had three or four chapters completed. It was written on another laptop , which I wound up throwing on the ground and stomping on , because of it's unsatisfactory performance , so most of the story was lost.

                               

   Time , like a river , has many tributaries , or time lines that can take you any-time , any-where. The past is not set ; the future is not written in stone. The paths that you choose in this life time , will determine your final destination.

    We are all born for a reason , a final destination in life. Most people don't know this. Others believe that they were born to accomplish something special , to be a teacher , a doctor , or the President of the United States.

    My final destination , my sole purpose in life , the reason I was born , was to save my mother and sister. I believe that now with all my heart.

    When I was fourteen , my mother was killed in a car accident. My biggest regret was not being there when it happened. I kept thinking that I could have saved her - had I been there - or prevented the accident from happening.

     I was in school when it happened. My mother had been on her way home from work , when she lost control of the car , sending her off the road. She had died instantly. My aunt came to pick me up and take me to the hospital. She didn't say right away what was wrong , but I knew it was something bad , because she had been crying. In fact , she didn't speak , until she parked the car and turned off the engine.

     During the drive to the hospital , which had been no more than five or six minutes , I knew it had to be someone close to me , and I silently hoped that it wasn't someone in my family. But when aunt Becky turned to me and said , "Tom , there was an accident. Your Mother was ... she was killed in ... she was killed in a car accident this afternoon ," I wanted to scream and slam my fist into something. But I did neither of those things. Instead , I reached out and awkwardly held my aunt while she cried.

   As sisters they had been close. I hadn't realized how close until that moment. I should have felt sadness. All I felt was anger , and I felt guilty that I hadn't cried. But later , when I saw my mother in that hospital bed , unmoving , her eyes not quite closed all the way , and her tongue protruding slightly between her lips , the anger faded , and the tears came. They came fast and hard.

    I told her I was sorry for not being a better son. I told her I was sorry for all the times I hadn't listened to her. I told her I was sorry for staying out late and partying with my friends. I told her I was sorry for the few times I had played hooky from school. I told her I was sorry for the time I had showed up drunk at school and gotten arrested. I told her I was sorry for all the times I had lied to her. And I told her I was sorry for the one time I told her that I hated her.

    I regretted that more than anything.

    I told her all of this in silence and wished that none of them had ever happened. I had done so many things that I wasn't proud of , and most of them had hurt the one who meant the most to me.

    I held her hand and sobbed. Strings of snot dripped from my nostrils. My surroundings dimmed through the tears. I could see movement at the corners of my vision. Someone could have been staring at me , but I didn't care. All I cared about was the woman in that hospital bed. The woman who read to me when I was a boy. The woman who comforted and cared for me when I was sick. The woman who walked me to the bus stop every morning , and was always waiting to pick me up.

    Finally , I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. Aunt Becky , telling me it was time to go. But I didn't want to go. I wasn't ready to leave her.

    I went anyway. As we left the hospital , I wondered where Sarah and my father were. Aunt Becky told me they had already been there and gone home.

    I wondered why my father hadn't picked me up. He had picked up Sarah , but not me.

    The funeral was less than a week later. I remember how much it had rained. Aunt Becky wanted my father to postpone it for the next day , but he wanted to get it over with , so it went on. We all stood under umbrellas as Reverend James shouted to be heard above the down pour. The only people present besides my sister and father , and my aunt , were my three cousins , Jack , Loree , and Christie , my uncle Jim , and my mother's parents. She had two older brothers , and a younger sister , but none of them had bothered to show up.

    I held Sarah's hand and she held Dad's. Both of them were crying. I looked at the faces of the others around me and saw that they were all crying. Even Jack , who never cried about anything. I was the only one who wasn't and I felt guilty. I hadn't cried since that day at the hospital ; I had no idea why the tears wouldn't come.

    After the funeral , everyone came to the house. They brought tons of food  and alcohol , but none of us felt like eating. Everyone stood around , laughing and drinking , and stuffing themselves like it was a party. Someone had just been buried and no one seemed to care. I sat on the sofa for as long as I could , and then went to my room , slammed the door and locked it. 

   I was lying on the bed , staring up at the ceiling , when someone knocked softly at the door.

   "Who is it?"

