Writing: Moment in Time - Infection (Spread)

She saw the ambulance screaming towards her just in time to hit her breaks, sending her coffee flying from her hand and coating the windshield with the creamy brown mix of coffee and creamer. Her heart was beating like a drum and her breath was come quickly out of an already hoarse and sore throat. She took a moment to collect herself and wipe her nose, which ran almost constantly for the past two days, then began searching for something to wipe off her glazed windshield. This had been a hellish week for her already and this was just icing on the cake. Not that she minded the extra hours, living in the city was expensive, but for a week straight she has been covering his shifts, not to mention the mountains of paperwork he felt for her before he vanished. For a few days, she was able to reach him to get advice on the more serious decisions, but now she couldn't reach him at all. She thought about going to his apartment to ask him if he was ever going to return, but decided against it. If he was too sick to answer the phone or check his e-mail, he would be too sick to answer the door.

With the car cleaned to the best of her ability, she pulled back to the road and headed to the office, ignoring the migraine that was building behind her eye. Two more lights and she was there, thankful for finding a job so close to home. Pulling into a parking space, she began to get her belongings in order, but as she glanced at the mirror to check her makeup, she noticed her eyes were bloodshot. Must be from all the sneezing and headaches she has had, she thought. Brushing it off, she stepped from her car and stood up with a slight rush to the head, silently sighing and thinking that he better not have gotten her sick. She waited until the feeling passed and walked in the office, blessing the dim recessed lighting of the main atrium. Waving hello to the security officer, she went to the elevator and hit the button, adjusting her dress in the bronzed doors while she waited for it to make the slow trek down from the seventh floor. A small blemish on her face distracted her and she wiped it away, thinking that it must be from when the coffee decided to free itself and make a mad dash from her cup, but as she looked to see what it was, she saw it was a small amount of blood. Wonderful, she thought, a migraine, dizziness, runny nose, and now a bloody nose. She tilted her head back to try and stem the flow, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed her and she stumbled backwards, supporting herself on the far wall.

She wasn't sure how long it took for the bleeding to stop, but by the time the buzzer went off for the elevator, she had wretched into the trash bin next to her twice. Wiping her mouth and checking for more blood, she stepped in the elevator, cursing his name with each unsteady step. She pressed the button for the fifth floor and watched the doors close slowly, smiling a bit wickedly as she watched someone cover their mouths as they walked by where she vomited. Leaning against the elevator wall, she felt another wave of nausea come over her, but choked back the bile coming out of her, now empty, stomach. Her eyes burned and her nose was a constant runny faucet now, but she couldn't call in, not while he was still out. The doors slowly slide open and she took a few steps into the office, only to collapse, her body shaking and covered in a fine sheath of sweat. She couldn't get her arms to lift herself off the ground, instead she vomited once again, but this time there was blood mixed with the bile. She heard footsteps rushing towards her, along with cries of concern and alarm. Her body shaking and a small pool of blood forming under her from what she guessed was her nose again, she couldn't get the energy to tell them she was fine and to get her to her office. She heard someone yell for an ambulance, but all she was thinking was who was going to cover her work if they wouldn't let her do it herself.

Writing: Moment In Time - One Night (One Perfect Night)

Her heartbeat woke him. A soft rhythm drumming from the source of her lifeblood, steady and content. He closed his eyes and listened to the beat of that melodious tune. He rested his head on her breast and took in her essence, feeling for the first time a closeness in his life that filled a void that remained gaping in his soul for too many years. With each beat, the chasm closed, filling with a warmth that originated from her and settled with gossamer wings on his old wounds. He could feel each filling, become replenished, and finally vanish. A soft sigh escaped his lips, sending a tremor through her sleeping body as his warm breath danced across her night-cooled skin. He listened for hours, or minutes, or seconds, he would never be sure, but he knew that what he felt he had never felt before.

Opening his eyes, he gazed up her bosom, his sight adjusting to the almost pitch black of his room as it fell upon her sleeping face. Soft and serene, composed with the slightest smile, he noticed it was her light that was saving them from being engulfed in darkness tonight. He watched the dancing of her eyes under her eyelids, that thin veil of flesh that hid another beautiful sight from him. He would have cursed those curtains some other time, but the locked away treasures they held tonight added to her beauty tenfold. His eyes walked across every feature, every encore, every after show event that made up the symphony he saw in her countenance. His eyes drank deep, savoring every drip of beauty that fell into his heart. He resisted the urge to disturb the priceless portrait before him by brushing a stand of hair that lightly caressed her cheek, choosing instead to let it rest where he wished he could lay his hand and then lips. He smiled and glanced at the clock, noting that soon the sun will rise. The sun will rise outside, but his won't rise for many more hours yet. He breathed deeply and took her in his arms, feeling her body slide to a perfect fit beside his, closed his eyes, and dreamed.

