Mother's Revenge

Oh Mother Nature

How right you are.

Even if, 

It's a little too far.

Humans kill humans

Just like before,

However this time is different,

As you've started a war.

Now the dead fight back, 

With the munchies for flesh.

Humans kill humans still,

Half are just not as fresh.

Ghosts

Sway, sway, sway away.

Arms waved in the air, elbows jutted out, palms outstretched.

Passion cackled like the witch of the west.

Lips smacked, collapsed and engulfed.

Bodies swayed, swayed and swayed…

“Courtney!”

I sway. I hear my name as my ear drums split. Sweat dribbles down my back, my hair stiffly attached to it.

“Courtney!”

It could only be magic that vibrated through my body, numbing my nerve endings, sizzling through my veins and erupted from my finger tips. Ghosts in every colour carried my gaze.

Swaying.

“Courtney?”

Every body swaying.

Our lips met, dull compared to the magic in my veins, a slimy tongue forced into my mouth. I sway. Magic leaks through my pores, absorbed into theirs.

Aggressively pushing each muscle, flexing and curling and trading the remnants of liquid gold.

“Courtney.”

Swaying.

The magic froze over, only white and yellow ghosts appeared, I shivered.

My ear drums ringing, the air motionless. Quiet, crisp and eerie.

My arms stopped swaying, it slithered to my stomach. Swirling, turning and swaying away.

Sway, sway, sway away.

My elbow popped against something hard, my skin scratched against something else.

My fingers stroked leather.

Oak freshness hinted this air as it fought to defeat the stench of beer.

“Shhhh.”

The magic, the electric and the blood in my veins stop in time.

Hands gripped my stomach, clawing up my torso. Stubble tickled my breasts.

 Colder.

“Courtney!”

He swayed.

As I was paralyzed.

Hands, an abundance, from ghosts cloaked in blue and white swayed me away while echoing my name. 

September 25, 1901

Alice blinked a few times, looked at the creeping light along the floor of their bedroom, highlighting the dust notes in the air. It was time to get up, after all she had to remind Dorothy that Roy would prefer scrambled eggs, not poached.  

She brushes down her gown before opening the heavy curtains in aid to wake up her husband. Roy made an unusual sound, as if struggling to breathe, before going back to normal.

She took a moment. A moment to wonder where time went. He was getting older, after 8 years of marriage, his hair was stark grey compared to Alice's perfect head of brunette hair. It helps that she was 21 when they married; Roy was  36. They were completely in love- at the time. His lanky figure grew rounder- a protruding belly and fat rolls on his neck stole his once handsome face.

Dorothy fret over her apron and hair, making sure every strand was in its place. “Morning Mrs Lawrence, I’ve just finished cleaning the kitchen in preparation.”  

Alice smiled before taking a seat and flicking through the newspaper, “Thank you Dorothy,” she breathed.  

Roy thumped down the stairs, his feet heavy. He clumsily buttoned the first few bottom buttons before taking a break and sitting down ready for his scrambled eggs. “Did you tell her I wanted scrambled?”

Alice sipped her tea, “Yes, dear.”  It tasted odd this morning.

“Good,” he huffed before sipping his own tea and wishing he was allowed more sugar.  

Alice glanced over at him, pausing for a moment. “Dear?”  

 “What is it?” He grunted.

She tilted her head up to be on equal eye level, “You know, there’s a new café that opened in town. The Turkey Café, shall we go?” She breathed again.  

Roy took a sip of tea, a dribble escaped down into his stubble- he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong with our usual?” Usual was safe. He was used to it, familiar, he knew people there.  

Alice sat up straight, already accepting the answer was a firm 'no' but put on a smile anyway. “It’s nice to try new things once in a while, dear.”  

She didn't enjoy her breakfast. Dorothy was usually a heavenly cook.

But the eggs were too salty and the bacon too fatty.

June 11th 1902

 Anna screeched. A deafening cry that made the glass windows hold tight to their frames.

'Come with me. Alice, come with me.'

Alice held little Anna in her arms, hugging her tight and rocked her back and forth. "Shhhh... it's okay Anna. I'm here."

'Bring Anna, we can be a family.'

Alice marched around the room, the room Roy put so much effort in to. "We're going to be parents!" He exclaimed when Alice told him. He was so happy.

'I love you, Alice. Be with me.'

Anna had perfect skin. Alice's eyes but Roy's button nose. She had a tight grip and would often pull on Alice's long hair- Alice didn't mind though, Anna being happy was more important.

'It'll be difficult, but we'll work things out. We're meant to be together, Alice.'

Anna stopped crying. She looked up at her Mother and smiled, an open-mouth grin and stroked Alice's cheek.

"I love you, Anna," Alice whispered. Tears racing down her own cheeks.

'Lets run away together.' 

October 19, 1901

Elizabeth wore a pale cotton blouse that highlighted her voluptuous breasts. A tight gored skirt that hugged her modest curves.

She wore a smile that sparked a thousand fireflies to blind my thoughts, and eyes that drew them back together.

And a voice so graceful even Magpies listen in awe. 

I am water

I am dismal, tainted, and mistreated.  

I am blocked, forced, and trapped.

I am poisoned, dull, and weary.

This is what you’ve made me.

But I am still alive. You can make me suffer, torture me and ruin me. But I will live forever. Even if in some places I vanish or perhaps freeze entirely, I will always be somewhere. You cannot kill me. My origin is a force to be reckoned with, bigger than you’ll ever be and more vast than the extent of your imagination.

I’m a home for some, a source of peace for others. A great way to enjoy a hobby and a place to turn to when you need to cool off. To watch me is comforting, ask anyone, for no one has not witnessed my immaculate beauty. Even though I am different everywhere, treated in a number of ways, I am the same.   

I flow through the structures of your homes, wrestled to submission by your hands, condemned for as long as you stand. To escape, to be free, be what I was once before, is what I dream to be.

To be clean, transparent and brimming with life.

To be respected, pure and cared for.

To be beautiful, refreshed and loved.

Is what I dream to be.

I could be all those things if you take care of me. It’s not too late. Change for me, give me some tender love and care, and appreciate my abilities. I have witnessed amazing, devastating, life-altering events, and the growth of your society in my long existence.

One day you’ll die, as most have done before you, so why wait for your children to realise how much you need me? Start now so the future is brighter, so you can be remembered as my friend, so you can live on through me.

For I am the water that flows through your rivers, feeding your lakes, ponds, and canals. So listen closely to what I’m trying to say, open your eyes and see my essence, feel my calming touch and remember that without me, you are nothing.

I will be glorious, shimmering and divine.

I will be transcendent, bewitching and majestic.

I will be striking, enthralling and breath-taking.

My power will know no bounds.

Ocean

A home to the most magnificent creatures on this planet called Earth, and like many of mankind's pointless in denial self-destruction, we are murdering it.
These creatures. The ones we fish to feed, hunt to kill, farm to collect 'medicine', abduct for entertainment, capture to experiment, whilst contaminating their habitats for our own greed.
I have never been so glad that we have never reached the bottom of the ocean. I fear, on the day that we do, our curiosity will kill us and satisfaction will most definitely- not bring us back.
In those pits that the sun cannot reach, is mankind's master, our destroyer, the oceans justifiable vengeance.
Fish are not just food, sharks are not demons, killer whales are not show toys and their reefs are not replaceable. These creatures will dance for you if you let them, if you leave them in their homes.
The definition of serene beauty is things we cannot control.