Wine

In vino veritas,
but wine can
also be
a way
out
of
the
sad truth trapping us.

Dipsomania
craves a
high to
fend
off
the
low of
depression.

There is the high of
drink and drugs,
and there’s the
opium
of
the
toiling masses,

the wine that one imagines
to be transubstantiated
into the blood of Him
who had blue water
turn into a
red
and
tasty wedding beverage.

We cannot change
our blue to red
by wine gods
or
by
the
Word of God’s red blood.

Changing blue to red is not a
matter of Spirit or spirits.
Red bourgeois blood
must be spilled
so
we
can
have a red state for all the people.

Lakes

The water of a lake should be our focus.
Its fluid, moving waves, no firmness,
do not detract from its reality.
Pay no attention to the land:
there’s nothing there.

The universe is watery, all wavy–it’s vibration.
The stoniness of earth is just illusion.
The rocky land just hardens hearts.
The hard earth makes life hard,
but lakes are refreshing.

All life is flowing, fluid change, lakes’ blue beauty.
Sticking with the hard ground causes suffering.
We must learn to drift with the current.
Take note of only peaceful waters.
Be blind to the dirty land.

Jump in the water, take a swim, enjoy the cool.
Don’t let want’s summer heat dehydrate you.
Lakes’ ever-moving waters do enlighten.
Rocky ground makes rocks of brains.
Get yourself all wet instead.

Vases

A
red
rose
out
of
a
curvy
vase
looks
lovely
when
it’s
wanted.

There
are
many
ladies
that
prefer
them
empty.

A
few
that
sit
on
a
bench
are
forcing
flowers
into
curvy
vases.

These
few
have
trumped
those
wanting
empty
ones.

A
lie
that
few
on
a
bench
will
utter:
flowers
offer
sacred
life!

Flowers
left
alone,
though,
often
wither
away
and die.

A
bud
left
in
an
O,
so tiny,
young
and
weak
vase
won’t
live,

and…the…vase…

the…flower…blooms…from…

will…shatter.

‘Furies,’ a Horror Novel, Part Six, Chapter 2

Furioso started with the ghosts of Alexa, her parents, Arlene and Jonas Frey, Boyd McAulliffe, his daughter, Tess, his wife, Sharon, Denise Charlton, her husband, Jack Drew, and their son, Jameson.

Come with me, he said to all of them. He flew off, and the group of ghosts all flew off after him.

They reached an area of Hell at the centre of which was a huge, round, red lake. The water looked like blood.

In you all must go, together, Furioso told them. Prepare for the greatest agony you’ve ever felt. Yet remember, this agony will end. Stay with it. Be patient, and endure.

The ghosts shared a collective dread for what they were about to experience. They all held hands in a straight line as they stood before the bloody lake, then they all jumped in together.

After being fully submerged in the red–which really was blood, the blood from all of their bodies from their physical lives, mixed together–the ghosts opened their eyes and saw visions of their pasts, with the sound included, as well as all their other senses. Only one didn’t experience one’s own past…one experienced the past of one’s victims. These moments would fade in and out with the slow movements of the bloody waves.

Boyd’s ghost found himself in that old science classroom during lunch break…only he didn’t see himself aiming a bottle-cap in a slingshot to hit Alexa in the face. Instead, he saw himself in her shoes playing chess, then feeling that bottle-cap hit her just under her left eye.

Just as he was experiencing this sharp irritation, Alexa’s ghost found herself in the bushes, hiding from Tess’s dad. She was Tess this time, and she felt the bullet from his gun hit her, just under her left eye.

They both felt the impact of the projectile hit them at the exact same time, and they both keenly felt the pain they’d caused each other.

In their visions, they both shouted out, “Jesus Christ!” in unison, at the exact same time.

Next, Alexa saw herself in Sharon’s position, walking up to her husband, Boyd, asking where Tess was. Then she felt that other bullet hit her in the face again, just under the left eye.