Writing: Moment In Time - Infection (Patient Zero)

His cough was worse this morning, much worse than the day before. He couldn't understand why it was getting worse after dosing himself with medications for the last week, but still it persisted. He had to go into work today, there was no question about it, he had missed a week already since his fever got worse, but thankfully it finally broke this morning. He hauled himself out of bed and sat on the edge, hacking and coughing, rumpled, sweat soaked sheets covering the lower half of his body. He rested his head in his shaking hands, waiting for a wave of nausea to pass. He has had the flu and fever before, but this was nothing like he ever had. It made him wonder if he ended up catching that H1N1 that the news has been going crazy about for months, but he had his shot, so that shouldn't have been possible.

He pulled himself together enough to get to the bathroom and start the water running in the shower. Straightening back up, a wave of dizziness struck him, sending him stumbling to the sink where he vomited up the medicine he look last night along with a clot of blood. Wheezing and coughing, he looked at his reflection and barely recognized the man staring back at him. His eyes, circled in black, were turning red from burst capillaries from the coughing fits. His face was pale, glistening with sweat that has been gathering on his cheeks and forehead for the past week. His beard was caked in dried and stale vomit chunks and matted into a snarled rug. He steadied himself and stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water run over his clammy body.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but the sound of a plastic shampoo bottle striking the tiles woke him up. He straightened the best he could and looked around, trying to figure out where he was again. He noticed a streak of red running down the shower door where his head was resting against. He checked his forehead and found no blood, but his nose was running like a leaky faucet. He pinched his nose and tilted his head back, but the wave of nausea returned and he wisely decided he shouldn't do that for this nosebleed. He turned the shower off and opened the door, stepping in to the steam wafting around the bathroom. He turned the fan on and watched the tendrils of steam float lazily to the ceiling. Using his towel to wipe the water from the mirror, he had to wait a moment before the room cleared enough for him to see himself. He wished it didn't. His eyes were almost totally red, with small streams of blood pouring from his tear ducts. A small patch of skin looked like it was infected with a flesh eating bacteria on his cheek. He backed away from the mirror in horror, watching the monster in the mirror as if it wasn't him. His eyes went crazy, looking for something, anything, that could help him. He pushed his way out of the bathroom, tripping over objects he would never remember, but ended up falling in front of the television that has been on for a week straight with never changing the channel. He could do nothing but make a hoarse coughing laugh as he noticed it was playing Dawn of the Dead.

Commentary: The Unfriendly (To Some) Skies

In the wake of renowned film director and movie star Kevin Smith being ejected from his seat on a Southwest Airlines flight out of from Oakland, California due to "safety" issues, i.e. his weight, this shows that something is terribly amiss in the airlines today. With the airlines packing people like sardines in seats that would make an anorexic supermodel uncomfortable, the plus-sized American, and let's be honest, the country is overweight in all, airlines have fallen behind the times, but the people paying the price are the consumers who need to fly to reach their destinations.

With the policy that is currently in place on most, if not all, airlines, has the larger American paying the price in embarrassment, humiliation, and cold, hard cash. When an extremely popular persona like Kevin Smith, who was able to put his seat belt on without an extender and had both armrests down, is removed in one of the most humiliated ways from a plane in the manner he was, this shows how the airlines view people who don't fit in their ideal of who they want to fly. Apparently this is not about customer service anymore. This is about how the large people are viewed by people who have a position of power over them.

The same thing happened to yours truly a few years back, but this time it was on Delta. I was seated in my seat, which was in the aisle seat of the middle section (a 3-3-3 plane setup), belt on and arms down. A young man, who was a member of some traveling high school sports team sat in the middle seat, waited five minutes, then stood up and walked away. Moments later, a attendant came over and told me that the man next to me complained and they wished me to leave the plane. I sat there, stupified, the man sat down, he was fine, and it was not like I was flowing in his seat. The woman who was sitting on the other side of him complained, saying that he sat in there perfectly fine, but to no avail. I was told to get my bag, which was a few aisles away, and leave the plane. I stood up, my face flaming cause I was embarrassed to the nth degree. I left the plane and they rebooked me on another flight, but I was seriously livid with the airline. I sent them an e-mail because they would not talk to me in person, nor over the phone, and received a response saying that "sorry it happened, but it was policy" and the rest was more of a giant middle finger to me, treating me less like a paying customer and a human, and more like someone who deserved no type of respectful treatment.

The way the airlines treat people is horrendous and I hope that no one has to deal with what Kevin Smith, myself, and more than likely hundreds of other overweight people have dealt with from airlines who have a policy which, in this country, is obsolete. The sardine cans with wings need to be adjusted for the trending weight of the nation. I am not saying that being overweight is a good thing, but it is something that needs to treated with respect and dignity to the person. Not everyone is going to be a model, nor a prototypical tv show character. People come in all different shapes and sizes, each one needs to be treated with the same amount of respect. Personally? I currently fly Airtran business class. I have never flown Delta since their treatment of me, and I have added Southwestern to my list of airlines who span the unfriendly skies.

Poetry: Time Goes On

Once more the calendar flips,
days pass into oblivion.
Shared moments gone forever,
once more the calendar flips.

The grains of time strike loud,
echoing in the empty vaults of eternity.
No moment can ever be relived,
the grains of time strike loud.

