Poetic Thursday!

Awkward awakening

Sitting alone in a forgettable restaurant, just around back was illuminating lights cascading on ill prepared food by unclean hands. The brawny chef gazing through a small window governing our paths as he watches with building anger in his eyes waiting to blow the invisible line I shouldn’t cross. What further nuisance are his children parading around as if nothing has happened?

A dare, a sentence to death or a meager unawares, they continue to show off their smiles. Familiar faces enter and exits, desire for smokes follow. A trembling cold pitcher grazes my left arm as water flows into my cup. Something is floating, but I cannot tell. A horrible atmosphere lingered over my brow as I contained its move in confused display. What all is left of the ill prepared food, is the whole toppings of unclean preparedness.

Why is he watching me…watching me with those sad eyes, those angry eyes, demon eyes?

I reach for my folk to pay homage to his creation, but recoil as it wasn’t the right thing to do.

I asked to myself again. “What shall I do?” An old man, beggar man walked in with a limp and sat across from me in the booth. He watched me too. Not with demon eyes, no, with purpose eyes. What to describe it as… it was more than insanity I tell you. He perched his lips and slithered his tongue. He was hungry. Offer him the plate, but it too wasn’t the right thing to do. What is it you want from me?

He peered and shuddered at my indecisiveness. He picked up his limped hand with the other, pulled the laid fork and plate from in front of me as he eyed me candidly. He dares me to resist. No old man. I will not resist.

“You false prophet” he mumbles. I asked to be excused. He lit his weary face to anger.

“You false prophet” he repeated. Only it was ingrown and tedious. I awoke to new found interest.

“I deny that false accusation, as I am no prophet at all good sir.” I raveled.
“You lie to your shadows, you wake to the moon, and never will you have a dose of happiness.”

I beg his pardon again. What a terse intrusion on my already bad morning. To get to the train station, I would walk 10 blocks in the snow. Dreary rain in the south has no candle stick that burns hotter than a snow walk.

“False prophets don’t eat here. You will suffer immensely if you eat here.” He said with a mouth full.

“Sir, please believe me, your words will not sting. My heart only suffers of your look. A book once explained to me that a false prophet will rot, become eternal in damned.”

“Cleanliness of the openness of everything around you.”

“No sir…” I interrupted… “I’ll never compromise for my own advancement. I speak these words with truth and meaning.”

“Liar.”

“No sir!” I demanded.

The young girl is the daughter of the watchful eye behind the counter of the kitchen. He stares. I reach out my hand to touch the young girl’s hand and she vows to keep my hand above hers. No compromise. A heartfelt and truth be told. My words come from randomness of a shadow that proceeds ahead. No doubt and subtle anguish.

“No heart is as pure as gold. Gold is hard, your heart is hard. Cut this silver folk with your heart of diamonds. Pure gold does not exist. You do not exist.” No crumbs are spared.

“Dear, fair and conquered man. I mark your words, but I play dead in your presence. Not one single sentence connected to my brain.”

As more patrons entered into the small diner. They all stare; they stare at me, at us, at my hand over the small girl’s hand. We dance in one accord, but they believe me not. They think of me as his liar, his sheep of more growth in its tree.

“Never confuse this good meal ma’am. I was just hungry.”

He pushed the empty plate on the floor. The little girl’s hand never flinched. Pieces of broken plate cut her ankle. No pain. No suffering. No warrant on such a precious life. She held tight. Where were we going? She held tight. She was frightened. The man behind the counter moved to the left. His eye stayed straight. A second incarnation opened the kitchen door.

There was no room to escape. Now, I felt a shuddered. She was frightened, so frightened.

The beggar man stood up limping worst than before. The consumption of ill prepared food tucked into his source. Less than three steps as the food consumed him whole. No longer a man! A dog, wagging his tail, ears perked.

The little girl slid her hand from under mine, no longer a girl, but a woman. My eyes, my ears, my heart and flesh deceived me. My help is not needed.  Her fear was mine, and mine alone. She turned on her heel and stood with the watching man behind the counter. What great awkwardness is this? Tap, tap, tap goes my empty hand on the table. My glass half full. I took a quick sip. The water splatters my chest. What foul mess is this?

The front door blasts open with quickness, an explosive entrance by a woman, an older woman, skin smooth, and hair as black silk. She nodded to the woman and watching men, then turned to me. She glided to my table and sat where the beggar man sat. I had no food to offer. But I had my condolences if she tried the food that consumes you and turn you into a dog. This, this she does not need to know. Curious, I asked who she may be. She said…

“I am your thoughts.”

 

Signed

Kira George

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Saturday Morning Cafe

“Taylor” she yelled.

“Thanks Clara.”

“Double Fudge coco with whipped cream, I know that cup of delight anywhere.” She giggled from behind the counter.

“I hadn’t seen you for a while. Have classes started again?”

“Yep! It’s been pretty hectic with my new schedule and all.” She smiled to herself and continued “Add a boyfriend to the mix.”

“Aw, I’m glad to hear it.” I met Clara a few years ago on a day like today, a cold and gloomy Saturday. Her hair was frizzed, her nose red and eyes puffy. She’d just broken up with a boyfriend of over a year. It was the longest “ever” for her. She is a sweet kid, and I know she could do better. She pulled herself off the concrete and started taking classes again. She wants to be a fashion designer. Not the sort to design for the run ways, but a sensible designer. Clara grew up in a big family on the west coast and travelled east to attend a top designer school. She was accepted because of her exceptional taste and fashion sense. She would often give me tips with my wardrobe.