   "Sarah. Can I come in?"

   "Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone."

   "Come on , Tom , open the door."

   I got up and opened the door , then threw myself back on the bed. "Is everyone gone?"

   "Yes , everyone's gone." Her eyes were red and puffy from so much crying. She had cried almost non stop over the last two days. I hadn't shed a single tear.

    "Are you alright , Tom?"

    "Of course I'm alright."

    "No , you're not. You miss Mom."

    "Then why haven't I cried?" I asked.

    "You have ," she said. "The day you said good bye."

    "I mean since then."

    "I don't know. But you will when you're ready to."

    Sarah was ten , but she sounded like someone much older. Sometimes when I talked to her , it was as if I were conversing with an adult in a child's body. She was mature and precocious for her age. She was always reading , and wrote the most wonderful stories. She was so bright that when she was six , her teachers had wanted to move her from second grade , to fourth. But Sarah wouldn't hear of it. She knew that if she were moved up a couple of grades , the other students would torment her , so she stayed where she was and pretended to be as dumb as everyone else.

    "The reason I came in here , was to tell you that I think you should talk to Dad."

     "I don't feel like talking to anyone ," I said.

     "You're talking to me."

    "No one else."

    "You're not the only one who misses Mom , you know."

    She said it like she was accusing me of something. I reached out my arms and she hugged me tight. I never wanted to let her go. She was trembling. Most of the time she was like an adult in a child's body , but now she was just a frightened little girl , lost without her mother.

    At last , I pulled away. "Tell Dad I'll talk to him soon."

    But I never did talk to him after that. My father and I had never been that close , and at times over the years , I felt a sadness for what had never been. All my life Dad had been a workaholic and never had much time for Sarah , or me. Sarah had been less bitter about than me. I wasn't ready to forgive him for picking up Sarah , taking her to see our mother after she died , while leaving aunt Becky to get me.

    After the funeral , Dad and I drifted even farther apart , and I felt an even greater sadness.

    During the following days , I went through my life in a deep depression. School was no longer important to me. School was never important to me , but I went anyway. My favorite hobbies no longer held any interest for me. All I could see was my mother's face. I saw it everywhere I looked. I saw it in my waking life , and in my dreams. Often I would wake up crying ; those were the only times I had cried since her death. I still had not cried during a waking period.

    At school I wandered aimlessly through the corridors , much of the time forgetting where I was going , or what I was doing. My school work suffered. I had always been on the verge of flunking out - I was a lazy student - but even more so now. I couldn't even concentrate on sports , during or after school ; I was constantly dropping balls and striking out.

    I got into more fights than usual , often leaving my opponents beaten and bloody. Everything and anything set me off. Someone would say something I didn't agree with , or tackle me too hard during a game , and I would explode. Anger was my curse , and my down fall. It got me suspended from several games , and ultimately from school. But I didn't care. Nothing was important to me anymore , not school , not sports , not anything.

    My social life wasn't much better. My relationship with Kasey , which had always been a bit strained , was even more so now. We were no longer speaking to each other. At school we would spend most of our time together , but since the funeral , I had been neglecting her more and more. Her every attempt to get me to talk to her , was met with resistance. I loved Casey , but I didn't want to talk about my mother's death , even to her. One day , I told her to go away and leave me alone. She did , and I didn't see her again for a long time.

    That scared me. I hadn't meant what I said. I didn't want her to go away. I just needed some time to be alone. She misunderstood , and for two weeks I barely saw her at all. I would catch glimpses of her as she hurried between classes , but that was it. Sometimes I would call out to her , but she would run away.

    One night , in the privacy of my room , I cried for the first time since my mother's death. I cried for Kasey , because I was afraid that I would never see her again. I cried for Sarah , who had lost not only a parent , but a friend , someone she could always talk to about anything. I cried for my father and the closeness we had never shared. I cried for aunt Becky who had lost a sister. But most of all , I cried for my mother , who I would never see again.