Love today will not be tomorrows,
ever changing and ever evolving.
We can only hope to keep our hearts resolved,
love today will not be tomorrows.

Once more the calendar flips,
another year to right the wrongs.
I pray I can do better than he ever did,
once more the calendar flips.

Poetry: Faults

I wish I could kiss away the scars,
gentle lips like a healing salve.

I wish I could hold away the nightmares,
comforting arms around you until daybreak.

I wish I could caress away the tears,
rough hands wiping away those streams from alabaster skin.

I have my faults and they can annoy,
distract, upset, and infuriate.
Through all my faults I hope I can be enough,
to crack a beam of sunlight through the darkness.

Poetry: Worry

Worry can gnaw, gnashing teeth that bite in,
chewing a person from the inside out,
no matter what the real reasons are,
worry can devour the sinful and the devout.

Did one say the wrong thing, wrong time and wrong place,
causing a rift where once there was none,
or did one conjure up problems in ones own mind,
mixing worry and doubt in thoughts own cauldron?

Worry can carry one to places they never wished to be,
tossing and turning day and night, forcing one to think,
to another or the same, either possibility can occur,
but either choice can make ones heart sink.

Can it be that one can, in the silence of ones mind,
fix a rift that does not truly exist,
bringing one and their other together again,
one believes so and, despite it all, will persist.

Poetry: Silence the Doubts

They say we are foolish,
that it will never last,
we will give into our insecurities,
and become a thing of the past.

Proving them wrong wont be easy,
proving us right equally as hard.
We are up to the challenge though,
and will show them our resolve.

With care our love will flourish,
with time it will grow.
With us together anything is possible,
with love our critics will silence.

Writing: Moment In Time - Chance Encounters of the Caffeinated Kind

He was confused by her reaction to a simple question. In his mind, coffee was nothing more than coffee, but the way she responded made it seem like he asked her to go to his car for some afternoon delight. Her eyes, bright brown gems encased in a pillowy white, were wide and shocked, and he knew that would be the last time he saw them. He watched her walk away in the huffy air of disgust, confused and a little hurt. Turning back to the cafe, he walked inside under the scrutiny of wondering eyes and snickering jeers. Rushing to the line, he tried to bury himself in his jacket, tucking his head down as if he was a turtle ducking into its shell. He was never very lucky with women, always saying the wrong things at the wrong times, plans made going awry, either too forward or not enough. He cursed himself, knowing that this time he wasn't going to do anything but chat over two cups of coffee. He reached the front of the line, eyes still following him, eyes that watched the exchange from a distance and talked in unsubtle half-whispers behind veiled faces.

He wasn't sure how long he stood at the front of the line while those once humorous faces turned angry at being denied their addictions. He smiled in spite of himself, until the barista asked him what he wanted. He looked up and softly asked for a grande coffee with hazelnut, his eyes speaking louder than his words did. He had been served by her for almost four months straight and never noticed anything besides her apron and her branded visor, but today he noticed her name, the light reflecting off her eyes, the gentle smile on her lips, almost as if she knew what happened and found it cute in a way. He smiled as he waited, trying to make small talk, but the only conversation going on what the one in his head. He had no idea who this woman was, he only knew her name and that she made a wonderful cup of coffee. What was she interested in? What was her view on politics? The world? Everything? She handed him his drink and he handed her a crumpled five dollar bill and waked away. He was more upset now then he was before. He wanted to know about her. She woke a feeling in him that made him have to know more about her, but he couldn't place why. He took a seat by the window and pulled his notebook from his bag, pen from his pocket, and began to free-write. He had no idea how long her was there, the world looked as if it was moving in warp speed around him. Everything was moving fast, but her. She was the normal speed anchor amidst the trails of movement around them.

He felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder and his pen slid across the paper, marring his words with a quick dagger stroke. He looked up and fell into her smile, causing a smile to break out on his own face. She asked him if he was done with his drink so she could clean off the table. He shook his head no and thanked her, watching her smile and turn to walk away. Her name, say her name, he silently yelled to himself.
"Tara?"
She turned around quickly, giving him flashbacks as he cold almost see the movement lines whirl around her in a blazing robe of color. Her eyes were expectant, prompting him to ask her if she would like to join him. Her smile reached her eyes as she said she couldn't because she was working right now. His smile slowly slide from his face as he fumbled with the words to makes him seem less awkward. He wasn't sure exactly what he said, but she smiled again and turned to walk away. His eyes dropped like iron bars to the paper before him, looking at the words crawling across the page. He heard nothing for a moment, until he heard a light step next to his table and that gentle hand lay across his shoulder once again.
"I get off in thirty minutes, though, maybe you would like to go grab a cup of coffee or something?"
"That would be wonderful"
Their smiles connected as she turned to walk back to the counter. He shook his head like a dog coming out of the water. Things like this don't happen to him, he thought. He smiled and turned his eyes back to the paper in front of him, thinking that this story needs an ending. He pursed his lips and thought about it, but decided to end it the way he does many of his stories, with more to be told some other time. . .