“Yeah, it’s been two month, but we are taking things slow.” she brushed a stray hair from her face and smiled big again.

“Is there something else? I know that look.” I said.

“No, no… I’ll tell you later.” She looked down embarrassed.

“Ok, I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ll see you later.” The café was busy, but tables were left open. I found one in the center of it all, empty. I pulled my laptop out to begin work.

“Hey… Taylor.” I heard someone say. I looked around and found no one I knew.

“Taylor, over here…” he said again. A back table in the corner near the window sat a young man with fiery red hair and green eyes. God, what is his name? He gestured for me to join him. Reluctantly I gathered my things and made my way to the table.

“Fancy seeing you here again.” He said smiling.

“Fancy.”

“Were you working on something?”

“I was just catching up on some work.” I said as I opened up the laptop again.

“Ah, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s nothing major really.”

“May I ask what you are working on?” he took a sip of whatever he was drinking and waited for my response.

“Um… it’s a script for a webtoon.” Not sure how to explain it.

“Webtoon, are you a cartoonist?” he smiled slowly.

“Not exactly, I write the script and an illustrator does the drawing. The best I can do are stick figures. It would hardly amuse a serious comic reader.” I grabbed my cup of coco and took a sip. It was still too hot; it burned my lip and tongue. To avoid any sympathy, I tried to cover up that fact, but my body deceived me.

“Are you alright? It must have been too hot. Here…” he gently handed me a napkin. He waited a moment before speaking again. “Do you only write comic scripts?”

“No, I write a lot of different things. This webtoon is something of a hobby really.”

“Hobby?” he ran his hands through his hair and sat back in his chair. I suddenly felt like a patient in a therapy session. Why is he asking so many questions?

“Before you answer that…” he started “answer this. What is a webtoon? Is that another term for comics now?” his eyebrows came together. He was genuinely interested.

“It is the same, yet different. It is a comic, yes, but the format is different. For instance, a web comic has been around for years, even decades. The format of web comics is that, to get to the next scene you have to “flip” the page, or click to the next page. Webtoons, on the other hand, are continuous. Meaning, the entire chapter is ran none stop, as a long strip until the chapter is completed. Just as you would read a blog.” I paused.

“Hmm… I am not familiar with that type of format.”

“Yeah, it was created in Korea actually. It’s been that way for a long time. I was hoping for this type of format to be adapted in the States soon, but there is still a long way to go.”

“How did you come to know of it?” he leaned forward.

“I enjoy many different Asian entertainment such as anime, dramas, movies, and comics.” I fell silent. This guy is getting too much information from me.

“Foreign movies have certain…” he twirled his hand in the air searching “aura, about It.” he looked down at his tapping finger on his cup.

“Another question?”

“Hmm… ah… it would seem Ms Taylor that I am annoying you with my questions.” He chuckled.

“Ah…” I waved my hands in the air “no, it’s not a problem. Just as you said last week about something that usually doesn’t happen. It’s that I am not used to anyone showing this much interest.”

“Erik.” He said suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“My name.” he ran his hands through his hair again.

“Ah, yes.” He must have noticed that I’d forgotten his name.

“I wanted to get the awkwardness out of the way. I figured you’d forgotten my name.” he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Was he irritated? The coco was not as hot this time as I took a sip. I was not ready to drink it yet, but anything to occupy another battle of discomfort. Erik looked out the window, his expression changed. If at this moment I had to judge what I saw, it would be a lost child, running in the field of daisies. With no care in the world and especially being lost. He grabbed a small string of his hair and begins twirling it idly. I started typing on my computer not sure if I could offer anything else to a conversation that ended abruptly.

Erik’s phone buzzed. He reached for it and stood up.

“Ah, I got to get going.” He packed his things quickly and rushed out of the café.

Again left in a whirlwind of the unknown, I continued my Saturday wondering what the hell happened. The entire week went by decent enough, was not as cold though. The days went out as I grew more excited about the next Saturday Morning as the café.

 

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Junk Food Friday

Come and be a part of a Novella work in progress. Each week, we will post a chapter from the book. Previous chapters will not be re-posted after the original post date. This is an exciting way to “look” behind the scenes before publish date.

I hope you will enjoy.

Episode 4 is now posted…

You can find it under Kira George “junk food friday”

 

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Poetic Thursday…

I’m haunted by the thoughts and dreams of others fringing on my already dark place.

True love is in the wasteland, unrequited love is in the rain. Unconditional love, yes, unconditional love is for fools. Obsession is for the dogs I grew up with. I take responsibility because I am a fool.

It’s doesn’t always rain. When it does, it won’t last.

 

Signed

Kira George

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Free Me Wednesday

It has occured to me that I have not been keeping up with my blog.

I guess I am to post all the exciting things I have going on right? It is a “free me” type blog where I just rant and vent and whatever else there is to do.

So, what is going on? Not much.

What else is going on? To much to talk about…

How about now? Yep, still the same ol’ same ol’

ah… I think my blog has been updated…  until then…

 

signed

Kira George

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