Sucked In

It was not like anything he'd ever seen before. His eyes grew wide in horror as he watched on helplessly. The only warning was that horrible sucking sound. He watched the countless bubbles that had once floated serenely along pop one by one as a current disrupted the once still water, quickly gaining strength. The tiny soap particles being sucked in, no chance at escape.

He held a hand to his mouth, stifling his gasp as the water became shallower still and started swirling swiftly around in a circle, the sucking sound growing louder. To the young boy, it all seemed like a scene from a horror movie. Something reminiscent of a small storm, forcing everything in close proximity into it's violently spinning clutches. Then, it would drop them down into it's unseen vortex, never to be seen again...

Then suddenly, all the water was gone. It disappeared down into the unseen vortex. The young boy gasped again before learning cautiously over the side of the tub to see if he could see any signs of the lost water down the drainpipe. Just like all the things that had been sucked in, the storm had gone. Almost as quickly as it had come. Leaving not a trace behind it.

Without You

It feels like just yesterday that we were together. It feels like just this morning I said goodbye for the last time. Except I didn't know. I didn't know that it would be the last time. You never think it will be. You never want to imagine it might be. You never, ever want it to be.

Some days I imagine you're being carried away from me. They've forced us apart. I can almost see you kicking with all your might and I can hear the painstaking sound of your screams and your fearful cries. I try to get to you, but you're just out of my reach. Every time I try and get closer, there's some invisible wall that forces me back each time I try. Not being able to reach you breaks my heart, and watching you go, in seeming slow motion, feels like torture.

Without you, it feels as I have been forced along. Forced through the days as more and more pass since the day I last saw you. They're dragging me further and further away from you and my desperate attempts at escape are helpless. So now I just sit here, crying silent tears because you're gone. Because they stole you away from me and I'd give anything in the world to have you back here with me. Because without you, all hope seems drained from the world.

Without you, I am trapped in a shadow. I don't even know where I am anymore. I am alone, all hope and light long gone from the world around me. Because they went with you. Each beat of my heart feels like a stab wound openly bleeding, each breath like it could well be my last. It doesn't feel like I can go on, and yet, somehow, I am forced on.

Without you, life has been stripped of meaning and purpose. I exist. I want so much to live, but I don't seem able to. The world is an odd mixture of red and blue. The purple that seeps through sings a sorrowful lament of wishes and lost dreams. White, pink, yellow and a different sort of blue are fading fast in my memory. I try to cling to them, a vein hope that something reminiscent of life with you may return, but they're quickly slipping away.

So I hold my breath, hoping with the last little bit of lingering hope I do have that I won't have to be without you forever. That I won;t be trapped here forever. It feels like it has been forever when a light appears from above and a hand extends down to me. I go weakly toward it on my hands and knees and struggle upward to reach it. It drags me up and out into the open world, full of colour.

Though the moment, I set down, the colour begins to slowly fade away, coming to stop on a washed out echo of what it once had been. This is the world now, without you in it. Not as dark and gloomy as before, but not as bright and joyous as with you in it.

Without you, the world is robbed of it's bright colour, it's happiness and joy. Without you, I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to have a friend. I've forgotten what it's like to be happy and to have hope. But as I look around, I can almost see faded echos of you. In the softness of the flower petals, the warmth of a fire.

You are everywhere. Everywhere but where I need you most. I don't want to trap you. I want to want to let you go. I want to want to set you free. But I am not ready, and I don't know if I will ever be ready. I am not ready for every single moment with you to just be a memory. I am not ready for you not to be here with me. I don't know how to live in a world without you in it, and it scares me. I don't know how to go on without you by my side.

Surely, it's got to get easier somehow. Surely, one day, I won't have the urge to cry or to scream. Surely one day, I won't want to just sit still and do nothing because I can't share it all with you. Surely, one day, it won't hurt every time I think of you. Surely, one day, I won't start to cry every time I say your name. It's got to get easier somehow, surely. Just, not today.

