The Apocalypse Riders

In this dreams, a representative from another dimension came to notify our world leaders that our world end the following day. While the leaders listened, I saw a portal open, and a large burly man peered from the other side.

“I can’t wait to kill them all!” he said, speaking to someone I could not see. He resembled a viking warrior, very large, rough looking, and with whiskers. He became so eager, that he fell through to our side – almost as if someone pushed him. Then, approximately fifteen other men that resembled him followed him through.

The men then gathered themselves into a military formation and slowly began to march. They almost appeared calm, but I knew that they were only waiting for the signal to attack. As they marched passed me, I wondered how such a small group of men could possibly reach and defeat everyone on earth in one day. Then the portal opened again; wider this time, and four horseback riders came through.

The dark hooded robes they wore made them resemble reaper warriors. Ominous they were, as bladed weapons protruded from their flowing garments. Their bodies swayed hypnotically back and forth to the rhythm of the powerful black horses they rode on heavy battle-weathered armor. Solemnly, they moved with slow, purpose driven strides, as the wind then whispered their name, “apocalypse riders”, and an eager voice sang out from the portal, “This is going to be painful!”

The Hen House

“Come on. You can trust me,” she said – and I foolishly opened the gates. Once inside, she became like a Tasmanian devil, ripping out the lining of my heart and devouring secrets. I was the chicken that let in the fox; then watched as it ate my peers. She brushed against me on her way out; fangs dripping, full bellied, and arrogant. Lost trust doesn't easily grow back. Time passed, but not enough. Her belly grew empty and she came back with the same words. “Come on. You can trust me.” I must look like a fool.

New Villains

Sometimes, while we are fleeing one villain, we stumble into another, one that is more calculating, sneaky, and unstable. This one is clever, how it clouds my thoughts with harsh words and stumps out my self-esteem. It is a love that has become my captor and a villain that knows my every secret. “Attack the heart and break the spirit!” it said, “He is vulnerable there!” Moreover, it offers, “Use my opinion of thee to measure thyself, that you are destined to fail in life because you are too dumb and ugly to change. It works to twist my loyalties, encouraging neglect and self-destructive habits. It knows that the best way to destroy me is to break my heart and then watch me self-destruct. “Fear is ever eager to replace confidence,” my angel then whispers, “Remember that I am with thee still and always.”

Something is Biting Me !!

It was spring break, and while my mother worked, we kids busied ourselves by roaming the new neighborhood and playing random games. Hide and seek was one of our favorites, and the house next door was vacant. That made it, what we thought to be, a perfect hiding place.

While Debra counted, Richard and I entered the vacant house and went inside the same closet.

“Hey! I was here first!” Richard complained.

“Be quiet,” I whispered, “It’s big enough for both of us… and she’s coming soon.” We tried to make ourselves comfortable, but Richard kept squirming. “Hey, stop moving around,” I complained.

He kept squirming.

“Something is biting me,” he said, “Stop touching me.”

“I’m not touching you.” However, I could feel it too. Something was crawling around. “I think something is in here. Be quiet,” I said.

The sound was faint, but definitely there, a distant scratching, but near, or the sound of raindrops striking a hillside. Whatever it was, it was with us inside the closet.

“What’s that sound?” Richard whispered.

“I don’t know,” I answered, cracking the door to let in some light.

“Hey… the walls are moving,” Richard said. I cracked the door further, until I could also see it.

Fleas were everywhere, like a dark blanket all over the walls and us. To say that chills ran up my spine would be an understatement. Richard and I burst from the closet and out of the house, out into the opening, patting ourselves down as Debra yelled in the background, “I see you!”

Desert Notes

I was looking through some old boxes and found the journal I kept during the Gulf War.

The pages called back many mixed feelings,

fond and not so fond

It reminds me of how my thoughts became more and more secretive as the weeks and months passed by.

So much so, that I began to write in codes.

In those months, I lost and then found myself.
Likewise, I found the meticulous keeping of these notes to be a needed outlet.

I am thankful that those days are behind me.

The Catch of the Day

One day Big Mama took us to a park near Benbrook Lake. I had never been there before. There were no rides in the park, but there were plenty of picnic tables, shade trees, and large fields to play in. There was also a large stream running through the park, and Big Mama had brought her fishing poles. I had never been fishing before, but I wanted to collect some of the tadpole eggs that were near the edge of the stream. Richard and I looked for a cup.

Nearly an hour passed and Big Mama had not caught anything. She then called me over to watch her poles while she went to the restroom. The restrooms were inside a white building, clear on the other side of the field. My sisters went with her, while Richard played over by one of the picnic tables. I was concerned, wondering what to do if a fish came, and Big Mama explained everything.

“Just keep watching those corks,” she said, “pointing at three small, plastic red and white balls that were floating on the water. “If they sink, that means that a fish is trying to get my bait.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Catch it,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back. Just don’t throw anything in the water. That would scare the fish away.”

She then turned and walked away. My attention shifted back to the water, the floating corks, and the jelly-like glob of tadpole eggs I had collected in a plastic cup.

From my peripheral vision, I thought I saw one of the floating balls move. I leaned forward on the rock I was sitting on, and stared… hoping that it was only my imagination. I was excited and worried. I glanced over towards the white buildings to see if Big Mama was coming. She was nowhere in sight – and I looked back at the ball. It bobbed again. Then it completely submerged and popped back to the surface.

Part of me was dreading what I had to do. I remembered what Big Mama had said, but still, it was the unknown. Where is she? I thought and checked once more. Then I moved over to the pole. When I touched the pole, whatever was on the other end went wild. The pole jerked, and I had to catch it before it went into the water. The floating ball was not completely submerged and running all over the stream. It jerked me with the pole off balance, and that began a tug-a-war.

