Notebooks and Tinfoil

Burning and scathing anger boils and churns, yes. But it trembles and shakes, coiling around and around on itself like a snake or an eel.

The eel that ties itself in a knot, removing used and dirtied slime and renewing its protection.

But this is neither eel nor boiling.

Chemical Explosions

The Forth of July was always a bright thing, full of activity and family and fireworks. Where I live there are such sights in the sky that people wait all afternoon until darkness finally settles and the show begins.

Red and blue and green and gold and purple and white splash across the sky, firing away from a central point as if being hurled with all the force of a god. Screamers that rip into the sky and our ears like wounded animals and popping cracks that echo like a heavy drum beat across the sky.

Tilting your head back you can watch it all play out, on and on and on.

I did this Saturday, a niece resting against me, and all I could think was I want to go home and write.

I am consumed, like a fire burning me up from my feet to my chest to my head, like a starved man lapping up at the last slip of sugar on a wrapper, like I am water and writing is a dehydrated frog.

Nothing prevents the attacks of my muse, prodding and pestering whilst I do the most mundane things. Nothing protects me from the tearing of his fingers as I writhe under the burden of words and meanings and relationships that do not really exist. What can I do?

I must write. I will write.

Nothing matters except to write. Nothing at all.

DemonLocket

The city was enormous.
The sky scrapers rose as pillars to the atmosphere made of steel, stone and concrete. From the dark, asphalt streets below you could never see the soaring tops. They were clustered along the same few blocks, and each one that was built seemed to push higher into the sky, yet never able to puncture the bubble between clouds and land.
The entire city sprawled over what had been a long grassy plain decades ago. Now there was more in white and black than green or brown of plant life. There was more noise, a constant deafening echo that pushed its way so solidly through humanity it became ingrained in every mind there. It pushed so deep into the subconscious that often, there was panic when a part of the city became too still, too quiet. When something stopped, something was very wrong.
Perhaps that was why, when Anna stopped dead in her tracks, hand outreached to touch a lighted pole to help herself down from the curb to the street, people couldn't help but stare in at her in unease. On her arms she carried several shopping bags and in the cool autumn breeze, her brown coat flapped and her black skirt swirled around her legs. She wore bright red heels with a wide, three in tall heel and a glittering gold buckle across the top. She had on her face an expression of contentment. A small smile was curled up on her lip-sticked lips and her long, dark brown hair was blown slightly into her face, causing a thread or two to stick to her slightly parted mouth. Her eyes, a deep blue, were unblinking, her eyelashes stirring in the breeze and her eyelids glimmering with a lovely smokey blue application of makeup.
She might not have been as noticeable if, across the street, there had not been a man also frozen in place. Jeff's brows were furrowed in worry, his lips slightly pursed and he was stopped in the middle of getting up from a bench where he waited for the bus. He wore a simple pair of black slacks with a worn sport coat and paisley tie. He had one hand on the folded newspaper he was tucking under his arm and whit his other hand he had the sleeve pulled back to bare a wristwatch to his worried scrutiny.
That was odd, two people standing so frozen in time. It disturbed the people around them on such a deep level, however, that they were carefully ignored.
In fact, down the street a man was giving a tourist directions and, even when the man had pointed at Anna's corner to cross and the tourist had promptly asked, “That woman there, why is she standing like that?” He had simply reiterated that that was the corner where she needed to cross and he really should be getting back to work.
Above the streets on a tall building that hugged its neighbors tightly, stood a petite woman and sat a demon. The woman was leaning against the short half wall edge to the roof. Her short, curly blonde hair puffed and blew in the wind and she sighed noisily,
Her companion glanced to her. He sat up on the edge, legs crossed under himself and his hands folded his lap. His eyes were half closed as he looked down on the street. He made a little grunt and down below a taxi's tire blew out, sending the car into a screeching halt into another car. The woman frowned, “Was that really necessary?”
“I'm bored,” came the irritated reply.
She glanced at him, but his bright teal eyes wouldn't meet hers. She could see, however, the flaring of his wing feathers as he bristled under her gaze. “You have two trapped souls and you're bored?” she snapped, “Since when can you have two toys and be bored?”
“Because,” he whined, “I don't have them yet. Something is interfering.” the demon huffed but his feathers were settling again.
Sighing, the woman pulled her glasses from her pocket and put them on. It took her a moment to adjust to the new, yet utterly familiar world around her. The demon's dark red aura burned in the corner of her eyes as she looked down. From her companion, three threads arched down into the world below. One to the car, but the thread was fading now. The other two were connected to the woman and man standing stock still below.
Grunting in irritation, she pulled the glasses down to look at the demon with normal human vision. “Put them back, slowly. They have protection wards on them, you'll exhaust yourself long before you get around it.”
The growl he gave didn't phase her and she slipped the glasses back up to make sure he wasn't trying to get the souls just to spite her. He was young, rebellious, and could be such an ass when he really wanted to be. Pleased to see he was listening to her for once, she stepped back from the wall and took the glasses off. She tucked them away into her pocket and ran a hand through her hair. Her hand did little to tame the unruly, windblown locks and she quickly gave up on them. “Come on. I think it's time we got to finding out who is making undetectable protection wards.” She held out her hand. In it was a small locket that was open.
He looked to the locket and then to her. He narrowed his too large eyes but bowed his head. The transformation from corporeal demon to burning, seething energy was a quick one and he soon returned to his prison. The woman put the locket into her pocket – she knew better than to put it on – and then she headed down the streets.
Down below, Anna crossed the street, blinking and wondering how her eyes had gotten so dry. Before she made it across she decided to buy eye drops (why not? She could afford them.). The man finally stood upright, grimacing at the stiffness in his back and looking down at his watch. He was upset that he'd missed his first buss, though he was sure he had been getting up to get on just a minute ago.
Around them, as their inhuman stillness ceased, the people gave a the smallest reaction of relaxation. As life continued as it should, busy, noisy and quickly, humanity gave a collective sigh in comfort as the fears of their subconscious was smoothed over once more.