Story #11

She forked hay to the horses, humming quietly to herself. It was getting ready to be another hot day. She kept on thinking of the black haired figure bent over the table. She climbed up onto the wooden barrier keeping her mule in his stall. She felt her bare feet lift off the rough plank floor, and sat on the smooth wood, worn by years of animals reaching their heads over. Her mule chomped hay next to her, and she stroked his long ears. Rays of sunlight found their way in the door and caressed her back. She sat there, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth and peace of the barn. The animals eating made a comforting sounds, and she didn’t want to go back to the house. There was ample work to be done, and moments like this were to be cherished. It had only been a few minutes, and she figured she’d have time before she should go back in. There wasn’t really any knowing what he’d do after he was done eating, and she didn’t really want to find out, but just then she did. The barn door creaked open tentatively, and she screeched, jumped so badly she fell backwards, and sat on the barn floor looking dazed. Gi looked down at her in confusion, not all the way in the door yet. She sat, mouth slightly open, eyes huge for a few seconds, and just for a fraction of one of those seconds, she could have sworn she saw amusement in his brilliant eyes. She scrambled to her feet, and brushed herself off.

“Oh you finished.” He cocked his head. She smiled to herself as she noticed he still had a bit of egg on the corner of his mouth. She guessed he must have seen which way she went when she left the house. He didn’t answer her, and she didn’t really expect him to. He stood there, nearly smiling, as she brushed herself off, looked up and smiled, embarrassed. He looked to the left of her, at the animals, a queer look on his face. Cautious, but interested. She followed his gaze to Shad, who had picked his head up and was looking at her, ears forward, chewing. She looked back at Gi, and smiled encouragingly. She stepped towards Shad, and rubbed his forehead. He nodded his big bony head and rolled his eyes, taking another mouthful of hay. She beckoned to Gi, and he looked unsure, but walked towards her slowly. He stood beside her, but when she motioned that he could pet Shad, he shoved his hands into his pockets. She shrugged, and stroked the inside of one of her mule’s ears. He stretched his neck out, eyes half closed, lower lip wobbling and she giggled. She glanced at the boy out of the corner of her eye, but he was looking at her, not Shad. She looked back at the mule quickly, and pretended to be fully absorbed in petting him. Finally she turned to Gi, pointed to the animal and said,
“Mule.” He was clearly thinking, and then pointed to one of the horses slowly,

“Mule?” Veronica shook her head.

“Horse.” He looked confused, and pointed to another horse, and she repeated herself. He looked hard at the floor and then pointed to her and asked,
“Veronica?” She nodded.

“Human.” He looked very confused. She pointed to Shad,

“Mule. Shad. Shad is his name.” He clearly didn’t understand, but said nothing in response. They were quiet for a few minutes, and Veronica focused entirely on Shad. Then gingerly, she found another hand stroking him beside hers. She glanced over, and Gi was frowning, concentrating, and leaning forward with only one arm. She smiled at him, and the mule kept eating with his begrudging pleasure at the attention. Eventually she heard a shuffle of feet, and found he’d moved closer. He looked fascinated with the animal, and was petting with both hands now. Running his hand along his jaw and over his velvety nose. He was very gentle, and seemed very distressed when he accidentally pulled one of the sensitive whiskers on his nose. Veronica stepped back, and Gi instantly did the same. As soon as she moved, his eyes were on her and did move. He was facing her full on, and she shifted uneasily in his unfailing glance. She had just meant to take Shad’s halter off, but he’d treated it like she was turning to attack him. It might take awhile to earn his trust. She took the halter off, and hung it on the wall behind them. She turned to Gi and jerked her head.

“Come on.” He followed her with the same mistrustful expression. She led him back to the house, and into the livingroom. She saw him jump as the screen door slammed behind him. He followed her into the kitchen, where she stopped short. All the food, everything was gone. Except the coffee. The entire jar of herring was gone, and the plate of eggs was spotless. She forced her feet to move forward before she showed her shock. He’d eaten all of it. She felt the near uncontrollable urge to burst out laughing, but swallowed it fiercely. Gi sat down at the table, clearly oblivious, while she got to work making more food for her Grandfather, who hadn’t stirred yet. That was probably due to the late night and hard work. She stirred up more eggs as quickly as she could, as Gi watched her silently. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she kept her eyes on her work. When it was ready, she walked past him and down the hall. He rose, puzzled, but she said nothing as she went to rouse her grandfather.

Grandfather ate without speaking to anyone. He was in pain, Vern could tell. He’d probably hurt his back pretty bad lifting Gi last night. Gi sat silently, but she was getting used to that. They sat around the table, saying nothing as Grandfather ate. Every so often she’d think of how much he’d eaten and snort into her coffee. Grandfather would look at her and she’d look down at the table and sip silently. Gi’s eyes shifted from one to the other, not understanding.

