6/3/19 3:41 AM Healy,Alaska

Sunrise in the land of the midnight sun

At not quite four AM on a quiet June morn-

The syrup sky cracked, and blood ran out
There was no one, not even a moose about
There’ll be no rest for the sun today
The long summer solstice is still on it’s way

When I read Misky’s Twiglet #153 for the week, ‘syrup sky’ I was instantly transported to the silent dawns in Healy. The sleepy sun just barely cresting the horizon after a hard days work. Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘crack of dawn’.

And conveniently, ‘crack’ was the Quadrille #92 poeming word of the day on deVerse

my god

as they lay there in
the blue white glow
of the back and white tv
she brushed his hair
back off his face
and listened to him breath
he was at peace now
her sleeping angel
no more anger
no more rage
her heart whispered-
‘my god, i love you’
her face buried
in his so soft mane
as tears escaped in silence
from her blue black
swollen eyes
and trickled ever
slowly past
that which makeup
would not hide
she stroked his chest
and longed to reach
inside, and somehow mend
the scar tissue
that was once his heart-
long ago
and way back when….

When skin or organs are damaged, the body naturally wants to heal itself. Since the body cannot re-create healthy skin or tissue, it puts together new fibers that are not as functional as the original tissue, but that serve as a protective, useful barrier. When this barrier is completely healed, it is known as scar tissue.


Nikki and Tommy, the self proclaimed Drug Scouts of America, made quite a handsome living ambassadoring gratuitous sex and violence under the guise of Glam Metal Gods in every country around the globe that would grant them a visa. Although it nearly killed Nikki twice, they both lived to tell.

Although never what you might call a loyal fan of their music, thinking it too ‘pop’ to qualify as real Heavy Metal, I will admit to being a strict adherent to the life style they promoted. Sex and Drugs and Rock n Roll. Sleazy. Slutty. Overmade-up. Underdressed. Youth Gone Wild.

Recently, they released a movie based on the best selling book, The Dirt. A supposedly accurate, tell all accounting of their lives on the road, showcasing their antics as nearly as their once drug addled minds could recall them. Love it or hate it, the world showed up to watch.

While the masses were watching Nikki and Tommy misbehave- I was watching the girls. And there it was. The truth about the part girls like me played in the drug induced carnal carnage that was the eighties music scene. We were props. Pretty props albeit, but props just the same.

So now not only do I have a plethora of memories that are in no way suitable to share at parties, but the knowledge that even if I were to write them down, the true heroes would always be the boys in the band. And me? A pretty, slutty afterthought.

This piece is written in 50 word increments. I am rather enjoying the confines of that style. The OLWG #28 supplied the three phrases that inspired the grim post-script. The three phrases were:

  1. Ambassadoring
  2. Gratuitous sex and violence
  3. and there it was


After the spectacle she had made of herself last Friday night, Elsa was determined never to drink again. At least, that is- not in public.

Good girls just don’t do drunken strip teases atop the bar- and if that had been the worst of it, she could have written it off as due evidence that she was just not a good girl. After all, she made no pretense of being a good girl. In fact the whole idea of being ‘good’, whatever that meant, had always repulsed her.

Stealthily, as if she was trying to hide it from herself, Elsa slipped the bottle into the crook of her arm and made a dash for the safety of her bedroom.

She was free, she was wild. She fit no cookie cutter category. She defied all garden variety. She was a girl of her own creation. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and with whom she wanted. She had just never found the need to trample on anyone else to do it. Not, that is, until- evidently last Friday night.

Pouring a healthy three fingers of her favorite elixir into the bottom of a glass, she felt her breath quicken with anticipation. She rolled the precious liquid seductively in the bottom of the glass. Heightening her desire. Prolonging the enticement.

If only she hadn’t kicked that drink off the bar. That was what sent the whole evening reeling out of control. If one stupid guy hadn’t refused to pick up one stupid drink, then she couldn’t have allowed it to piss her off like it did, and she wouldn’t have felt compelled to kick said drink off the bar. 

“It was a good solid kick though. Connected just right. Man! That thing took off like a pinball!” She laughed aloud, as she tipped a congratulatory toast to herself and knocked back that first ever so alluring shot.

Instantly, she was set adrift in a calm sea. Everything was moving in slow motion.

If she hadn’t done that, if she hadn’t kicked the glass off the bar and sent it hurling, no matter how masterfully, across the room, Rufus would never have ordered her off the bar, and therefore she would never have had to so vehemently refuse him. 

‘Exactly.’ She placated herself as she poured just a tad bit more into the tumbler. 

If she hadn’t so vehemently had to refuse, Rufus would never have grabbed her leg. In turn, if he hadn’t grabbed her leg, she would never have had to jump off the bar and bite him in the back, as he wouldn’t have turned his back on her- as there would have been no need to call the police.

“Humph.” She grumbled to herself as she looked disparagingly into the bottom of the empty glass. “That was a tease. If your going to have a drink, have a drink.”

If Rufus hadn’t called the police, Frank, one the regular bunch, would never have had to spirit her away before the cops showed up. And if he had never spirited her away in an effort to take her home, thus sparing her the indignity of going to jail, she would never have had the opportunity to kick belligerently at his steering wheel, proclaiming all the while she was going to wreck his truck. 

“Can’t imagine why I did that. I’ve always thought Frank a right guy. He had to have done something. Had to have. I just can’t remember what. Well, anyway, here’s to Frank!” 

Had she not been kicking at his steering wheel whilst attempting to wreck her wanna be savior’s truck- he would not have been swerving irrationally, and therefore would not have been pulled over nor would he be sitting in jail right now facing a charge of DUI.

Elsa’s demeanor dropped like a spent shell as she drained the first drops of eminent self loathing from the bottom of what now appeared to be a dirty glass .

Frank was a right guy. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. It had all been her fault. He was only trying to help. 

“What is wrong with me?”

As she continued to silently berate herself, not only for the events surrounding last Friday night, but for all the miserable nights she had inflicted upon herself and everyone who had the misfortune of being found in her company over the course of her entire ill fated life- Elsa attempted to flee the tumult that raged, if only inside her own head- by slipping onto an old familiar stool at Charlie’s.

“The regular?” 

“Yeah. And make it a double.”

Sometimes life will drag you where even fiction fears to tread. This flashback moment is brought to you courtesy of OLWG #6. The wildly inspirational phrases being:

  1. Everything was moving in slow motion
  2. adrift in a calm sea
  3. make it a double

Peaceful Anarchy

My Back. My Brand

Too many wars have been fought over who’s translation of which holy book makes them the chosen people.

I say, toss the books- live the similarities.

Don’t kill anyone.

Treat others as you want to be treated.

Be willing to accept the consequences of your own actions.

And above all, Cultivate common sense.

Don Miguel Ruiz made it even simpler when he penned the first of The Four Agreements, “Be impeccable with your word.”

Try that one on for size.

Imagine a world where everyone is so busy making sure they are living up to their own standards, they no longer have time to persecute those around them based on lifestyle.

My brand: Peaceful Anarchy.

Written for Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt, Translation, in 115 words.