THOUGHTS ON A SUNSET

Maggie wished she was the kind of woman who could settle a broken heart with a shot glass and a bottle of whisky, but she wasn’t the destructive type. No. Maggie would sit with it. She’d always been a woman who stood in her power, and just as steady as she stood in her pain. Maggie’s strength was a curse just as much as it was a blessing. She always took the high road. It usually wasn’t an easy option, or the most attractive to the average man, but it was the only option that would satisfy her spirit.

“Jesus.” She said. Her words lost in the emptiness surrounding her as she soaked in the massive landscape that cemented the lone cowboy type she had become. Maggie could handle the hurt. She’d been through so much of it. But who was she to complain, she thought. She certainly wasn’t the only wounded soul out there. Love generally requires a certain amount of ability to handle pain. She was okay with that. Maggie just wondered when she would find the one that didn’t hurt so much or if that even existed.

Maggie didn’t really drink and she wasn’t the destructive type so she pondered the concept of the existence of true love as she sat on her porch and let herself get lost in the bliss of the sunset and the rise of the evening star.

thoughts on a sunset awgryphon©

ALL FIRED UP

Dyanna slipped a tape into the boom box on her dresser. She hit play with her long acrylic nails covered in Revlon’s blackberry polish and Pat Benetar rocked out of the speaker. It was 7am. Time to start the day.

After a quick shower, a mountain of Vidal Sassoon mousse and a thorough blow out of her hair Dyanna stood in a black satin kimono staring into her closet. She didn’t know what she wanted to wear, but it had to be perfect. The mixed tape playing transitioned from Pat to Motley Crew and something clicked. Dyanna was inspired. The perfect outfit came to her like a song from heaven.

She fell back on her bed, negotiated her legs into her jeans, held her breath to zip up then rolled off the edge and stood up, letting her body settle into the skin tight black denim. Dyanna pulled on a black cut-up half-sleeve sweat shirt, stepped into her favorite high-hell black suede boots and turned to the mirror. She couldn’t breathe yet, but she looked hot.

The crimping iron, big curling iron and tiny curling iron were all ready. It was time to make a decision. Dyanna stared down at the vanity and finally went for reliable comfort; the top-of-the-line pink and gray Conair crimping option. Fifteen minutes of the waffle shaped heat combined with just the right amount of Aqua Net and Dyanna had the perfect hair day she had hoped for. Next came the make-up kit. Layers of blue, magenta and lavender eye shadow held up by liquid black eye-liner and aqua marine mascara showcased Dyanna’s big brown eyes. Two strokes of frosted brownie lip stick and her face was complete. She grabbed her black leather bag by the chain link strap, lit a Marlboro Light 100 and cracked open a Tab just in time to hear her friend Michelle pull up outside. That was it. Dyanna was ready. She was ready for another day at school. It was March 29th 1988. awgryphon©

RACHEL FALLING

Rachel was falling. It was a place she’d been before. A place that had made her stronger in the past. That had brought her new opportunities. It didn’t make the situation at hand any easier, but knowing there would be an end to it certainly made things more manageable.

Where at one time she would have cried, Rachel found herself numb; making her way through another sticky and overwhelming situation that makes life what it is.

The good part about it, numb or not, was that she’d taken it all head on knowing that she was at the beginning, that there would be a middle and at some point an end. As the thoughts rolled through Rachel’s mind, she continued falling. She told herself to breathe. She focused on anything she could to keep herself from spinning out of control.

Rachel was a dreamer. Not the kind of dreamer who thought about things all day, the kind of dreamer who put things into action and made them a reality. Rachel was the kind of girl who would crawl through glass to make things happen, to make rights wrong and to get through whatever situation life threw in front of her. Life can be as wonderful as it can be tough and Rachel knew in some ways she would always be falling. Rachel also knew that she had wings.

awgryphon© photograph courtesy of visualizeus.com

CLAUDETTE’S “IF”

