I have always been a doer
to hunt and slay, (and hide)
to remind the angels
why I am worthy of
warmth and clean water
(or chocolate milk).
Maybe.
Too busy to breathe
I’ve been earning
my breath.
Keep your money and fame
I am seeking
my worth.
(Wait).
I had to secure my ticket to Heaven (like all the other straight, White, Christian men) I can’t get in? What do you mean I’m not a man? Fuck.
Holes in my rusted chalice,
fake treasure maps, toy swords.
Indiana Jones and the Flat Earth Theory.
(Fall off the edge already).
Fine.
The thirst and salivation.
Cheat codes hidden inside the nightmare,
(but my scars are real),
behind the shadows, along the veil.
Stephen King and the Cave Wall.
Popcorn and limitations.
I never wanted to sit,
to be still, feel, the fathoms
below and die.
Would you trade misery for joy?
The following is a teaser for a novel I never finished.
After accidentally creating a virus that catalyzes the rapid evolution of the human genome, Dr. Nikola Woolf is metamorphosing into a fifth dimensional being. In this scene, she has involuntarily traveled to another universe.
I was in some kind of palace. Light from the setting sun reflected off golden pillars, blinding my sight. I glanced down, to relieve my burning eyes, and noticed a mosaic of stones, lapis lazuli, turquoise, jade, and obsidian. My feet were barefoot on the cold tile. I stepped into a shadowy corner of the room, and whispered, “Where am I?”
A man walked pass me, and approached the sunlight. He was spectacular in a gown of golden threads. He dropped to one knee, and as he bowed his head, I saw her. “My queen,” he said.
The single throne must have been at least twenty feet in height. It was made of gold, mahogany, lion skins, and tortoise shell. It was occupied by a woman, adorned with jewelry and makeup. She was a brilliant sight, captivating, gorgeous, but there was something menacing about her.
“Where is my son?” Her voice echoed throughout the room.
The man stood. “Your majesty, the Roman army is at the gate. Octavius is on his way here, right now.”
“I said, where is my son?”
The man tensed with hesitation. I felt my throat constricting. “Queen Cleopatra, please. We are going to die. Our numbers are small and we cannot hold the gate for long. Please speak to Octavius and ask him to spare us.”
There was a suspended moment. Anxiety, fear, rage, and hope seemed to dance around a surreal carrousel. All of the multiverse was revolving around this moment. Whatever the queen decided would ripple throughout all parallel universes. Finally, the queen said, “Charmion, do you still consider me a friend?”
The man nodded. “Of course. Since we were children, you have been my best friend, Cleo. I love you. My queen, you have changed since.”
“Do you mean, since Octavius murdered my husband, stole my son’s birthright, and corrupted my soldiers? Yes, I have changed. Octavius is poised to destroy our sacred city, and you are asking me to bow before this filthy pig?”
Charmion cast his eyes to the floor. “I am begging you, my queen.”
“It shall never happen.”
I felt a storm brewing under Cleopatra’s skin. But she didn’t seem to move, and her voice was calm and confident. “Where, Charmion, is my son?”
I heard a voice from across the hall, the sound of footsteps. A young man stepped into the sunlight. I noticed his jawline, wide and definite. It was identical to his father’s. In that moment, I had a flash of recollection. I saw the young man’s birth, in a desert hot spring. I caught a flash of his first steps, walking to the arms of his father. I saw him, Julius Caesar, his face shape-shifted into that of… Kelly.
The boy was my son.
The young man held his chin up. His hazel eyes were honey in the setting sunlight. “I am here, Mother.
Confusion stole over me, first Virginia, now Cleopatra? This was a past life regression, surely. No, I could not have been these historical figures. There was another explanation.
The queen relaxed in her throne. I felt her exhale. “Caesarian, come.” Cleopatra’s voice was soft, like the white rose petals, from which Caesarian’s first bed was made. Her firstborn was her favorite.