As Alexa’s ghost experienced that kill she’d goaded Boyd into making, Boyd felt the bottle-cap hit him in the face, in the exact same place again, at the exact same time. He also remembered his shooting of Tess and Sharon, how they were hit in the face at the exact same spot.

He put it all together when he saw a vision of Denise kicking Alexa in that classroom, only he was in Alexa’s body feeling the kicks. He remembered how Alexa and the other two bullied girls, whose names he’d forgotten, all went missing shortly after this bullying incident, all three presumed suicides.

He then saw a vision of being pushed into a mud and slush puddle just outside of their high school, again, him in Alexa’s body; then hearing everyone laugh at him, and feeling kicks in the gut from himself and Denise.

This was all my fault, Boyd thought. If I hadn’t pushed Alexa so hard, she wouldn’t have killed herself, gone to Hell, then made me kill my wife and daughter. We’d all still be alive. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. It was all my fault!

Alexa’s ghost not only watched and felt what had happened to Tess and Sharon, she felt Boyd’s reaction. It hit her hard to realize she’d hurt two people who had nothing to do with her score to settle with Boyd.

My God, Alexa thought. I was so filled with rage at Boyd that I didn’t think of how his daughter and his wife never did me any wrong. How old was that girl…ten? And I made him shoot her in the face with that bullet, and the same thing to his equally innocent wife. He hit me in the face with a bottle-cap, and I thought making him kill his own family, with bullets in the face, was a fitting way to get revenge? That was wrong, way wrong…

Boyd kept ruminating over what he’d done as he felt the presence of the ghosts of his wife and daughter. He felt their pain and they contemplated how his bullying of Alexa, a needless, petty bullying based on envy, led to her suicide and her brutal revenge on everyone he cared about. The whole family just felt the pain and shame shift back and forth among them like the moving waves of that lake of blood.

Alexa’s own pain, guilt, and shame joined theirs. The four of them felt their consciousnesses merge, making the experience of each other’s pain more and more intense and unendurable; yet they had to endure it all to get out of the endless pain of Hell. As they felt each other’s pain grow and grow, each felt his or her shame grow in the same proportion.

Now, as if this pain somehow wasn’t enough, the pain of the ghosts of Alexa’s parents, Arlene and Jonas, was now being added to embitter the pot even more. Alexa’s ghost saw the bedroom of her parents, transformed into that ovoid shape without windows, doors, or furniture. She saw Jonas, lying unconscious on the floor with blood pouring out of his head.

But she saw everything through her mother’s eyes instead of her own. She also felt her mother’s hunger. She saw the large carving knife and fork by Arlene’s feet on the floor; she picked them up.

Oh, no, Alexa thought. I’m about to taste my father’s flesh.

She looked down at Arlene’s stomach and saw it open into an empty black hole. She went over to her father’s body with overwhelming dread.

As she was experiencing this, Arlene’s and Jonas’s ghosts were in Alexa’s place, feeling the pain she’d felt from their lack of love or compassion for what their daughter had been through.

My God, Arlene thought. I really was a bad mother.

Me, too, Jonas thought. Arlene and I were so caught up in our own personal frustrations that we never took a moment to consider what she’d been going through. She was being bullied, and we blamed it all on her. We didn’t give her the emotional support she so desperately needed. No wonder she went crazy and killed us.

Alexa was tasting the bloody flesh on her father’s arm. She wanted to vomit, but she couldn’t. This was far too extreme a punishment to give Mom and Dad. What’s wrong with me?

Denise saw herself in Alexa’s body in that classroom, looking up at Denise kicking her. She saw herself getting pushed into the mud and slush outside of their high school. She felt Alexa’s humiliation. She felt the kicks to her gut.

As she was experiencing Alexa’s pain, Alexa’s ghost was in Denise’s home with the baseball bat, approaching Jameson. She brought the bat down on the boy’s head. The cracking of it on his skull coincided exactly with one of Denise’s kicks to Alexa’s gut. Both of them experienced each other’s pain, and Denise understood how the one caused the other. Alexa realized that her revenge was far worse than what had caused it.

Revenge made me into a monster, Alexa thought. That boy didn’t deserve that. Nor did Jack.