   

   

Living With Heart Failure

   In February of 2009 , I was diagnosed with heart failure , also known as A Fib ( atrial fibrillation ; abnormal heart beat ). It was a long time coming. By that , I mean I'd had it to some degree for years , and didn't know it. I had some minor breathing problems before , but never connected them to this condition. Now , when I remember those experiences , I know what the cause was.
   While walking home from work ( Tyson of monett ) early one morning , in mid September 2008 , my heart beat changed for the worst. That was when it really started , the early stage of heart failure. It was now beating rapidly and erratically. At the time , I really didn't give it much thought. My heart had done the same on occasion over the years , as far back as the late eighties , I think , and each time , returned to a normal rhythm.
   It lasted more than a few hours , and then returned to normal by the time I left for work later that day. Then , about a week later , it again went out of rhythm , and this time , did not return to normal. I told myself that it was only temporary. It wasn't. It continued week after week , and month after month.
  Between the months of September and October , I felt alright , although I was starting to develop some breathing problems , which would worsen while lying down. I thought it was allergy related. And I was also steadily gaining weight , due to fluid retention.
   The breathing problems continued to worsen throughout January and February. It was hard to sleep because of extreme shortness of breath , and most nights , I couldn't  sleep at all. I would be so exhausted the next morning , that I would fall asleep immediately.
   One night , on a weekend , I walked over to Ramey's for some beer ( I was drinking like a fish since about the first half of 2005 ) and had the most intense stomach pain. Around the end of January , I developed edema of the legs. I remember walking home one night , with my rubber boots on , and not being able to get them off right away. They were also frozen ; it was below freezing and there was ice and snow on the ground.
   I really had no idea what was wrong with me. It never occurred to me that it might be heart failure. There was a history of heart disease on my Mom's side of the family. Her two older brothers died of heart attacks in their thirties , when she was a kid. She also died of a heart attack at sixty-one. It never occurred to me that it could happened to me ( and still could ). I've always been the heaviest one in my family.
   January and February were the worst months. The simple task of walking to and from work - which before had been so easy - was now almost impossible ; at least , that's how it felt. It felt like I was running a marathon instead of walking.
   I went to work in this condition every day , not realizing that I could have a heart attack or a stroke. I didn't want to go to work. I had to. I couldn't afford to stay home ; I had rent to pay.
   The last straw came February 22nd. I couldn't sleep at all , and could barely breath , even while sitting up. My brother , and sister in law had to take me to the emergency room. I was admitted to the hospital , where I stayed for five days ( I can't remember how many times I've been there since ). The doctor I had , thought that my heart was damaged by excessive alcohol use.
   A week later , I went into the hospital again , this time for a cardio version. They shocked my heart to get it back into rhythm. It worked. But , according to bad diet and weight gain , it didn't stay that way for long.
   It's depressing living with a condition like this. It makes me feel like this part of my life is out of control. I want to go back to 2009 when it was under control. I don't know if I can do it on my own. It's overwhelming to me. Sometimes I think that it would just be easier to give up and let myself die.

Alone

  
  
    I reach out but no one is there ,

 I cry but no one hears ,

 I ask why but no one listens ,

 there is an emptiness in me like a deep and endless void ,

 I stand upon it's edge about to fall ,

 I long to embrace it ,

 to let myself go.

Dreams Of Death

  
   Rotting corpses ,

deathly screams ,

demented voices in my dreams ,

I hear them nightly ,

what do they mean?

Am I insane?

Or am I dead?

In hellfire flame ,

my soul be fed.

Dance Of Death

In darkness I lie ,

things crawl on my skin ,

I hear the sound of my breath ,

when will it begin?

the Dance of my Death.

The Night She Came Back , part 2

  
    I slept poorly that night , lying awake for hours , tossing and turning. Near dawn , I finally fell asleep. I had a very disturbing dream : the doorbell rang. When I opened it , a figure stood on the porch , wearing a shawl over it's head , concealing it's face. I knew it was my mother.

   "Richard ," she whispered. When she pulled back the shawl , her face had been crawling with maggots.

   I jerked awake. I could still see them swarming and squirming in the hole where her face had been.