At last, Grandfather rose from table, grunting. He spoke to Gi, and Vern blinked. He’d just spoken to him--In his own language? She stayed seated as they made towards the door.

“Where are you going, Grandfather?” He coughed through his beard.

“For a walk with the boy. We’ll be back in a bit, don’t wait.” She nodded, hiding the concern behind her blue eyes. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face and forced a smile.

“Alright. Be careful.” He grunted in response, and Gi glanced at her as they headed out the door. The door shut, and she sat for a moment longer, trying to get her thoughts together. Her grandfather, a man she’d known her whole life, had just spoken a language she’d never even heard of before. She shook her head faintly and got to work clearing the table. She washed the dishes and came back to wipe of the table and stopped short when she saw the indentation in the table. She frowned, and then her eyes widened as she touched it. It was a fist print, in the exact place where Gi had gripped it when she was changing his bandages.

.....

Song

Sit Through the Sermon

Sit through the sermon and walk home in the rain,

Eat a cold dinner and shake off the pain,

But pain is such a heavy thing, laid hard around your heart.

Sealed tight around the edges and you can’t find a place to start,

To peel it up and breath again, your vision growing dim,

Drowning in your emptiness unable still to swim.

Walk through the field and part the mist,

In early morning haze.

Feel the tears well up inside, and remember his smiling face.

Cross the creek without a sound, and finally look around.

Back in the place where you met him first,  

How did you end up here?

You feel the grief in the hardest way,

And break down into tears.

Sit through the sermon without hearing a word,

Another week has gone by in a blur.

You walk home in the rain and sit in the window,

Let the rain soak through your clothes.

Doubling over you gasp for breath,

The sobs break through like daggers.

Jump down from the window,

Take off at a run.

Doesn’t matter if you know what you’re running from.

You’ll sit through the sermon and walk home in the rain

Eat a cold dinner and shake off the pain.

Eventually you’ll breathe again,

But you’ll never feel the same.  

It’s a part of you now, a new structure within you,

And it makes you feel overdrawn.

But you’ll grow to surround it and in time,

You’ll see where you went wrong.

Story #10

Standing up, she looked at the table, everything was ready. She took down three of the blue tin plates and was moving towards the table, when she looked over and nearly dropped them. It was the boy standing at the end of the hall, not her Grandfather. He was barefoot, and the bandages on his torso and head had small spots of red on them. He was staring straight ahead, out the front door, holding perfectly still. Veronica straightened carefully, and set the plates down on the table. The small noise turned his head, and they locked eyes. His face was white, and his eyes were wary. She wiped her hands on her jeans, and pulled out a chair, gesturing to it. He walked towards it slowly, in his level smooth stride, and sat down, eyes still on her. Veronica pointed to herself.

“I’m Veronica.” He looked at her, not understanding. She pointed again. “Veronica.” He paused, and nodded slowly. Pointing to himself, he spoke in his deep, strange voice.

“Gi.” They stared into each other’s eyes, not sure what to do next. At last she pointed to the bandages on his head.

“I need to change those.” He looked back at her, and she knew she’d just have to do it and hope he didn’t hit her. She stepped forward and reached forward, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. He looked up at her, and she down at him, and she made herself stay calm. She repeated the words as coolly as she could.