Little Reminders

"I don't know how these are all going to fit, given you both have so many." She turned around to look at her mother and Mr. Kelly, her mother's new roommate at the nursing home.
"Oh, don't worry Jenni," said her mother with a smile, "I'm sure we'll figure it out soon enough."
Suddenly, a few bells chimed over a loudspeaker in the hall just outside the room. At this, Mr. Kelly came to life. "That'll be the signal that the midday meal's ready," he said as he tottered unsteadily toward them, proffering his arms. The two women came closer and linked their arms through his, allowing him to lead them to the dining room.

"So," said Jenni when the three of them were seated at a table with meals in front of them, "I know why Mum has a heap of photos."
"To make sure that I remember even if I forget," her mother says happily.
"But what about you Mr. Kelly?" Jenni asked, turning her gaze to him.
"Please dear," he said, patting her hand gently across the table, "call me Fred."
"Ok, Fred," Jenni started again a little uneasily, "why do you like to have so many photos?"
"For me, little darling," he says, "it's proof that I've had the extraordinary life that I have." The smile already on his lips spread wider as he told the story. "You see, there was a time when I was young when I wondered if I would get to live the life I'd always dreamed of. Even after I met the love of my life, I was still convinced sometimes that it was all just a wonderful fantasy. Too good to be true. Back then, and looking back at them now, they're my proof that it happened. That the wonderful, extraordinary life I've been lucky enough to live was not a dream but real. Those photos are my proof that it actually happened."
"Your little reminders," Jenni said.
"Little reminders..." Said Fred wistfully. "I like that."
Jenni smiled. "Just like Mum has her little reminders.

It took another hour or two after they'd returned from the room to arrange Jenni's mother's stuff into her new room with Fred. Stepping down from the small step ladder, Jenni wiped the dust from her hands. She backed a few paces to examine her handiwork, her mouth twisting as she did so. "I would say we're finished," she said, "but I think we're still missing something..." She looked round the room,  hoping to find her inspiration lurking somewhere nearby. Finally, her eyes settle on her mother, then wander to Fred. "Fred," she says, "do you think you could come sit with Mum a moment? I think I've found the perfect solution."

"There," Jenni said happily when she returned a week later, setting the framed picture on the shelf above their beds, in the once spare space separating Fred's photo collection from her mother's. "There," she said, a smile on her face as she looked at it, Fred and her mother standing either side of her, inspecting it too. "Perfect!"
"Beautiful," said Fred, smiling.
"Wonderful," said her mother, all but clapping her hands.
"A little reminder for you both," said Jenni, "of another moment that actually happened, and a moment that won't be forgotten."

My Home Run

The young man stood on the other side of the fence, watching him throw a ball back and forth with someone else. He didn't really pay much attention to whom exactly. It didn't matter. It wasn't important. No, the young man had eyes only for him. He'd stood by the sidelines like this many times before, watching him, but he never noticed. Then suddenly, the ball came flying toward him. Instinctively, the young man rose his hand and the ball sailed neatly into it. As he lowered his arm, the young man stared at the ball a moment, not noticing the young man he'd been watching jogging toward him. "You catch pretty well there Mate, Just as well. Otherwise it might've hit you square on in the face" he said, smiling when he reached the young man. "Thanks. I'm Rod by the way."
"Kent," said the young man, dropping the ball into Rod's outstretched palm before reaching to shake it.
"Do you play ball?" Rod asked.
"I've never tried," said Kent.
"I could show you," Rod said. "I might need a sub partner every now and again. Little Miss Mickey over there can get tired pretty quick." Rod gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, and when Kent squinted, he could just make out a young girl sitting in the shade. "She's my sister, and I love her, but she doesn't really like doing this stuff too much. She only does it cause I'm her big brother and she loves me. But it would be nice to play with someone my own age for once."
Kent had to fight to keep his cheeks from colouring and giving him away. "I'd love to," he said. "I've always thought it looked like fun."

As promised, Kent returned and Rod taught him all about playing ball over several sunny afternoons. The two  quickly became friends. Kent still tried to stomp down on what he felt for Rod, but it was hard. Little did Kent realise, Rod shared his feelings and he too was scared.
"I know you're scared Rod," Mickey said one day. "But you have to have courage."
"You think so?"
The young girl nodded. Their father stuck his head round the corner. "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave do not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."
"Dad's right you know," said Mickey when their father had disappeared.

