Love is an Apple

Lydia stood in her white-walled kitchen, working a knife back and forth like a saw. As her knife connected with her cutting board, two halves of fruit fell away from each other exposing a nest of seeds in their center – the two halves of an apple.

“There!” Lydia exclaimed to herself. “No celebration without a proper fruit salad.” Lydia picked up another whole fruit, dewed with water droplets.

Love is an apple.

As she turned the fruit about and about in her hands, Lydia knew this; she felt the glass like texture that provided a clean sheen – mirror reflecting her smile back at her. She could see the red, a color of passion, singing with the heat of lust, the romance of love. It was like looking into the feral flames of an inferno, ready to eat her alive. She brought the apple up to her nose. A smell sweeter than nectar filled her, a smell that, to her, equated to the mix of sweat and cologne on a man’s skin.

Love is an apple.

Lydia brought her lips to the fruit, grazed them with its glossy coat; a kiss made sweeter when she sank her teeth in. The juices danced on her tongue, wetting the back of her throat – all in a kiss.

More chopping was conducted. Apple, cantaloupe and watermelon sliced and diced to perfection. Dappled in the sun beams penetrating the kitchen window, Lydia’s hair fell like a golden shawl over her head; her work done, Lydia swiped a hand across her forehead to remove a few strands hanging hazardously close to her eyes. A smile lit her lips.

“All done,” she proclaimed, gazing down at her masterpiece.

In a glass bowl, on a silver platter, Lydia carried her fruit salad into her bedroom. Red drapes descended from the bedroom windows; a white lacy bed skirt played in the shadows on the floor and in the center of the bed laid a man. Lydia stepped lightly to the bed, laying the tray on the man’s bare stomach. Even with the cold tray on his sensitive flesh, the man didn’t move.

“Bona petite,” Lydia says, forking a slice of watermelon into her mouth. Good, but nothing topped the apples. She laughed as she took an apple wedge from the mix and began crunch, crunch, crunching on it. “Who says that a single girl has to spend Valentine’s alone? And you’re such great company.” She compliments the man, but he can’t hear her.

The man – Dan – can’t hear; he can’t move or feel . . . or breathe.

Lydia, devoid of chocolates and large teddies and roses for years, saw a golden opportunity in her co-worker, Dan, leaving work as late as she last night. With no observers, a whack to the head in the parking garage went unnoticed. She hadn’t meant to hit him so hard, had only wanted to get him to her apartment unconscious; perhaps the hammer she carried around for protection had been too heavy a tool for the operation, but regardless, she was happy. Now she wouldn’t have only a moment of bliss, a day in a whirlpool of disappointments. Now, she had something permanent.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Lydia whispered, planting a kiss on Dan’s still brow.

Love is an apple.

Too sweet to be sinful, too bitter to be pure.

Faint

I journeyed to another world. A place no one else has ever been. It’s a locale that is virtually impossible for another living soul to enter—at least not without my permission, as if it has a KEEP OUT UNLESS YOU’RE SARAH JANE sign at its entrance. (An old-fashioned name, I know. Blame the folks.) You see, it is my soul, the depths of my being where all of my strengths and weaknesses reside, my hopes and desires. I didn’t plan on conducting this journey. It was subconscious, if you will.

One morning I stood at the bus stop on my way to school. That year I was a freshman in high school. Unlike most girls my age, I wasn’t concerned with boys or the latest fashions or being in the “it-girl” crowd. I was just me, a girl who loved to read, to lose herself in her imagination.

I was a kite, books my wind, lifting me higher and higher to an atmosphere vast and free. My love of books came from my father, though he was more of a scholarly reader while I was enamored with fantasy, from quixotic fables to retro sci-fi. Perhaps my interests had something to do with my experience, influenced my mind somehow, but I’ll never know.

It was hot that day at the bus stop. No, not hot, that would be an understatement. It was smoldering as if someone had put their oven on high and put me in it to bake for an hour. No, more like someone had opened the gates and sent me spiraling into the fiery pits of hell. Well, anyway, it was beyond hot . . . I was waiting as patiently as I could for the bus that, of course, was running behind schedule that day.

At the time, I was cursing the bus in my head, but I’m thankful now. If the bus were on time, I may not have ever gone on my journey.

Sweat formed pearls on my forehead that trailed from their point of origin to the base of my neck. The more I tried to wipe them away, the more pearl beads I managed to accumulate. That’s when it began. I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. The memory is still shrouded in mist for me now, but I know one thing—for those few moments, whether they were mere seconds or the span of a lifetime, I was gone. Gone from the world as we know it and enclosed in my own mind.

It started with a dizzy sensation. I could feel the blood rushing from my head to my feet, as if my blood molecules were feeling the weight of gravity while the rest of my body remained numb to it. The rest of the journey I wasn’t fully aware of; I could say that I noted the black drape that fell across my eyes and the uselessness of my legs as my muscles gave out, however that would be inaccurate. I knew these things were happening, but at the same time I didn’t. A wire had been cut in my brain circuit. Instead of registering my body’s responses, a melody played repeatedly in my head; a melody that I couldn’t recite if I tried, for it was both continuous and transitory.