“I need to change those, Gi.” At the sound of his name, the boy looked at her in one long glance, and dropped her wrist. She let her breath out, and hoped he wouldn’t notice she was trembling. She unwound the linen and set it on the chair next to her. She examined the wound, and touched it gently with her fingertips, he winced, but didn’t pull away. The bleeding was stopped, and it was scabbed over, but there was bruising around it and the gash wasn’t very small. She turned and put a pot of fresh water on the stove, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. It was eerie how silent he was, and how well his eyes communicated when he couldn’t speak her language. Not for the first time, she observed the strangeness of the situation. On a normal day, she would have gotten up, eaten breakfast with her grandfather, fed the animals and set to work in the garden, and whatever else needed to be done, but things were different today. She turned, and found Gi staring at the food on the table. She didn’t know if Grandfather had fed him before bed, but it was unlikely. She silently filled a glass with water and set it before him. He looked at it, half suspiciously and half with curiosity. She pulled up a chair in front of him and sat down. He looked at her, and then picked up the glass and took a drink. He drained the glass. She picked it up and filled it for him again. It was so strange to be moving so quietly. No talking, just looks. She sat back down, and waited for him to finish drinking, and then unwound the bandage around his chest. He looked down, face blank. This whole time, he hadn’t smiled, or spoken at all aside from his name. His body was long, compact, and lean. She wondered what would happen if someone hit him. They would probably be the one to go flying. Veronica’s eyes flicked up to his face, and back to his wounds. She decided it had to be done, and got up. He watched her as she opened the pantry, and took down a bundle of dried herbs and the mortar, and set to work making a poultice. She could never remember the name of the herb, but it was always what they used when she or Grandfather got hurt. There were a lot of things higher on her list of things she wanted to do than rub herbs on a stranger’s chest, but she took the glob on her fingers, and fell to her knees in front of him. He looked startled, but didn’t stop her as she began applying it to various deep cuts on his chest and stomach. She heard him suck in his breath, and winced for him. She knew from experience that it stung in an open wound, but she didn’t look up and meet his eyes. Long years of living on a farm had taught her not to say her apprehensions out loud. Better to approach it cautiously and explain with your actions that you weren’t sure, than to go in confidently and be wrong. Either way it had to be done, and she refused to allow the chance of being wrong to stop her from getting things done. That was how she did most things. Careful thinking, followed by a headlong calculated rush into the flames, and an inward acknowledgement that she very well may be wrong. Her fine red eyebrows curved in concentration. Finally, she finished and stood up. He had been staring hard at the floor against the pain, and she saw his fist clenching the edge of the table, knuckles white. He looked up at her, and she smiled at him. His stone mouth curved into a deep smile that lit up his eyes and his whole hard face softened. She felt herself blushing and turned away quickly before he noticed. Taking the bandages, she turned them to a whiter spot on the strips and reapplied them. She knew they weren’t really clean, but they were better than nothing. He was still clenching the table, and his jaw. His face expressed nothing, but the shimmering green eyes showed his pain.  She finished, and straightened. She avoided his eye as she turned towards the stove, fiddling with something that didn’t need to be fiddled with. Then she heard his voice, slowly, and unsurely, ask,

“Ver-onica?” She looked at him, surprised. He took it for an answer, and gestured towards the food, looking sheepish and questioning. She laughed inwardly. Oh duh, poor guy, of course he needs to eat.  She nodded vigorously and smiled warmly, pointing to the food. He grinned, and nodded thankfully. She felt awkward as he started to eat, and decided not to wait for her Grandfather to get up. Gi was intent on eating, and it was probably safe to leave him here for a few minutes, so she moved quietly towards the door, and closed it behind her. She took a deep breath of the morning air, and grinned to herself. This is really weird. This is REALLY really weird.

.....

Story #9

Veronica woke up the next morning with a stiff neck. She yawned, and looked at the mechanical alarm clock on her night stand. It was seven, which meant she’d gotten approximately six and a half hours of sleep. Despite the exhaustion of the night before, she hadn’t slept for half an hour after she’d gone to bed. She stood up from her creaking bed, and curled her toes painfully on the cold wood floor. She looked down, and sure enough, one foot was swollen. It didn’t look too bad, but it was bruised and purple. She stretched, and rubbed her face with both hands. She sat down in front of her table. It served double purpose as vanity and desk, but during summer when school was out, it was just a vanity. She looked in the mirror, eyes still half closed. Sunlight streamed in the window over her bed and illuminated her wild red hair. Stretching again, she pushed the unruly locks away from her face and leaned on the table, staring herself in the eye. She knew that Grandfather would be stirring soon, and she needed to get downstairs and get breakfast ready, there were chores to be done. But she couldn’t seem to make herself move, she was wondering how the boy was doing. All night she’d had nightmares about the green eyes, and her door rattling in the night. At last she took out her brush and brushed her hair out, and braided it over her shoulder. She pulled off the dingy shorts and tank top she slept in, and put on her jeans and a fresh shirt. This was Tuesday, which meant that laundry day wasn’t for two days. Her room was nice and neat. It had a sloping ceiling, since it was technically in the attic, a low bed, a dresser on one side of the room with a laundry hamper, a vanity and a nightstand, and that was it. The only light after dark was the lamp on the nightstand, but it felt homey and clean. The yellow wallpaper always made it feel light, and she liked it. The rest of the house was shared, but this was the place she could always count on being alone. She took one last look around, and went for the door. It rattled, and she remembered she’d locked it the night before. She unlocked it, stepped into the hall, and closed the door as silently as she could behind her. The other room upstairs was empty like the one the strange boy was staying in, and the door was always kept closed. She didn’t know what happened to her parents, or why she’d been sent to the farm, but her earliest memory was of the first night she’d spent there, when her Grandfather had told her gently which room was hers, and that the other room had belonged to her mother. Oh how scared she’d been that first night, walking by herself with her armload of blankets and sleeping in the strange bed in the strange house, with strange noises. She walked down the now familiar hall, silently in her bare feet, and crept down the creaking wooden steps. These days she’d been trying to pull more of the load for her Grandfather, and not to wake him up in the morning. Still, it seemed like he never slept past seven thirty. It was her job to make breakfast, milk the cow, gather the eggs and feed the horses, unless Grandfather got up first, then he’d feed the horses.