So, one day after a lengthy game of catch, the two sat on a bench recovering. Rod smiled at Kent. "Kent, hold still a second would you Buddy." Rod reached to gently swipe a lash from the edge of Kent's eye. Holding it between them on his finger, he said. "Make a wish Kent, then blow it away." So Kent made a wish before puckering his lips and blowing. Not a moment later, his wish came true as Rod leaned in, pressing his lips to Kent's. They stayed like that a moment before they pulled apart.
"Rod you..." Kent said, his mouth hanging open a little.
"Was that ok?"
"Yeah. I just didn't think. I never thought..."
"It's true Kent," Rod said, chuckling a little. "I like you. I might even love you." He reached for Kent's hand, squeezing it lightly in his own. "What do you say we see where this goes?" Seemingly robbed of speech, Kent simply nodded and smiled back at him.

Up until now, their blooming romance had been something of a secret, but that all changed when they played their first baseball game a year or two later. Kent hit the ball hard with his bat, let it drop to the ground with a clatter and ran for his life. The team and the crowd watching all cheered as he ran, but none louder than Rod. Kent was bright red when he completed the circuit and fell down onto the pad as the umpire declared him 'safe'. Exhausted, Kent didn't rise, and Rod was the first one by his side. Rod glanced at the umpire. "I've got him," he said before gently, strongly scooping Kent up into his arm and carrying him from the field. On the sideline benches, Rod saty beside him, arm round his shoulders. "You did well honey," he said. "I'm proud of you. For someone who had never played baseball..."
"I had a good teacher," Kent said simply. "It was because of you Rod. I was running home to you."
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In memory of the incredible Garry Marshall. This man made the most cherished film of my childhood, the Princess Diaries. I am saddened that he's not with us anymore, but I am so grateful that he lived. RIP.

The Keeper Brothers

Though he'd seen it a thousand times, the sight of the large tree, lit up in the night never failed to take his breath away. He looked around in wonder at the rainbow of lights surrounding the tree and reached out toward them. They seemed so close that he could touch them, yet his outstretched hand could not quite grasp them. He went closer and looked up, the multi-coloured lights filling his vision.

Smiling, he watched the lights swirl and dance about, turning into little shadow-movies of sorts a short while before they were simply lights again. His breath caught in his throat as he heard a faint sound, growing slowly in volume. Turning around, he released the breath and smiled at the sight of his brother, who waved, a cherry grin spread firm across his own lips. The brother was clad in stripey blue, a long tail and an old-fashioned bed hat, almost identical to him but for the blue his brother wore where he was clothed in yellow.

It took the brother a few short steps to reach him, and they stand together, arms round one another's shoulders, their gazes on the rainbow lights, dancing and swirling in the dark night sky, under the shade of the big tree. After a moment, the blue brother pointed a little to the side of the tree under which they stood, toward another tree surrounded by lights of dancing silver. That's your tree. He told him telepathically. While the brothers were mute, they had become so close that they could hear one another's thoughts.
I know, said the yellow brother. But yours is so colourful and pretty!
dreams are pretty, said the blue brother, but memories can be beautiful too. Without memories, there would be no basis for dreams..
We are both magical, agreed the brother in yellow. the dreamer and the rememberer, the dream keeper and the memory keeper
Yes said the blue brother as they both set about the work. Everyday they would meet here by the Keeper Trees as they were known, the dreamer to collect dreams to make people smile, and the yellow brother to gather memories, those lost, those momentarily forgotten. To help people who had lost their minds remember, to remind those in trouble of those good times amidst the bad.

The brothers looked at each other, the dreamer with his sack full of dreams slung over his shoulder, the rememberer with his suitcase, filled with memories in hand. Together, they walked up the path, stopping and turning to one another at it's end.
Here is where dreams begin, said the Dreamer.
Here is where memories lost are restored, said the Rememberer.

And so the brothers set out into the world, shadows under cover of darkness, whispers in the wind. They went about their work without anybody noticing, afraid of what it might mean if they were seen. They don't look as ordinary as you and I. The Keeper brothers are special, and they;'re important. Be sure to thank them the next time you recall a treasured memory, or find yourself in an unbelievable fantasy while you sleep. Because you may not see them, or even hear them, but they can hear us, and it's always nice to be thanked sometimes.
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This story is a sequel to Dreaming Winds, which you can read here