I yelled for Big Mama, who must have heard me from the restroom, and she came sprinting across the field. My tug-a-war continued, as I turned my back to the water with the pole over my right shoulder. I walked forward, away from the water as if I was carrying a heavy sack of toys. By the time Big Mama arrived, I had dragged the exhausted fish from the water. So strong and graceful it had been in its element. It was now the catch of the day.

Dead Man Walking

I hate this feeling; I hate its source; and I hate myself for allowing it to persist. Life is the most precious gift of all; born of passion. But what darkness that compels me to give it away; whether abruptly, or the slow sting of this curse, compassion for my enemy, where there is none for me. Who shall nourish a lonely heart; that while this skeleton possesses meat, my enemies shall feast. She tells me that I can do this. But the spirit is a heavy price to pay; that I shall gain what at the price of my life? Then when it is finally over; when there is no more meat to be taken; will I then rest in peace, or shall my bones also be pulled apart? Heavy eyed; yet I look upwards to my Lord in prayer; then forward towards the mist. Only faith sustains me here; for I feel no love. Now step aside! For this skeleton still has meat!

Trained Fleas

Resolved to take fate by the throat and shake a living out of her.
-Louisa May Alcott-

Sometimes to follow our dreams we must first wake up. For, the obstacles that bind us in poverty are effective, and sometimes calculated. Like trained fleas, many that live in this culture have learned false boundaries and have since ceased to dream beyond them. Discrimination once served as a stained glass ceiling around our communities. Evil it was; as a boogeyman that comes out in the day; and the residences learned well, where not to tread. Today, after the removal of legal restrictions, though glass ceiling are no longer stained, mental chains remain; sometimes through generations, for some trained fleas teach their young. We must resist and fight back, for the spirit of our lives is at stake.

Sanctuary

In my time, I have found sanctuary in prayer, dreams, and in fantasies. Somewhere between the aisles of my imagination; beyond the sands of distant shores, where there my soul caresses, sinking softly from warm to moist, and slanted sunrays across my chest; amid these shimmering sky-born lights, reflections old and new; amid these lonely days and nights, my fondest thoughts of you. Then, gently receives my gentle touch, my legs, my thighs commit; I softly breathe in heavens mist, and more I long of it. Full lungs of care, the sweetest air, submerge these ancient depths; where warmth shall fade as levels sink, and all our dreams are met. There lies the entrance to hidden caverns, to distant under shores, and sanctuary in ye whom I adore.

Pros of Fear

Clichés such as “The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree,” concerned me greatly as a young boy. Especially that the closer I observed my father as Mr. Hyde, the more convinced I became, that I did not want to follow in his footsteps. I worried that some genetic flaw, out of my control, would one day bring me to crave his addictions, and that I would lose myself forever. In response, I prejudiced myself against the things I feared; vowing never to use nicotine, illicit drugs, or liquor. I believed that each of these things hold the potential to destroy a life. Therefore, that which cannot be repaired should be avoided. Over the years, peer pressure would take many of my friends down a dark path; some never to return. For me however, peer pressure was no match for the fear I had of (1) becoming my father, (2) losing myself, (3) failing in life, or (4) letting myself, and the people that count on me, down. While the apple may not fall far from the tree, it has infinite potential to roll.

From Where Does it Come?

Whether it is of failure, loneliness, ridicule, harm, disappointment, or the unknown; rare is the soul that has not been touched by fear -of some sort- at some point in its life. Some people are able to rise above it much easier than others. Fear seems to wash over them and simply pass away; while in others, it is absorbed into the very marrow of their bones, where it then drives them to defeat. From where does this fear come? In 2 Timothy 1:7, it was Paul that wrote, “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” Therefore, fear must be an adversary of God’s will.

Breakfast is Served

In this dream, I am holding a rifle and sitting in a tall tree. I am inside a hunting reserve of extinct animals, and looking out at a dinosaur. The dinosaur looks vulnerable, so I choose it as my prey.

Using my rump muscles, I scoot along the branch and then leap out from the tree. Airborne, I began to fly and approach the creature from behind. It does not see me; but it quickens its pace, traveling to the far side of the lake. I want to put it down with one shot, so I hover above its head. I then fire a single round into its brain and watch as it crashes to the ground like an elephant on an old National Geographic show.

I then fly to the other side of the lake and watch until I think it was safe. Minutes pass, and I fly back over to the creature and land on a limb that hangs above its head. Its eyes are open; but lifeless; and its body periodically twitches.

Suddenly its nostrils flare. It sniffs the air and life reenters its eyes. In one swift motion, the creature springs to its feet and glares up at me. It has the look of a hungry man looking at a menu. Then, with pure aggression, it leaps at me, thrusting its mouth and bladed teeth through snapping braches. I scoot backwards along the limb; so panic stricken, that I forget that I am able to fly.

I fight vines as the creature violently bits the air, leaves, and branches around me. The sound of its sharp teeth coming together is dizzying, and I try shooting it once more. This time my bullets only bounce off its hard head, infuriating it even more.

Just as I run out of limb, I look across the lake and see the entrance of the reserve. The gate is tall and heavy, standing over thirty feet high. I jump from the limb and begin to fly towards the gate. The dinosaur chases wildly after me, knocking down small tress along the way.

By the time I reach the gate, the dinosaur is only a short leap and a bite behind me. I tug against the locked gate twice before running out of time. I fly higher and land on a rusted knob that is protruding from the gate, only slightly above the creature’s head-level; so I am sure it can reach me.

The creature then moved underneath me, looking up and sniffing the air as it speaks, “Umm, chocolate coco puffs!” and I am jutted awake.