Veronica hauled the milk pail in one hand, and the basket of eggs in the other, and shifted the weight carefully as she opened the front door. She was still as quiet as she could, but ever since the storm last winter when the screen door hadn’t been fastened properly, it made an unnecessary amount of noise when you opened and closed it. The house was still silent, except for the ticking of the clock in the living room. She set the pail and the basket on the smooth rectangular table and started on breakfast. She took down a cast iron pan from the wall, and turned on the stove. The propane caught with a puff, and blue flames licked the black bottom of the pan. She took a spoon of bacon grease from the bean can next to the stove and plopped it into the pan, watching it melt into a snapping, spitting puddle. She took the eggs from the table and cracked six of them into the pan, tossing the brown shells into the bowl on the counter to go to the chickens later. She broke the eggs with a spatula and scrambled them. While they were cooking she put on a pot of coffee and took care of the milk. They did have a small refrigerator, but it was only for the things that were inconvenient to always be fetching from the cellar. Milk, eggs, and some vegetables always stayed in the house, but anything else you had to get from the cellar outside. It served both to keep the food from the garden, the cheese and canned goods fresh, and as a storm shelter during tornado season. She opened the door to the small pantry and looked inside. After scanning the shelves, she pulled out a jar of pickled herrings, and set it on the table. They seldom ate things like that, since they couldn’t be grown and if you wanted more you had to go to town and buy it, but since they had a guest, she decided it was alright to be a little extravagant. She set the eggs on a hot pad on the table, along with the coffee and herring, and sat down to wait. She took an old newspaper out of the burn-bin in the living room and sipped her coffee. The house was silent and peaceful, the sunlight streamed in through the east window, and with the yellow curtains at the windows and the shutters thrown open, it was warm and welcoming. Veronica set down her paper, and leaned forward onto the table, chin on fist, staring out the window. She closed her eyes and loved the feeling of the sun on her face and hair. She heard a door open in the hall, and her head turned.

…..

Song

Story #8

She covered her mouth in horror. She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that it went down at least a half inch into the flesh, right in the center of his chest. It must have been from the windshield of the cockpit, when the explosion happened. There were numerous other small pieces of glass on his lower torso and chest. She sat there, mind frozen, no idea what to do. All at once, her mind kicked into gear and she stood and ran to the kitchen. She put two pots of water on the stove and cranked the dials to the highest setting. One was for coffee, and one for the wounds. This would take a while, and it wouldn’t do to be nodding off for something like this. She threw open the linen closet, and took out a white sheet. She began to tear it into wide strips, her hands trembling all the while. She took them and walked briskly back to the room. Dumping the bandages on the floor, she took off her boots, and set them aside. She supposed she’d need to get him onto the bed. After several gingerly attempts, she managed to get him onto the rickety mattress. She propped another pillow under his head, and stared down at him. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, and her knees trembled. She needed to get that glass out, as soon as possible. She hurried back to the kitchen, made herself a hasty cup of coffee, and took the other pot into the room with her. Setting it on the end table with a hot pad, she took a hot cloth and began to bathe the wound on his head, and around the shards of glass. Blood was smeared in an orangish hue over most of his torso, and had coagulated around the glass. She carefully took a clean bandage, and took his head in her hands. It lolled helplessly, and her blood throbbed as she wound the linen around the wound. She stood back, examining her work. She felt weak. It always took Grandfather longer than she to unsaddle or feed the animals, but she wished he was here right now. She wanted to wait, and let him do it, but knew there wasn’t time for that. She took a long strip of bandage, and laid it on the bed, ready to be of use. She took the cloth, and cleaned it in the hot water carefully. When it was sanitary, she washed her hands in the basin on the end table, and turned to her patient. She held the cloth in one hand, and the other hovered over the glass. Her pulse was loud in her ears. She closed her eyes, grasped the glass in her fist, and yanked. Blood began to ooze from the wound, and she pressed the cloth onto it. She kept pressure on it, and watched the red spread through the cloth all the way to her palm. She kept the pressure on, praying for it to stop bleeding. At last it did, and she rinsed the cloth.

