The Queen – Chapter 8 – Rising stakes for the Queen

We made our way past improvised camps of itinerant castaways, their barrels burning, a social network of the basest sort. My queen looked out-of-place, as one with money and wherewithal always appears when in the company of poorer souls. Those souls who, though lacking money, had knowledge, knowledge of the street, a resource we needed, and motivated our journey through their living rooms. No one likes a stranger this deep in the underworld of the city. The looks I garnered, rivaled that of my queen, they scarcely giving her a glance that they might see through my disguise, which, was not a facade by any means, I was truly as I appeared, a naive man accompanying royalty through dire straights. 

My queen had thrown her coat over the backpack. Her runway strut moved the conspicuous lock to break free of its camouflage and catch the sun, gleaming, drawing attention. A few started to come toward us, as they walked closer, they seemed to have second thoughts, my queen staring at them with her sensuous eyes, eyes now used to convey a very different type of message. Amazing how she can maneuver and manipulate circumstances with just a look. I thought of my weakness to her gaze, how she melted my resolve and conformed me to her will. Breathing deep, I focused on the issues threatening our incursion. 

Like an inner city subdivision, all the houses looked the same, only the color of the boxes and blankets, or the store brand of shopping carts parked outside, marked the differences. After passing a few of the camps, we came across one, that by outward appearances, was another of the same. The homeowner, a frail ancient man huddled under layers of coats, all worn well past usefulness to the ordinary wearer, looked up at us, and not standing, seemed to say all he needed by reaching out his hand. My queen passed him the backpack, which he confidently took and began to decipher the lock. Cussing under his breath when his first attempt failed, he tried again and had success, allowing me to breath easier, nothing was what appeared in this world. 

In an unexpected gesture of trust, evidently gained by my advancement through the ranks to his residence and my queens unflinching manner, he threw the blankets off a sturdier looking cardboard shelf, decorated with graffiti and empty cigarette boxes. The revealing, showing a clean and organized assortment of guns, maybe a couple dozen or so arranged in an order unfamiliar to me. Pistols, small ones that could fit in your palm, larger revolvers, chromed with scopes, lining case. His hand flowed over the choices, like a diviner finding water, finally settling on a flat black pistol. Handing it to my queen, she in turn, handing it to me. She leaned close and with whisper that caused my hair to stand at attention, asked if I knew how to use it. Of course I did, destiny prepared me for this reason, that I might leave my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.


Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10, Part 11 

 Also published in Broowaha

The Queen – Chapter 7 – A Risk for the Queen

Quickly we walked through the busy street. Transients stopped their mumbling and searching to see the passing of my queen, looking at her with what seemed like familiarity. I love the attention she brings, it makes me feel, important, necessary. Pressing our way through an ornate doorway, I found us in the company of a hardened contemptuous fellow, on his neck, a bold tattoo advertising his disdain for the law. He was tall, hair black and slick, a malevolent stare carved into his face that spoke things words could never say. I thought of the fight the night before, hoping I could avoid another confrontation. He grabbed her, roughly pressing an envelope into her shaking hand, then a locked backpack. She struggled with the weight initially, but with a pained look she flicked back her long hair to make a spot and threw it over her porcelain shoulder, not a word being exchanged in this well practiced role. We turned and immediately walked back out to the street. Stopping her around the next corner to ask my questions, the crowd murmuring at our midstream rendezvous, she patiently held her hand to my mouth again, no words should be spoken. Her soft fingers touching me gave me a rush, flooding me instantly with memories of passion past. Her eyes let me know, she knew what to do, I was merely a guest on this mysterious ride, my purpose being accomplished by my presence, not my words. Sensing my objection, my queen pulled me into an alley. Pushing me against the wall, her hands caressed me, demanding my full attention, dulling my reason. I sighed, with my body a willing ally for her, I fell quickly to her reasoning. After all, this is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen, 
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  

Picture Credit: images.wikia.com
                      

The Queen – Chapter 6 – Journey for the Queen


I woke from my sated slumber, a smile on my face. Turning to my queen, I see the same smile reflected in her eyes, barely open from her repose. As I looked at her, my mind replayed images of the night before, the sounds, amazing sights, and most of all, a feeling of being, different. Her words controlled many, soft yet powerful whips that always brought about her will, even when you thought it was your own. Now, it was more than her words. Her body brought a whole new element to my journey, creating a hunger, a thirst, both working together, driving me to feel her touch. Shaking myself from my dream within a dream, I stumbled up from our cramped niche in the room. The colors seemed dark in the light of day, muted through barred windows, way up high on the wall. Pulling her dress on as she stood up, she tossed her hair, even with no make up, she was captivating, skin smooth, like a sculpture. We walked through the halls of this inner city labyrinth, pushing out into the day onto a busy street, arrested by the smell of street vendors, plying their wares, using the aroma of their treats to lure their patrons. Landing them, landing us, with little effort, as our appetites pushed us to take our money, hard earned money, to provide for our satisfaction. As I watched this exchange, I began to see, my Queen was the same. Her aroma of sensuality worked its way through the crowd, men turning, drawn to her. Women even, seemingly full and content with their own palaces, were left panting after her bait. They, like me, are compelled to give out of their earnings, out of the riches of their heart, to give her things you would never offer to a stranger, all in an attempt to satisfy the desires ignited by their own lusts. I find myself doing the same, but, I am different to her, or am I? This is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might touch her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also Published in: Broowaha