I did a lot of bad things in my life, Denise thought. Maybe Jack and Jameson didn’t deserve what happened to them, but I deserved it.

Mommy? Jameson’s ghost called out to Denise. Why did you kick that girl? Why did you make her hate you enough for her to make you kill Daddy and me?

His words caused a pounding pain inside Denise.

Alexa, in Jack’s body, just then felt the knife plunged into his gut.

What my wife did to you was bad, Alexa, Jack’s ghost said to her, but why did you have to punish Jameson and me as well as her?

These words cut into Alexa.

I’m so sorry, she said to him.

The consciousnesses of all of the ghosts–Alexa, Boyd, Tess, Sharon, Denise, Jack, Jameson, Arlene, and Jonas–were all merging into a huge mass of life experiences, memories, pain, hate, and remorse. They were truly suffering together, feeling compassion. Yet the pain only grew more and more torturous.

Boyd, for example, contemplated Alexa’s suffering from her parents’ emotional neglect for the first time. He’d never imagined how her own mother and father could have had such a callous attitude to the pain of the daughter they were supposed to love.

He’d only ever thought of his wounded pride, his envy of her getting into the Grade 8 gifted class, when he hadn’t been accepted into it. He now realized that we all too rarely consider the suffering of others; we’re usually focused just on our own.

Daddy, Tess’s voice called out to Boyd. Why were you so mean to that girl when you were a kid? What did she ever do to you to deserve that?

Hearing these questions stung in her father’s mind. He remembered Alexa, back in that science classroom, asking him, “What did I do to you to deserve that?” (the bottle-cap in the face) He remembered his answer to her: “You kept living.” Yet, when she was no longer living, she ended up being so much worse to him and his family. Her continued living, without his bullying and with more loving parents, would have spared his family’s lives.

All of the ghosts were feeling this kind of regret as they contemplated each other’s memories, a result of the continued merging of their nine consciousnesses. Individuality was fading. A collective moaning, wailing, and screaming in pain grew in loudness. Feeling each other’s traumas, more and more vividly with the merging, as if the traumas had been their own, was getting unbearable. Still, they knew this was the only way out of Hell.

Soon, there were no longer nine ghosts, but just that mass, that red blob of wailing pain. Then the redness dulled from its original fiery glow, dimming to a dull grey-red as the wailing did a slow decrescendo.

Finally, the grey blob started to fade away as the moans became barely audible, to not at all audible. The blob vanished.

Silence.

Non-existence.

Peace.

Shores

The surety
of the ground
is a frightening
thing to leave for the sea’s uncertainty,

so naturally,
we would rather
stay here on the shore
than swim out there and risk burial in blue.

Sometimes,
however, the quaking earth
forces us to leave the sturdy land
and venture out to a turquoise, wavy world–to keep on swimming,

to keep our heads up, our mouths groping for air. Our faces

fight to stay above the waves. Our paddling arms and legs

cannot rest, as achy as they are, until the water shallows.

We see
the shore,
our salvation,
and we crawl out of the wet, and fall exhausted on the sand.

‘Furies,’ a Horror Novel, Part Six, Chapter 1

Back in Hell, Alexa, Megan, and Tiffany had all achieved their revenge on everyone who had hurt them badly enough to deserve getting the grief that they had all given.

The three girl-ghosts hit their enemies far harder than they had been hit themselves. They were beyond satisfied in that regard.

Yet, their own pain hadn’t subsided.

It had only grown worse…much worse.

The melting and decay of their ghostly apparitions was now at such an advanced stage that the three no longer had humanoid forms. There wasn’t even a distinction between any of the three of them anymore.

They were hill-like blobs of melted flesh that oozed into and mixed with each other.

The ghosts of all their victims–still with human apparitions–were there, too, facing them with expressions that were a mixture of hatred, gloating (over the three girls’ ugliness), and revulsion.

Furioso appeared between both groups.

So, he said. Everybody is here at last.

This pain is unbearable, Alexa said in a raspy voice.