Her hot water was running out, and she took the pot in her hand, intending to refill it with water. In that instant, the boy awakened with a violent movement, and grabbed her by the wrist. She screamed and jerked back. He held fast to her wrist, and stared into her eyes. She dropped the pot and clawed at his iron fist with her other hand, but he just looked at her. He didn’t hold her painfully tight, just tight enough that she couldn’t leave. At last she stopped struggling, staring with huge blue eyes into his green ones. All she saw was in them were questions, pain, and confusion. He looked around the room, and back to her eyes. She was screaming in her mind. Just let me go, I’m trying to help you! Maybe he saw it in them, or maybe he grew weary, but he released her wrist, and she stumbled backwards, bumping into the doorframe. Vern snatched up the water pot off the floor and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, heart pounding. She took shaking steps towards the kitchen, and then lifted her head. He still needed to be treated, awake or not, and if she acted scared, nothing would go her way. She made herself stop shaking, took a gulp of her coffee, and refilled the water pot. It was hot in another two minutes, and she went back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the handle, and step inside. He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, examining his surroundings, and looking down at his chest in confusion. She set the water pot down on the table and stood in front of him, hands on hips. He looked up at her, eyes mellow but ready. She pointed to the bed, and motioned for him to lay back down. He cocked his head at her. Lay down! He looked up, hesitated, and then shrugged and laid back. She took another deep breath, that had worked better than she’d thought it would. He was remarkably aware, considering what he’d been through. He watched her, as she took the cloth and dipped it into the basin. She didn’t want to, but she turned to him and began to wipe away the blood. He kept his eyes on her face. It was almost chilling, the way he watched her every move and didn’t seem to care what she was doing. Once or twice he winced as she wiped especially deep into the wound, but she only caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She was trying desperately to focus on what she was doing, and not the strange eyes on her face. When the half dozen small wounds were cleaned and the glass removed, she spoke to him.

“Can you sit up?” He looked at her blankly, and she motioned, and repeated the question. He looked at her, slightly confused, but sat up. She smiled and nodded. He hadn’t spoken since he’d woken up, but he looked satisfied that that was what she’d meant. She took the length of bandage, and wound it around his torso. He watched her as she did it, and she felt herself blushing. She had to get uncomfortably close to get all the way around his broad chest. He just looked at her. When she finished, she stepped back and tucked her long unruly hair out of her face. He just stared at her, and she stared back for a moment. She glanced at herself briefly in the mirror, and she was a sight. Her waist length hair was tangled and in her face, she had smudges of his blood on her shirt and up her forearms, there were dark purple circles under her eyes, and smudges of red dirt on her jeans and shirt. She sighed a little, and shook her head. Without looking back at him, she began to pick up the floor. She took his heavy black coat and hung it on the hooks on the door, and finally remembered the satchel hung slung around her shoulder. Somehow it had managed not to get in the way, and she’d completely forgotten it. She took it off, looked at it, and hung it on the hook on top of the coat. She glanced over at him, and found his eyes were fixed on the satchel. She shifted, and picked up the blood stained shirt and both of their boots. She set his next to the table, and opened the door to leave the room, only to run straight into her Grandfather.

“Gosh! Grandfather! You scared me. Did everything go okay?” He nodded silently, bushy brows furrowed, and stepped inside. She turned to watch, boots in hand. Grandfather thrust his hands into his pockets and he and the boy stared at each other for a moment, before Grandfather asked,

“Did you find out why he passed out?” She explained about the glass and the coat.

“I haven’t given him any food or water yet.” She added. Grandfather nodded, and the boy’s eyes slipped to her again.

“I’ll take care of the rest, Vern. You did well. Go to bed.” She nodded, grateful, and moved to close the door, when the boy spoke. She didn’t understand what he said, of course, but her grandfather turned to her and said,

“He says ‘Thank you’”. Vern just stared at him.

“How did you…?”

“Go to sleep, Vern.” She frowned, wanting to repeat the question, but another wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she just turned and closed the door behind her. She plodded upstairs with heavy feet, yawning. When she got up to the door, she heard the door downstairs open, and heard her Grandfather call up,

“Vern? Lock your door tonight.”

…..

Song

Mini Art

My sister recently gave me a miniature book for drawing in, and I've really been enjoying it. It's small enough to fit in my pocket, and super convenient for carrying around and drawing everything.

I apparently like drawing ducks, so I drew a barnyard.

Yeeeah this one's got a weird perspective, and my mom thought her
shoulders were something else....

:D 

Story #7

With the two of them working together, it didn’t take long to get the boy onto an animal and get on their way. She glanced back at his dark form, lolling from side to side with the swaying steps of her Grandfather’s mount. Veronica had so many questions swirling in her mind, and the anxiety for the boy was growing by the minute. By the time they pulled into the barnyard, she was nearly in a state of panic. Grandfather guided Hank up to the porch, and carefully dismounted around the deadweight boy on the back. The horses tossed their heads impatiently, insisting that it wasn’t the time for such things. The weary girl had to agree with them. She dismounted, and threw the reins over the rail. Her legs screamed in protest. She stretched them, and wriggled. Her shoulders hurt, her legs hurt, her head ached, everything hurt. Her grandfather reached up and pulled the boy down, breaking his fall as best he could by pulling him straight onto the porch. Vern felt relieved, it was a few less stairs to pull his massive weight up. She just stood there, looking at him. Grandfather did the same, breathing hard.