Picture Credit: desktopwallpaperhd.com

The Queen – Chapter 6 – Journey for the Queen


I woke from my sated slumber, a smile on my face. Turning to my queen, I see the same smile reflected in her eyes, barely open from her repose. As I looked at her, my mind replayed images of the night before, the sounds, amazing sights, and most of all, a feeling of being, different. Her words controlled many, soft yet powerful whips that always brought about her will, even when you thought it was your own. Now, it was more than her words. Her body brought a whole new element to my journey, creating a hunger, a thirst, both working together, driving me to feel her touch. Shaking myself from my dream within a dream, I stumbled up from our cramped niche in the room. The colors seemed dark in the light of day, muted through barred windows, way up high on the wall. Pulling her dress on as she stood up, she tossed her hair, even with no make up, she was captivating, skin smooth, like a sculpture. We walked through the halls of this inner city labyrinth, pushing out into the day onto a busy street, arrested by the smell of street vendors, plying their wares, using the aroma of their treats to lure their patrons. Landing them, landing us, with little effort, as our appetites pushed us to take our money, hard earned money, to provide for our satisfaction. As I watched this exchange, I began to see, my Queen was the same. Her aroma of sensuality worked its way through the crowd, men turning, drawn to her. Women even, seemingly full and content with their own palaces, were left panting after her bait. They, like me, are compelled to give out of their earnings, out of the riches of their heart, to give her things you would never offer to a stranger, all in an attempt to satisfy the desires ignited by their own lusts. I find myself doing the same, but, I am different to her, or am I? This is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might touch her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also Published in: Broowaha

Picture Credit: desktopwallpaperhd.com

The Queen – Chapter 2 – The subjects of the Queen

The late afternoon turned to the late night, evidenced by the visible change in both volume and appearance of my queens subjects. The large middle aged blue collar slave, began to morph into, a slicker, more refined slave, those whose love for my queen, gave birth to other interests, like little meetings in the restroom, hushed conversation with obvious handshakes concluding their business. The toll my queen takes on her subjects spurred them on to more devious measures of support for her, their habit. I reached for what I thought was my last 10, and with disgruntled acknowledgment, got a small wad of pocket lint in return. My evening was over, time to make room for the others. I swayed a little when I got up, the servants of my queen were generous in their distribution of libations, knowing that it eased the passage of my money, her money, onto her throne. My breath, in a misty complaint of the cold air, clouded my sight as I walked out into the dull colors of the night. I breathed in deep, sorrow at having to leave my queen. Lowering my eyes, focusing on the crumpled paper blowing aimlessly at my feet, I followed it’s haphazard path down the street away from the throne. I felt the slight tap at my shoulder, it jolted me from my miserable summation, and turning, I see, my queen. Or was it? She had removed her royal garb, her hair a different color, (the wig hanging with her ornaments in the changing room). Her eyes softer, dare I say, innocent, without the heavy colors, the extended lashes, that brought out their seductive gaze from the dark. Speaking a whisper in my ear, I knew, it was her, my queen, her voice had confirmed her bond. She still had control, even in this visage. I knew, in a few soft words, my role of servant, now went to protector…amazing how she can put me in positions that I never thought I could fill. I, the newly knighted slave, threw my coat around her. Come my queen, I’ll protect you, youll be safe with me. This is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might protect her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen, 
Also Published in: Broowaha
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Again – A journey of addiction

“I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end. (Jo March)” 
gstatic

Morning sun lighting the pain of hopelessness, I got messed up – again.


Ashamed to lift my eyes, chemicals course through my mind

Taking me places NO ONE should ever go – again.

Mind scrambles now, panic mode. What do I say to those who are waiting for me – again?

How can I pick up the pieces? What excuse is good enough for my failure?

Stomach hurting from the stress of seeing her cry.

From hearing the phone that rang countless times –

people who love me looking for me – again.

Gotta get some sleep now, rest and think how I can get out of this mess.

Tomorrow, I’ll make it all better. I’ll work harder, I’ll buy gifts, I’ll really pour on the charm, again

Tomorrow I’ll quit, tomorrow I’ll be fine. I’ll never do this.. Again. Again. Again. 
 Again……..
 

Remember – Reaching out to the incarcerated

“The greater ignorance towards a country is not ignoring what its politicians have to say, it is ignoring what the inmates in its prisons have to say.” – Criss Jami

During the last couple of years I’ve been exposed to a whole sub culture of people who are presently incarcerated or have recently been incarcerated. A large percentage of these people are caught in a tangled web of addiction and recidivism. Its heartbreaking to hear the lonely voices, the cries of the broken people wanting their loved ones to understand and give them one more chance. I’ve seen them stranded in the prison, crying out for anyone to know they still exist. Don’t get me wrong, I know most of them deserve what they got. Nearly all of them made choices that directly relate to their present condition. Still, do we remember these people? Personally I’ve given huge amounts of time, money, and energy to assist those “locked down”. My heart hurts for them, I cannot help most of them, they are beyond the help of an individual, they need to determine to help themselves. But, how many of us should be there? Could be there? “There but for the Grace of God go I”, is the old saying. How can we understand, help, but still let our love be “tough love” and let them experience the repercussions of their actions? Take a minute today to remember those struggling with addictions, those dual diagnosed with both addictions and mental problems. Write to someone you know, volunteer to write someone you don’t know, or just simply pray for those in “the Big House”. The disciples asked Jesus, when did we see you in prison? He responded, “as you have done to the least of these you have done it to me.”

Also published in: Life As A Human Magazine
Also published in: Broowaha