I don’t regret having my revenge, Megan said in a similar voice, but I feel worse now than I did before.

Is there no way to stop this pain? Tiffany asked, also in that voice.

No, Furioso said. There is no way that is easy. No way that will give you comfort. There is only pain for you all, from now on, forever and ever.

Then why did you goad us into getting revenge on all of them over there? Megan asked, pointing to the mass of victims behind Furioso. You said we’d get relief through our revenge. We feel no such relief at all.

I never said your revenge would ease your pain, he said. Only that you’d feel satisfaction, a brief pleasure, in making those poor souls on the other side share your pain. And you got it.

But now, with them all looking at us with so much malice in their eyes, Alexa said. It feels like they’re all going to resume their former bullying on us.

Yes, Tiffany said. They all hunger for revenge on us.

We can see it in the eyes of their apparitions, Megan said.

How could you lure us into a situation with even more suffering than the kind we’d started out with? Alexa asked. How could you take advantage of us like that, as vulnerable as we were?

Well, I am a devil, Furioso said, shrugging. Did you really expect anything better than this? You’re in Hell. Here, hope is to be abandoned forever.

What benefit do you get by deceiving us with thoughts of revenge? Megan asked. Damning all their souls with ours?

The same benefit that you get, he said. By bringing down here more and more souls, by passing the pain off to others, I feel a relief…if only a temporary one. People on Earth do it all the time. They, your bullies, did that to you, for that very same reason.

But our pain feels so much greater now, Tiffany said.

Yes, it always feels worse and worse, Furioso said with a sigh and a frown.

Then what good is that temporary relief through passing pain on to others? Alexa asked.

Because the pain worsens regardless of whether you pass it on to others, or not, he said. Temporary relief, by causing others’ grief, is the closest thing to happiness that the damned can ever hope to have in Hell. Is there anyone else on Earth you’d like to afflict, for a brief taste of satisfaction?

NO!!! all three girl-ghosts shouted together.

Then I’m afraid that there’s nothing that can be done for you, he said with a shrug. You’ll just have to stay here and suffer, without any kind of relief, even temporary relief.

Wait! Megan shouted. You said before that there’s no way to stop this pain…no way that is easy. No way…that will give us comfort.

That’s right! Tiffany shouted. So, there is a way.

A hard way, but a way, at least, Alexa said.

Well, yes, but you won’t like it at all, he insisted.

We don’t like our situation here at all! Alexa said.

Yeah, what difference will it make? Tiffany said.

Tell us what this hard way is, Megan said.

If it will get us out of Hell, we’ll do it, Alexa said.

You’re talking about enduring a pain far more acute than you are experiencing now, Furioso said.

But the pain will all end, right? Megan asked.

It will end because you, as individuals, will end, he said.

That’s fine with me, Tiffany said. We originally wanted to end our lives, anyway. We hated life because all we did was suffer in it. Existence is only suffering for us, on Earth, or here in Hell. So wiping out our existence means ending our pain. It’s nirvana, basically.

That’s true, Furioso said, but prepare for an ordeal you could never even imagine.

We’re in Hell, Alexa said. Where there’s no hope of ever feeling happiness again. This is the ultimate ordeal. How much worse can anything else get?

You’ll find out, he warned.

Tell us, Furioso! Megan said. What do we have to lose?

What do we have to do to get out of this? Alexa asked.

You really won’t like it, girls, he said, shaking his head.

TELL US, DAMN YOU! all three melting ghosts shouted.

He let out a sigh. Look at all those ghosts behind me, he said, gesturing to the girls’ victims. All those damned souls that you hate so much, and who now hate you. You must let go of your hate. Let go of your pride, and love them. Feel compassion for them, and for the suffering you’ve caused them.

WHAT?!!! all three girl-ghosts shouted together in disbelief.

Yes, he insisted. That’s the only way out of here. To end your suffering, you must endure far greater suffering. That’s the paradox of salvation.

The three ghosts were speechless. They mulled the matter over in a collective sulk.

What will be even harder, he said, is that you must allow yourselves to feel the very pain you caused them. You must suffer with them, for that is what compassion means.