“Think you can get him into the downstairs bedroom?” He rasped. Vern felt herself nod, eyes still glued to him. There were two bedrooms downstairs, and two upstairs. One of the ones upstairs was hers, one downstairs was Grandfather’s, the other two were empty. Grandfather took Trolly’s reins, and headed off to the barn with the horses. She watched him leave, wishing he wouldn’t. She just wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep, but she knew there was at least another hour of work to do. It was getting on towards midnight now. She sighed, stretched again, and took him under the arms, wriggling and dragging him towards the door. She reached behind her and opened the doors with her foot. She scooted through as fast as she could, but his legs still got trapped in the screen door. She freed him guiltily, and began down the hall. The house was still, the fire in the kitchen was nearly dead, and the floorboards creaked every now and then as she moved down the hall. Stopping for a moment, she pulled the string from the ceiling, and the hall was flooded with dim yellow light. At last, she kicked the door open, and was greeted with cool musty air. The last time this room had been touched was spring cleaning, three months ago. She drug him in, and turned on the light. The low bed was neatly made with the sheets turned back. Vern groaned and put her hands on her back, leaning and stretching. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and knelt on the floor next to him. His face was colored, but his lips were ashen. She pressed her palm to his forehead. He was burning with fever, and the gash on his temple looked bad. It oozed with pus and had been reopened at some point, there was fresh blood. She wiped it away with furrowed brows. Staring at his troubled face, she just felt lost. Things had been so normal, and then with a single afternoon, her world had been turned upside down. She shook her head, and began to remove his coat. It was thick leather, and probably had had something to do with him passing out. The heat added with dehydration could definitely have done it. She felt his shirt, and it was damp with sweat. She discovered a dark red stain on the chest, that had been covered by the coat until now. She frowned, and began to remove the white shirt. As it came away, Vern gasped. There was a shard of glass, three inches long, embedded sideways in his chest.

.....

Song

Story #6

Forty five minutes later, Veronica  rode a very tired red mule into the moonlit barnyard, and was overjoyed to see that the green farm truck was pulled in front of the house, and a light was on in the kitchen. Grandfather was probably waiting up for her, since she knew he always went to bed at dark. She felt a pang of guilt, realizing how it probably looked. She should have been home hours ago, and he was probably worried. But the pang passed quickly, as Grandfather wasn’t really a worrier. He’d wait until it was quite late before starting out after her. Still, he’d be more likely to do it in the morning. She made a flying dismount off Shad and stumbled a few steps. She’d been riding so much today her legs didn’t quite work. She steadied herself on his neck and took a few deep breaths. Hobbling as fast as she could to the porch, she threw the reins over the rail and took the steps in a leap. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she flung open the screen door and heard her heels click onto the hardwood floor of the kitchen. She smelled the sweet smell of home, and longed to just run upstairs and throw herself on her red checked blanket, and sleep away the tears she wanted to cry. But she took a few steady steps into the dimly lit room, and looked around. Grandfather was out cold, head lolling on chest, sitting in the rocking chair by the stove. A few moths fluttered around the lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. She sighed, hating to wake him up. His white beard tickled his nose as he snored, and his face twitched. His gnarled hands, worn from years of work and injuries, were folded over his blue overalls. She glanced around the room, and picked up the broom she’d left leaning against the fireplace after she was done cleaning that morning. She’d learned when she was a very small girl, that if you woke Grandfather up, especially from a light sleep, he’d hit hard. She’d grown accustomed to waking him up with something long, like a broom handle. She grabbed the bristled end of the broom and poked the other end out towards his sleeping figure. The end swung a little, and then bumped twice against his knee. He exploded into consciousness and grabbed the broom with one hand, jumping to his feet and looking around wildly. Veronica took a step back, it was always a gamble how he would react when woken up. Sometimes he’d wake up with tears streaming down his face, after muttering in his sleep, sometimes he wouldn’t wake up at all, and begin jumping around his bedroom in his longjohns shouting at invisible enemies. His blindingly blue eyes finally found her, standing in the shadows. His bushy eyebrows furrowed and he sat back down.

“Ah, Vern. There you are. You’re late. Now go upstairs and get ready for bed.” She took a step towards him, and the story came spilling out in an incoherent mess.

“Grandfather, I took a ride today to the canyon west of us, and I found a wreck, and there’s a boy, and I need your help!” He looked at her blankly, and stood up.

“Well then saddle up, let’s head out.” She stared. No questions, no confusion, no surprise, nothing. She stammered,

“Alright--I’m going to switch Shad out for one of the horses, maybe Trolly. He’s worn out. You want Clock?” He was bending over with the usual grunting moaning noises, putting on his boots.