   It was 9:38. The phone rang. It was uncle Leo.
  "Richard , it's me. I've got your money. I'll be there in about two hours. I've got some errands to run first."
   "I don't know if I can do this."
   I told him about the dream.
  "It doesn't mean anything. It was just a dream."
  "What if it wasn't just a dream? What if it was a premonition?"
  "Stop worrying about it , Richard. Everything will be fine. You'll see."
  I took a shower. The memory of all those maggots was disturbing. I felt an urge to wash until my skin was raw. After breakfast , I took a long walk around the city streets. I enjoyed walking. It always helped me unwind after a restless night.
   The streets were wet. A heavy summer storm had passed through during the early morning hours. The skies were cloudless and blue.I had no desire to return to the apartment yet. It was too depressing. I wanted to stay outside and enjoy the fresh , cool air. I wanted to pretend that the last few weeks had never happened. For almost an hour , I sat on a park bench and watched the traffic , and people passing by , before heading back to the apartment.
   While waiting for uncle Leo , I fell asleep in front of the television. I had the same dream again , only this time , instead of her face being covered in maggots , they swarmed over her entire corpse. There was a ragged hole where her face had been , and a half eaten , black tongue protruded from it.
   "Richard ," she said again. Her voice sounded as if it had come from deep under water.
    I came awake with a start , a scream locked in my throat. The door bell chimed. It was uncle Leo. He was late ; it was almost noon.
   "I'm sorry I'm late ," he said. "My errands took longer than I anticipated."
   He handed me a thick , white envelope. "Here's the money. And by the way , you don't have to pay me back. Consider it a gift."
   I took the envelope and put it away. "I don't know how to thank you , uncle Leo."
   "No need to." He sat down on the sofa. "Is that coffee I smell?"
   "I'll get you a cup."
   "I'll have to drink it fast. Can't stay long."
   I hoped he would stay long enough to tell me what he was hiding. I brought him his coffee in my mother's favorite mug. It had , World's Greatest Mom , stenciled on the side of it. I had given it to her for her thirty ~ fifth birthday. It had been one of the best days of my life. I was eleven years old , my parents were still a few years from divorce , and everyone was happy.
   I didn't want any coffee myself. I'd had a hard enough time sleeping lately.
   I sat down in my mother's favorite arm chair , where she had spent entire days watching her favorite soaps. I waited for uncle Leo to tell me what he had been hiding. But I knew he wouldn't tell me , so I had to force it out of him.
   "I want to know what your hiding from me. And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."
   He looked at me a moment , and then lowered his eyes to his coffee , which he hadn't yet touched.
   He took a sip. "It's better that you not know , Richard. For your sake. And for the sake of Cheryl , and Sam. These people can be very dangerous. If I tell you everything I know about them , they may decide to kill all three of you. They have the ability to make you disappear , as if you were never born. And I can't live with that. But I can tell you this : what I said about Evelyn not being what you expect her to be. I wasn't lying about that. I wasn't exaggerating. It's happened before. And if it happens to your mother , I want you to promise me something."
   "What's that?"
   "That you will kill her."