The three melting spirits continued contemplating this solution to their problem in miserable silence.

It is your decision, he said. Either go through this ordeal, or be trapped here forever, continually melting until you’re an unconsolable puddle.

Could this be a trick? Tiffany wondered. He tricked us before with the revenge idea.

It sounds like too shitty a solution to be a trick, Megan said. If it were a trick, he’d make it sound more enticing.

As I said, it’s your decision, he said.

If we have to pity those bitches and bastards over there, Alexa said, why not have all of them experience this with us? Have them pity us, too.

Yeah! Tiffany said. It’s only fair. Then they can escape Hell, too.

They’ll ultimately benefit, too, Megan said. Since we’re supposed to be sympathizing with them, we’d want to help them, too. Also, they’ll know the pain they caused us, and they’ll understand why we wanted our revenge. And their hate will change to pity and remorse. I think that could be really satisfying for everyone.

Very well, Furioso said, then he turned to face all of those ghosts on whom the three girls had avenged themselves. All of you, who have had your lives ruined by these three! You don’t wish to remain in this infernal prison forever, do you?

No, they said in a weary sigh.

You heard me explain the only way out of this suffering? he asked.

Yes, they all moaned together.

Then swallow your pride as the girls must do, let go of your hate for them, as they must let go of their hate for you, and join them in this collective outpouring of compassion, he said.

With the most lethargic of reluctance, the mass of ghosts nodded.

Boats

The
small
boats
exclude, give
salvation
to few.

The
large
boats
are much more inclusive.
They will eventually
provide room for
all the world.

We
can
not
save only the
few, the rest
drowning.

We
can
not
rescue everyone, all
at one time, either,
with not enough
room onboard.

So
all
our
boat can do for
now is start
smaller,

and
grow
into
a bigger boat. One big
country of permanent
evolution, until the
whole world

is
one
all-
inclusive ark of dry
salvation for us all,
shielding us from
the big Flood.

‘Furies,’ a Horror Novel, Part Five, Chapter 4

George just sat there at his mother’s side, watching her sleep. Another tear ran down his cheek.

He watched the rising and falling of her chest, each rise and fall reassuring him, if only for the moment, that she was still alive.

He checked her vital signs as they were displayed on the medical equipment by her bed. All was fine.

Still, he had that fear of something going wrong. The paradox was that he felt compelled to be there with her at all times, to watch over her and make sure she was OK, but also, there was that haunting voice that had kept telling him the only danger to her life was him.

She just lay there, sleeping peacefully. Her chest kept rising and falling, as it should have. The vital signs display still showed no problems.

He let out a huge sigh of relief.

She’s fine, he reassured himself in his thoughts. Don’t worry. You’re thinking too much. That voice in my head is probably just my unconscious expressing my resentment over never having been freed from her to live my own life. Such resentment is natural, it’s understandable; but it doesn’t mean I’m really, literally planning on murdering her. It’s just my mind acting out, in all probability. We all have dark thoughts: even the saints do.

He looked at her again–sleeping like a baby. Her chest kept rising and falling…good. He checked her vital signs one more time; no problems.

He let out another sigh.

Then he heard that voice again…this time, though, it was a little differently worded.

You’re going to murder her…today.

He jumped up from his chair with a yelp that woke up his mother. His heart was pounding. Now, a drop of sweat was running down his cheek.

He looked around the room frantically to find the source of that voice. Every time he’d heard it before, the whispered voice of what seemed a teenage girl, no one was there to be seen. This time, however, he saw her: Tiffany, the goth-girl ghost, with those malevolent red eyes.

“Tiffany?” he gasped with agape eyes.

Suddenly, the ghost flew into his chest with the speed of a racing arrow. His body shook as the spirit took possession of his body.

“George?” his mother asked in the weakest of voices. “What’s wrong? You woke me. Are you okay?”

His back had been to her, but now he turned around to face her with an icy expression.