The young man approached the throne. His heart longed to rush into his mother’s arms and adorn her with hugs and kisses. Instead, he forced himself to stand still, like a man. Caesarian clenched his fists and flexed his chest, back, and arms. He had been training with the Roman soldiers, and he wanted his mother to see that he was a man. It was his time to come of age. He felt ready. “Mother, I wish to sacrifice myself to Octavius.”
Cleopatra chuckled. “That shall never happen.” Now she was moving freely.
“Please listen. I never wanted to be dictator of Rome. I do not care for what Caesar did or did not do. All I wanted was to be here in Alexandria with you. I never wanted it to go this far. I do not wish for more bloodshed on my behalf. I will go to Octavius and ask him to cease the war.”
“Caesarian, my son.”
“Please, Mother. You said that I was destined to be great. You told me to behave like royalty. I believe this is what a regent should do for his country. Mother, do you see, this is why I practiced the Latin tongue, and I studied the Roman religion, and the Roman law. Not because I wanted to be like Caesar, but because I am a Roman. If Rome would murder their own kind, as they did my father, then I would be honored to die for Egypt.
“Mother, let Octavius take me back to Rome, let me be his prize, and let the city be spared. Or we shall all be dead by morning.”
I watched as Charmion held his tongue, and Cleopatra went inside herself. Another decision was to be made. The queen could not stop her son, but she would never approve of this plan. Charmion felt deep pride in Caesarian. I did, as well.
Caesarian stood with his hands behind his back, waiting, with respect, for his mother’s decision.
That’s when he walked in. I knew who he was. I felt him move right pass me, almost as if he moved through me. He stood beside the throne. “My queen, the tomb is ready. The army is here, we must move quickly.”
Cleopatra exhaled, turning her attention to the man. She ran her fingers through his dark curly lochs. “Marc, my love. I will be there soon.” They kissed, and he walked out. The queen waited another moment before speaking.
“Caesarian, do you remember what your father taught you about warfare?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, Mother. Marc Antony has trained me as well.”
Cleopatra leaned in and whispered. “Your father was the greatest warrior who ever lived. Rome is because of Caesar. The greatness that built Rome lives inside you. Go into my chambers, into my golden chest, and you will find your father’s armor and sword. Listen, son. I want you to go to Octavius, but I do not want you to surrender. I want you to kill him. I want you to avenge your father’s death. Do this, for me?”
Caesarian shifted. He glanced at his feet. I felt his throat constrict, his heart grow heavy. He fought the urge to cry. He returned his eyes to the queen, pushing his emotions down below. “Yes, Mother. I will do this for you.”
“I love you, my son.”
Caesarian jumped into her arms, knowing they would never embrace again.
The next I knew, I was laying on the office floor, gasping for air.
Back in the cemetery with invisible friends, feeling nostalgic again, revisiting dead ends, and dead friends, with dead pens, and garlic and obsidian
I keep the zombies away, please keep your ego at bay, I got a small child at play, the part, the world’s a stage, if love
is war, then your heaven is forged, in the heart of Mordor, and haunted corridors, of my mind, nevermore, quoth the Raven, one more,
time, the rhymes, white lines, sweet poison, the noise and, hard times, all these are lies, my old life, has died, and here I rewind, pay homage, pay
tithes, to the darkness, why lie, this black rose, it knows, torture and bliss, dark rituals, holy ceremony, and true love’s kiss, horcrux, es, true stories, this is
illusory reality, I’m losing all duality, entirety, inside of me, something just done died in me, quite possibly, I’m approaching singularity, event horizon, scaring me, but where, I need to
know, excuse me, sir, how far does this ship go, to the Pleiades, oh, for fact? the eastern breeze, please, carry me back, to my second home
Earth, I know, they’re needing me, they’ve seeded me, I’m on a mission, and I’m bleeding, see, it’s still all g, big G, in me, and Love is free, I see
through walls, these dimensions, solid matter got me stressin, humanity depressed and, I think that it’s a bless-ing, and everything is fine, but the fluoride, third eye blind, confusion, feel used and
when winning feels like losing, I’m choosing, to put my heart on the line, and they got this thing called time, just a concept of mind, man, it’s a
vacation, here in space, and, embracing, the freedom, from chasing, my own tail, my own reflection, I am facing, introspection, this perfect imperfection,
got me feeling alone, healing my bones, my choice, alone, my voice, pick up the phone, ET, how do I get home? When Krypton’s just a fic-shon, get grounded, but still fly-on, through purple skies and true lies, like twin flames, in disguise, like friends at
war, 3+2 makes 4, makes sense, for sure, in dense, environments, I’m bored
but since I’m here, I’ll adhere, to the crude atmosphere, and marry the dark with the Light, Sacred Union, within, it appears, as it might, a certain shade of grey, ish white.