Then I entered my soul. I have no visuals for this place. I saw nothing, yet I was greeted by the song whose lyrics escape me. And I felt peace. Peace that could only be felt away from the world we inhabit. I don’t believe that there is no peace on earth, mind you. There is peace and beauty in many things: the sights and scents of fresh flower blossoms, the sunrise or sunset over the ocean horizon, or even closer to home, the smiles and laughter of young children who have yet to lose their sweet innocence. All of these things, pure and simple, are the epitome of peace, but truly they can be hard to come by and when you do experience these moments they can be fleeting since, often times, something interrupts them.

As I previously stated, I had no way of knowing how long I was trapped within myself. It could have been an infinitesimal amount of time or an eternity. Except for the song playing in my head, there were no sounds. I know now that my sense of hearing had shut down, just as my vision had. I was then deaf and blind to the world around my body left crumpled on the burning sidewalk.

Wondering how I broke free from the prison of my soul? I can’t tell you that. I don’t rightly know. I just woke up. The shade lifted from my eyes and my ears were unplugged and my brain’s circuit was reconnected. I awoke and suddenly I was the opening act of a circus. A crowd of kids were staring down at me. All of the faces, some I recognized, others that were brand new, were etched with concern. I, the outsider, was now in the midst of their circle.

None of this concerned me, though. I had gone where they couldn’t . . . unless I allowed them to. I have a firm belief that I can share my experience with someone, not merely through words as I am now, but through a bond, a bond that can showcase the forgotten melody of my soul, a bond so intimate that it can transcend time and defy possibility. After my journey, I changed. I began to strike up; conversations, share my interests. I hope to one day discover the sort of bond I described. Until then, and even after, I shall continue living as me, a hidden rhapsody.

Past Mistakes

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes—fast.”

The beasts were coming and in bright red, looking like a walking sack of raw meat, I would be an easy target. I removed my work uniform, a red T-shirt and sweatpants, as quickly and possible and stood in nothing but my black boxers waiting for what could possibly be the end of my life.

“Lee! Lee, are you still there?” A tiny voice escaped from my cell phone I’d dropped. I picked up the phone and placed the receiver to my ear.

“Yeah, I’m still here, honey. How’s the battle looking on your end?”

“Not good. Half of us are lying in our own blood, and a quarter of them have stopped breathing. Do you think the government had this in mind when they spliced dogs with dinosaur DNA? That their little science experiments would manage to destroy our whole civilization upon escaping from their supposedly secure facilities?”

“No,” I said, hearing a thunk on the door before me. “I don’t think anyone had this in mind.”

“Of course not, they just wanted to create a new species while trying to restore an old one. No one considered that perhaps dinosaurs were extinct for a reason!”

“Amber,” I whispered into the phone as I saw two claws strike through the solid metal door.

“Yes?”

“I love you.” I hung up and silently wished her luck as the claws slide through the door as if cutting through a stick of butter. The claws withdrew from the long, diagonal gash and for a moment, for just one moment, I thought I was safe. And then, the monster broke through. I had my first close look at the abomination, a creature that stood on all fours like a dog but had the fixtures of a dinosaur. Scales, talons, excruciatingly long, sharp teeth. After numerous attacks, people had discovered that the beasts were more inclined to go after moving, red targets. I stood still and waited. The monstrosity turned its head slowly listening. My heartbeat and ragged breath sounded as loud as firecrackers to me.

I was feed a false sense of security and I gobbled it up; it was turning away when I made the mistake of shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Its eyes gleamed as shot to my direction, and without hesitation, it leapt. I had a second to take aim with my 747 rifle and shoot the thing between the eyes before it could pull out my throat. The beasts must have wised up about how to spot prey. Scientists did always say that dinosaurs had been intelligent.

I stood in the darkness, panting. I thought of all those theories that had been spouting out of people’s mouths last year. That the world would end in 2012. But they were wrong. This year, year, 2013, would be the year the world ended.

I could hear more snarls just outside the shredded door. Here I was in a deserted militia warehouse in Washington, while my girlfriend was fighting for her life at a college campus in California. There were little clusters of fighters like us all across the world. When most of the world, including my family, had already gone down in a sea of blood, we were just people prolonging the inevitable.

Scuttling claws sounding closer and closer, the beasts were on their way. I steadied my weapon. I had a magazine of only seven rounds. If there were any more dino-dog hybrids than that, I was finished. The first two burst through at the same moment, sniffing the air. One went to study my red clothes, the other lapped up the blood of its dead brethren. As those two continued meandering around, four more dino-dogs came in. I held my breath. I was running out of room and sooner or later I would have to move or else get bumped into, resulting in me as these things’ dinner. I sent up a silent prayer that no more of the beasts would come in.

My prayer wasn’t answered. In came another. They were being drawn by the dead one’s blood and all of them were beginning to make a feast of it. I decided to take a go at them. It was now or never. I shot two rounds into two heads before they attacked. I was aiming at one when I noticed another file into the room. Five rounds left, six dino-dogs. I guess it was my time to go.

The dinosaurs had once ruled the world. And they would rule it again.