“No you’d better get Hank for me. Clock won’t do well with the extra weight since he foundered this spring.” Vern nodded, slightly dazed and a little bewildered, and walked out. She took Shad’s reins in the night air and headed for the barn. He followed willingly, with his head low. The moon was bright, and she had no trouble seeing where she was going. The barn had no electricity, and she unsaddled in the dark. She slipped Shad into his stall next to Clock’s, and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thanks, Bud. Couldn’t have done it without ‘ya.” He took a bite of hay and chewed noisily. She felt around in the dark on the rough-hewn wall, until she found Trolly’s bridle. She found his stall, and squinted into the darkness, speaking softly to the horse, as she made out his

ears pricking up. She caught and saddled him and Hank with ease, leading them out into the moonlit barnyard for light. She’d just finished with Hank, when she heard the screen door slam, and her grandfather hobbled down the stair. Hank was a big horse, part draft, and steady. He could go for miles at a canter without getting tired. Her grandfather mounted, and she was again amazed at how nimble he was for his age, which was at least seventy five, but he never talked about it, so she couldn’t know for sure. She handed him Hank’s reins, and mounted up herself.

“Well, you know where. Lead the way.” He rasped, still breathing hard. It got harder and harder for him to ride, but he still did it, and Veronica said nothing about it to him. She turned Trolly, fighting the exhaustion, and they set off into the night.

…..

Song

Art

So I decided to post a few of the pictures I've been drawing recently, hope you like them or something. 

Part of my family and I took a vacation down to San Francisco and this was a man in the airport.

A merman and a human stargazing, (No reference) 

I took a ride awhile ago and sat and drew Manny. Not much detail, I was in a hurry. 

Story #5

Veronica tugged and pulled on his huge weight. She threw a nervous glance at a rust-red stone, three inches from his head. One arm flopped uselessly in her grasp, and she didn’t dare pull harder on it. She threw it down in frustration and his head lolled to one side. She stared down at the hard looking face. I don’t understand. I don’t get why you’re here, or where you came from, and I wish you weren’t my problem. BUT you are. So I’m leaving now. She had a sort of one-sided conversation with him in her mind, as she mounted Shad, and threw one last glance behind her. A thin layer of dust already covered his still form. She half shifted to take his coat off, but knew that it would be long after nightfall before she returned with her Grandfather, and nights got cold out here. She pursed her lips, and clapped her heels into her mule’s sides. Taking off at a canter, she made straight for the farm.

…..

Song.

Story #4

She edged around the broken glass, and the blackened phone that lay on the table. Glancing at the boy, she picked it up, just to make sure it was dead, and tried to dial again. He seemed to know what she was doing, and waited in the doorway for her. She felt a pang of guilt. It was silent.

“Wow.” She thought. “I just came to the neighbors’, broke their stuff and now I’m leaving. I am a jerk.” She put the phone back and walked outside. The boy stood on the top of the stairs, surveying the land around him. It was bare, with tall brown grass and mesquite growing thinly everywhere. There was searching, narrow look in his emerald eyes. She walked straight past him to the mule, and turned to him. He looked back at her with a vacant look in his eyes. She motioned for him to follow, and mounted up. He approached, and looked confused, she moved her foot aside for him to use the stirrup, and pointed behind the saddle. After a couple of somewhat embarrassing looking fails, he got up and behind the saddle. She nudged Shad with her heels and he reluctantly jolted forward. She felt the boy halfway fall backwards and he caught her on the shoulder. She looked back and grinned at him, he looked sheepish and dropped his hands to his lap. They rode in silence. There was no point in trying to talk, they couldn’t understand one another anyway. Things were starting to get awkward, as they walked along the trail in silence, complete strangers walking the same trail towards the same destination. All of a sudden, she felt him sliding, and she let out a half scream and pulled up sharp on the reins, as he crumpled into the dust, unconscious once more.

…..

Story #3

Veronica made a noise that was a mixture of, “Gaw.” And,  “Nuuuh.” Snatching up the satchel, she made a flying leap out of the wreck. She shimmied down the rope, and fell on top of him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled with all her strength, pulling him on top of her, but it did get his head out of the water. He was really out cold, the water didn’t wake him, and neither did the fall. She sat still, terrified she’d find that his heart had stopped, but her palm over his heart pulsed with a weak throbbing. She breathed a sigh of relief, glancing downstream. She stood, pushing him off of her. He lay on his back, draped over a few rocks that poked out of the water. She took his hands, and pulled with all the strength she had left. When he was upright, she turned around and put his arms over her shoulders. It could have been a kind of piggy-back ride had he been conscious. His feet trailed in the water, but the majority of his huge weight was on top of and being dragged by Veronica. She didn’t know how she got him downstream, but before she knew it, she collapsed on a boulder with his still unconscious form beside her. She was gasping, but he breathed easily. She rolled onto her back,

“How can a human WEIGH that much?!” She laid on the bank for a few minutes, arm crooked over her eyes to shade them from the sun. She was soaking wet, exhausted and dehydrated. She stood shakily and untied a canteen from the saddle.
“Hey there buddy, did ya miss me?” She stroked Shad’s neck as she took a drink of water. He bent his head back, smelling her hand to see if she’d brought anything for him, but upon finding nothing, returned to his long eared state of grumpiness. She slapped him on the shoulder.