Grief is my visitor. He won’t stay long, yet long enough.
I recall the night he knocked on my door. The shadows of my newfound solitude invited me inward. I was pleased with myself, and deserving of a reward for making a difficult decision. In a pleasant mood, I was about to open a bottle of wine. A bold Merlot, you know.
Just as I grazed my fingertips upon the dusty green bottle, and sensed a thirst in my cheeks, I heard my visitor tapping. Somehow, I knew that it wasn’t a time for celebration.
Observing a shift within me, a heavy backpack upon my shoulders, my heart upon the floor, I went for the door. I promised myself the wine would flow at the right time.
It was late night and the rain was pouring down. Many memories washed over me as the cold draft met my skin. Grief stood on my heart-shaped porch, without a cover, awaiting his welcome. I touched my chest as a single tear fell. My old friend was back again.
We have a bittersweet relationship, Grief and I, and still, I call him friend. He’s taught me much during his extended stays. We know each other well.
He’s like the night that falls, on schedule, bringing shadows and obscurity. I had learned to appreciate the sunlight, for the evening would come, soon enough.
I opened the door wide for him. He picked up two pieces of luggage, regret and growing pains, and silently stepped in. I took his coat and hat. He made himself at home.
For the first night, we sat before the fire. We didn’t speak to each other. We didn’t sleep. We just sat there, feeling the others’ presence.
I tried to open my heart to him, to accept him, and resist the urge to run. Avoidance behavior cost me so much trouble in the past. Now, life is much simpler, but it means acceptance of Grief, of who he really is.
Sometimes the moonlight shines through the kitchen window, and I can sing and dance as I celebrate my tender heart. He stares at me, his bushy eyebrows scrunched in confusion. His knees, bent at his chin, as he sits on the bottom step. He doesn’t understand how I can laugh and play when he’s around. I try to explain to him what it means to have joy. I think he likes the idea.
Other times, though, he comes to me at night. He sits at the foot of my bed, and it seems that we can hear each others’ thoughts. I speak the sadness of my heart, hoping the sound might absorb my pain. I tell her that everything is okay, and that I’ll always love and think of her, and that I pray for her every day and night. I wonder if her heart can hear mine. Then, sometimes, I cry.
I’m not sure how long he’s staying, but I can’t rush him away. If I’m going to heal, it’s going to take time, and I should give him all the time he needs. Really, I’m doing this for myself. No band-aids, no cover-ups, no crutches or addictions. No denial or repression, no avoidance behavior.
I’m standing on a high cliff, overlooking some foreign ocean. The night is falling upon the scene, as starlight breaks through the darkening blue sky, and I.
I’m barefoot and shirtless. My hands are empty, too.
The salty breeze chills my skin, but I am transfixed by the sight of the ocean, its magnificent beauty, coupled with the intense fear of its power, awakening deep inside of me.
A tear streams down my cheek. Could one be so awestruck and fearful at the same time? A voice whispers in my heart.
It is the Aquarian sage. “The journey ahead of you, behold, in a ship of your own vessel. This is all for you.”
Yet, I know what this means.
“You must leave behind everything you have ever known. The bed you sleep in, the comfort of perceived limitations. The masochistic words you mumble under your breath. Your poisonous drink. You have outgrown these things. They have no place in your life anymore.”
Somewhere inside me, an Arian Warrior stands poised to dive into the depths of the great unknown, unaware, unafraid, but on the surface, right now, an unsure child stares at his feet.