   I sat in stunned silence. I couldn't believe what he had just said.
   "What the hell are you talking about?!"
   "There's a slight chance that she won't be the same. Her mind may be gone entirely , and in it's place , may be the mind of .... of an animal. Like I said , it's happened before. It's a side effect of the experiment."
   "What experiment?"
   "The resurrection experiment ," he said. "If her mind is gone , her behavior will be unpredictable. Most of the time she will be docile. She will know who you are. But she will no longer be Evelyn , because she will not have a soul. They can bring back the body , but not the soul , Richard.
   "Is that what you've been hiding from me?"
   "Yes. And if this happens , you have to kill her."
  The past few weeks seemed like a nightmare. I couldn't handle caring for my mother again if she were to come back senile. Which meant that I would have to put her in a rest home. Nor was I prepared to care for someone who could potentially be dangerous and violent. I just couldn't take the chance.
   "I can't do it ," I said.
   "Can't do what?"
  "I'm calling them back to tell them I'm not giving them their money."
   "It's too late for that , Richard. The deed's been done. Either you pay them , or someone close to you dies."
   "But if she comes back normal , I can't take care of her anymore! I can't go through that again."
   "Then put her in a rest home." He put down his coffee and stood up. "I have to go. Call me and let me know how it goes."
   He went to the door , but hesitated before opening it , not turning to look at me. "Remember what I said , Richard."
   He left , and that was the last time I saw him.
  The house was a mess. There were dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen sink , and clothes were scattered throughout the house. I washed the dishes , picked up the clothes , and once again , fell asleep in front of the television. I had the maggot dream again. The door bell chimed , and instead of my mother standing there , there was a large mass of writhing maggots.
   I woke up shaking , my forehead thick with sweat. A car horn sounded briefly outside. I looked out the side window. It was almost dark.. A black , unmarked van was sitting in front of the house , it's lights off. Feeling excited and apprehensive I went outside and waited. No one got out of the van. It sat there idling for several minutes. I was getting tired of waiting. Finally , the side door slid open quietly and two people got out , one tall , one shorter. The tall figure had a hand around the other's arm. The shorter figure was dressed in a black robe with a hood over it's head. I knew it was her .... my mother.
    "Richard Brooks?" the tall man said. He was dressed in a dark suit and wearing sun glasses. A black man , with a very deep voice.
   "I'm Richard Brooks."
   "Do you have my money?"
   "Yes. Wait here while I get it."
   I went back into the house and returned with the envelope uncle Leo had given me. I gave it to him , and he all but shoved her at me.
In a voice filled with loathing , he said , "Take it. I can't bear to look at it anymore."
   He shoved the envelope into an inside coat pocket , walked slowly back to the van , and it drove away slow and quiet. She hadn't said a word since it left , but I knew she was looking at me.
   "Let's get you into the house." I took her by the arm and led her inside. I left her in the entrance hall while I went throughout the living room and the kitchen , switching on all the lights. I then led her to the sofa and sat her down.
   I sat down beside her. "Mom , do you know where you are?"
   She said nothing.
  "Do you know who I am?"
  I expected her to look up at me , smile , and say something like , Richard , it's good to see you again! But again , she said nothing.
   "This is your apartment. And I'm Richard , your son."
   Still no answer.
   I hesitated before pulling back the hood. "Mom , I going to pull down the hood."
   I was prepared to see an old woman staring blankly into space , but what I saw was much worse , God help me ,  it was so much worse!
   I screamed , and screamed , and then everything slowly faded ....

   The authorities said that I had dug up my mother's corpse , and desecrated it. Obviously I had been under a lot of stress , and grief stricken over her death , I had no idea what I had been doing.
   But if that was the truth , I don't remember it. All I remember is pulling back the hood and seeing hundreds of writhing maggots swarming over the hole where her face should have been.
   "Richard ," the thing croaked , and that was when I screamed. I don't know how long I screamed , before everything went black.
   The psychiatrist I was assigned to , thinks I'm crazy. I can see it in his eyes. I told him everything , but he doesn't believe me. He says it wasn't my fault , that I was under so much stress , that I hadn't realized what I had been doing , and in my illness I had imagined Resurrection Inc.. But he was wrong. It happened. Just the way I've written it , here.
   I know I committed an unspeakable crime. And I doubt you will believe me when I tell you that I did it out of love. You have every right to think I'm crazy. I deserve no mercy , nor do I expect any. God is witness to my insanity , and I do not ask Him for mercy.
   My crime wasn't just desecrating her corpse , if that is what I had really done. It was bringing her back , thinking that I could play God. That was my unspeakable crime. And soon , I will pay for my foolishness.
   Even now , as I sit here writing this , I can hear footsteps approaching in the corridor , outside my cell. They are not the jailer's footsteps. They are slow and faltering  , but there is a strange familiarity to them , as if I have heard them before.  I think they are my mothers footsteps. But she is not alone. I can hear others besides her own. Footsteps that are also faltering , and also strangely familiar. 
    My brother's footsteps.
   You see , my mother wasn't the only one I brought back. I brought Sam back as well. He was right. I should have given him the money when he asked for it. It was my fault they had killed him.
My mother's voice comes through the cell door. "Richard. Why did you bring me back? Why?"
    And Sam says , "I told you they would kill me , Richard. Why did you let them kill me , Richard? Why?"
   "I'm sorry. Please forgive me!" The tears come. They finally come.
   "It's too late for that , Richard , " my mother says.
   The cell door opens. My mother and Sam are standing there. They are nothing more than half rotting corpses , festering with maggots , and worms. Their faces , dear God , their faces are mostly eaten away , but their eyes and teeth remain. They look as if they are smiling. They have come to deliver God's judgment to me at last.