“Hope you’ve got your strength up. This guy is a rock.” She moaned. “How on earth am I supposed to get your stupid, mysterious, backside up there?” He didn’t respond. Shad snorted.

“Thanks buddy.”

She walked back onto the boulder where she’d left him, and glared down at him, hands on hips. Standing up on the rock, her feet would be level with the saddle, but it was difficult to get Shad to stand still when trying to tie a load on him. She jumped down and pushed his rump over, if she could do it fast enough, she might be able to get him up there. He stamped his foot impatiently.

“Good. Now--Stay.” He shook his ears.

Veronica wriggled her throbbing toes inside her boots and pushed on the bony elbow digging into her back. She’d gotten him onto the mule, but when she’d drug him by the waist onto Shad’s rump, it overbalanced the beast and he stepped on her foot. She didn’t think they were broken, but they hurt in the pointed toe of her boot. The boy lay sprawled behind the saddle, still unconscious. Every now and then she’d feel him slipping and catch him by the belt. Together, they weighed around four hundred and fifty pounds, and Shad walked slowly. Veronica made straight for the neighbors’ farm, they were the only person short of town with a phone, and everyone made their way there when they needed to make a call. She couldn’t tell if the green eyed boy was hurt or not, but there was a doctor in town, and as long as he was unconscious she very much wanted a doctor to see him. If he’d just wake up, she’d feel better about him, but so far he’d slept through being dropped in a river, being dragged a quarter of a mile down river on the rather bony back of a girl he didn’t know, being thrown on the back of an even bonier mule, and riding with head dangling for two miles. She was beginning to get even more concerned. The farmhouse was in sight now, but she couldn’t see the truck that belonged to the family.

When they rode into the barnyard, a goose loudly announced their presence with much wing flapping as he disappeared around the corner of the barn. She jumped off of Shad and limped over to the porch of the farm house, dangling the reins over the rail. It was a nice little house, it was white, with blue shutters at the windows, and a porch with a two person swing that creaked in the evening breeze. She knocked on the door, and peered in through the window. She could see the phone in the hall. Nobody answered the door. Veronica glanced back at the form of the boy, head dangling, and opened the door. Even though she’d been told to use the phone whenever she needed, she felt guilty entering someone else’s home when they were away. She crept in, leaving the door ajar. Picking up the small hand written phone book, she flipped through the pages, searching for the doctor’s number. She picked up the phone, and began to dial. Just as she put the phone to her ear, the door burst open and she whirled around. The boy clung to the doorframe, his green eyes wide. He shook his head desperately and pointed to the phone.

“Tila! Tila! Bora vi care. Tila!” She took a step back, entirely uncertain how to react, when just then the doctor picked up. She began to speak rapidly, with her eyes still on the boy. He straightened, and she saw a look of resignation in his eyes, he turned his head away and held out his hand, palm outward. Her words faltered, and she heard part of the question the doctor was asking, before a blue arc of electricity shot from the phone. Veronica screamed, and fell to the floor, covering her head with her hands. The phone kept shooting sparks for about five seconds, but it seemed infinitely longer. The noise was deafening. When it finally stopped, she felt a hand on her shoulder, she gasped and stood, flailing her arms. She felt strong hands on her arms, pinning them to her sides. She stopped struggling, and found concerned green eyes staring at her. She jerked herself out of his grasp and backed up, she bumped into a wall, and a china plate went crashing to the wood floor. She looked at in dismay, then her eyes jerked back to the boy. Her chest was heaving with fear. How had he done that? He took a cautious step towards her, brows furrowed. A million questions made a blizzard in Veronica’s head. He said something to her in his language, and she felt like screaming.

“I can’t understand you, why can’t you see that?!” When he saw her pressing herself into the wall, he stopped walking towards her. Looking into his eyes, he was just as confused as she was. But then, why shouldn’t he be? Pass out in a wreck, wake up on some yard on the back of an animal you don’t know? She’d be confused to. They stayed like that for about a minute, before he tried speaking again. She shook her head at him,

I don’t understand. He nodded, thought for a moment, and began signing to her. Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you? She didn’t know how to answer. But did her best to tell him. She began signing back. I tried to call for help, i didn’t know if you were hurt. At this his eyes widened and he shook his head viciously. Don’t. She cocked her head, furrowing her brow, but couldn’t think of a way to sign the question. She shrugged, relaxing a little from the wall. She signed to him,

I want to take you home. Back to my farm. Will you come? He looked hesitant, and didn’t answer. He looked at the floor, thinking. She signed to him,

Where else will you go? He thought, and then nodded.

I’ll come.

…..

Because I'm funny