“George? Please don’t look at me like that. You’re scaring me. Are you alright? You seem…a little…”

He ignored her words…that is, bodily, he ignored her. The George in his mind, however, desperately wanted to tell her he was not alright, that he was sorry for scaring her with that cold look on his face, that he was sorry for having woken her. He wanted to scream out to the hospital staff to come in the room and stop him from doing what he knew Tiffany’s ghost was making him do.

But he couldn’t say or do any of those things.

He felt himself compelled to get up and walk over to where his bag of medical instruments was, by his bed. He picked it up and unzipped it.

Tiffany, he thought. What are you doing?

He was made to take out a syringe. He walked back with it to his mother’s bed. He was eyeing her IV external tubing, through which blood was going into her body. He put two and two together.

Oh, my God! he thought. She wants to give my mother an air embolism. No, Tiffany, no!

Her ghost made him stick the syringe into the tubing and introduce an air bubble into it.

He had absolutely no control over his body. He couldn’t fidget or jerk his arms in the slightest. Tiffany’s ghost even made him look into his mother’s eyes to see the terror emanating from them.

“George,” she gasped. “What did you do that for? You’re killing me. Why?

He couldn’t weep. He couldn’t say sorry to her.

She looked at the long air bubble moving in the tube, getting closer and closer to her body. She began yelping, but the ghost made him cup his hand over her mouth to muffle out the sound.

As she fidgeted and struggled, she whined audibly enough that, if one of the hospital staff should have been close enough to their room, he or she just might have heard his mother’s muffled cries for help. Since he still had no control over his body, he could only hope a staff member was close enough to be in earshot, rush into the room, and stop him in time.

No such luck.

That air bubble, long enough to have been a three-to-five millilitres per kilogram dose, was inching closer and closer to entry in her body. She kept struggling and whining; he kept one hand on her mouth, the other on her chest to minimize the noise of the shaking of her bed.

Tiffany’s ghost forced him to look straight in his mother’s horrified eyes. He would not be spared a thorough observation of her pain, her terror, and her heartbreak over his oh, so unfilial act.

…and he had no way of telling her that it wasn’t himself who was doing this to her.

Why? her eyes kept asking him. Why, George?

I can’t tell you, he thought. I’m so sorry, and you’ll never even know I’m sorry. Tiffany, I may have bullied you in school, but punish me, not her.

Now, the ghost made him watch the air bubble reach her body and enter her. He looked back at her face. She was shaking all over for several seconds, then she moved no more.

The ghost left his body and, visible, faced him.

Finally, a waterfall of tears was soaking his face.

“I wish that block of ice we hit you with had killed you,” he hissed at the apparition.

Don’t be mad, George, she said. I did you a favour. I freed you from her. Now you can live your own life. She giggled at his teary face.

“Free to do what?” he asked in sobs. “Go to jail for murder? You fucking bitch.”

Only one thing left to do, George, Tiffany’s ghost said with a grin.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “I’ll see you in Hell…and when I get there, I’ll get you.

She laughed. There’s nothing to get. We’re in Hell. We’re already suffering beyond hope. How are you going to add to that?

“I’ll figure out a way.”

He walked back over to his bag, found a scalpel in it, slashed his wrists, and lay on the floor, soaking it with his blood until a nurse walked in and screamed.

Only by then, of course, it was too late.

Kites

The
toy-kite
was named
after all of those
hovering
birds
of
prey
in
the
sky.

The
tyrannical
king, Macbeth–he
who’d killed
the wife
and
babes
of
the
Thane
of
Fife,

all
done in one
fell swoop–he
was likened to
a hell-kite
by
the
Thane
who
would
hack
off
his
head.

A
few fools
are out there,
admiring the wealthy
hell-kites
of
our
time;
they’d
fly
such
toys
in
the
sky.

The
fools will
try to identify
with their flying
toys, for they
imagine,
one
day,
they’ll
be
up
there,
too.

But
all of today’s
flying predators
up in the clouds
are swooping
down
on
the
wives
and
babes
of
our
age.

The
time has
finally come to
stop worshipping
all of those
birds
in
the
sky.
Instead,
let’s
cut
off
their
heads.