But my hands are dirty. I’m unforgiven.
The Aquarian speaks. “Everything you have been through has prepared you for this moment. Yet, you have free will. You may choose to turn back at any time.”
The Arian lays down his weapon, a spear, at my feet. He kneels before me, his arms flexed to display his strength. His long hair falls like a curtain over his face as he bows. “I swear to protect you from the evils of this world, as you would save me from the evils of myself.” He rises to his feet, picks up his spear, and points it toward the horizon, to the bow of Sagittarius, five twinkling stars. “There is the satisfaction of your soul.” The warrior turns behind him, to the past, “There is meaningless comfort. The choice is yours alone.” He lays his hand on my shoulder. “I will follow you, wherever you go.”
I hear the clopping of hooves, the folding of wings. Beside me stands Chiron, the centaur. I look up at him, enchanted by his figure, half a man, half a horse. His green eyes stare out at the ocean.
Chiron is my Sun. He is, in many ways, my father, teacher, and best friend.
In his silence, the planet makes her trip many times. I watch as the Moon spins around the Earth. The Sun follows the elliptic. My hands grow larger, my spine taller. My mind expands and poses unanswerable questions, provoking a yearning within. What am I feeling?
Finally, almost three decades later, Chiron turns to me, the white hairs on his chin, blowing in the wind. “What are you feeling?” He asks.
“Time is no more,” I whisper, barely audible. “Chiron, this is magnificent, and I refuse to deny my destiny, but I am human, and this makes me alone.”
The hooves of the centaur clop as he moves closer to me. His human torso bends until his chiseled face is just before mine. I see, now, that his green eyes are rimmed with yellow and orange.
“You have never belonged on Earth, Dear One. That is why you feel alone. Yet if you see with your third eye, that has never been the case.”
Chiron reaches behind his back and delivers a bow and quiver. “This is a tool, not a weapon. Always aim upward, for greatness only exists in the higher skies.”
I take the items, throwing them over my bareback.
A woman appears before me. Her silk gown bellows behind her, white like the moon. She opens her hand, to reveal a pair of golden scales. “Two thousand lifetimes, and you have settled your karmic debt. But that’s not enough. You must create a surplus.”
“Libra,” I whisper. “Must I go alone?”
The corners of her thin lips turn up. “You may take anyone willing.”
I exhale, wishing to banish the passion of my heart, now burning my flesh, it seems. For, I desire the unwilling. I find the courage to meet the goddess’ eyes.
Libra’s eyes are white, innocent with justice, convicting my heart, compelling my speech.
I hesitate. “But, isn’t my twin supposed to help me?”
Libra lifts her hand, and I feel her fingertips glide over my face. “Your twin is with you, always. Though not in flesh, you feel her in spirit, do you not?”
I look down, to the dust, dissatisfied.
“Let that be enough,” Libra leans in and kisses my cheek. “Beloved, you have Chiron as your Sun, Ares as your Rising guide, and the scales of Justice by moonlight. Call upon Pan when problems arise. Let the Aquarian lead your heart.”
The Horned God stands beside me, half a goat, half a man. I can smell the mint he chews. I feel his calloused fingertips on the crown of my head. “You will focus on the mountain peak. When you see your destination, trust your feet, for they will not lead you astray.”
I close my eyes, receiving his blessing. When I open them, the ancient gods are gone. The sage, warrior, centaur, goddess, and satyr live within me. Combined, they are me.
I’m alone again, on the mountain’s cliff, staring out at the dark ocean.
Scorpius twinkles in Midheaven. A cycle has passed. It is time for rebirth.
It was published in 2012 by Regal Crest Enterprises. Unfortunately, due to life’s circumstances, I had to part ways with the publisher. The truth is that I stumbled onto a film set and fell in love. But that’s a whole other story.
Fiction will always be my first love.
I shot a promo trailer with the intention of shooting a full-length film. The funding never came and I moved on.
There are a few used copies available on Amazon here.
Azrael Torres 