And then Claudette said, “If you have no room for happy then I have no room for you.” The End

photo courtosey of flicker.com. CLAUDETTE’S “IF” awgryphon©

SUZIE’S ROSE COLORED GLASSES

It was a Tuesday. Not a Tuesday of note, just your average ordinary Tuesday. However it was, in fact, the Tuesday on which one Suzie Carmichael was certain something spectacular would happen. Suzie put on her favorite everyday dress along with her most comfortable boots and a brilliant scarf and then Suzie did it. The unthinkable. Suzie slipped on her rose colored glasses and stepped out into the day. The most fantastical Tuesday that would ever be. That’s what Suzie had decided. Suzie had been told to be careful with the rose colored glasses. That they were okay for sometimes, but not for all the time and certainly not for an entire day. That’s what they’d said, but on that particular Tuesday Suzie decided not to listen to them. Who were they anyway? Those people who spent all their time saying things about what people should and shouldn’t do rather than doing something themselves. Suzie wasn’t interested in hearing any more of those people talking. No. Suzie had no time for such nonsense. For Suzie, life was about doing things not talking about doing things or, even worse, not doing things at all; so if putting on a pair of rose colored glasses for an entire day was truly a bad idea, she would find that out for herself… and Suzie was quite sure, as she stood on her front porch at the break of day looking out into the wonder she new it would bring, that she already had the answer. photo courtosey of flicker.com. SUZIE’S ROSE COLORED GLASSES awgryphon©

HOLLY’S WALKS ON THE BEACH

Holly was fierce. She was smart, wise. Her impenetrable strength radiated a force of life only found in legends. She pulled at her skin and ripped at her hair in a frenzy, screaming from the depths of her soul; weeping from the very fibers that held her together. The insanity had struck. The madness for life, for living. For one more walk on the beach without a care in the world. Just one. Holly wanted a simple moment of untainted bliss, of calm, of peace. But that wouldn’t happen. No matter how the journey before her unfolded things would never be the same for Holly.

Her walks on the beach were forever changed. Because that’s how it works. That’s what cancer does.

ELEANOR

Darkness. Nothing was more inviting to Eleanor than the blanket of inexplicable possibility that was night sky. Moonlit mornings, as she called the dusk, brought out all of who she was. As a woman. As an artist. As the magical being few realized thrived within her soul.

ELEANOR AWGRYPHON© PHOTOGRAPH CURTOSEY OF HILDAFROMM.BLOGG.SE

THE TURN

Cynthia let the hot water from the shower pour over her face, running her fingers through her hair and crossing her arms to grab on to the back of her shoulders; reassuring herself she was still there. That afternoon had been the last time. It was over. She was gone. She'd somehow found it within herself to leave. Johnny had never drawn blood. He’d never left a visible bruise on her. It wasn’t abuse according to any law enforcement or government agencies; it was just that same sort of hurt she knew millions of other women understood that left her all alone. Scared to stay and even more scared to leave. And then one day it just happened. Cynthia wasn’t even sure exactly what changed, but it was suddenly all so clear. She didn’t think twice about it, Cynthia just walked out the door. She never turned back and she never stopped walking. 19 March 2011 awgryphon© photo visualeseus.com

BOUNDLESS

Landry had felt a transcendental connection to water for as long as she could remember. The fluidity, the calm nature it surrounds us with, the force it brings. For her, the element offered a boundless power that moved like nothing else and defined both life and death, love and hate, peace and destruction. It was the core of life itself. Whether it was a raging storm or a delicate fountain, water affected Landry. It made her who she was.

For years Landry followed the water. She let it hypnotize her; call her at will. It controlled her in many ways. It was something Landry welcomed, not because she wanted to be controlled, but because she knew that she was a part of something so much larger than human kind. She was different, knowing, and still walked among us. Landry blended into civilization, just like anyone else… until the moment everything changed and Landry realized how much she affected the entity of water.

Landry had influence. A connection. A god-like capability that she had been born with, but which had been hibernating within her subconscious until the night she stood on the Cliffs of Mohr in a ferocious down pour that swept the sea miles into the sky and attacked the earth with its will. Landry basked in the rain, holding her own against the wind and sea, while the life surrounding her took cover, waiting for the roar of the world to end. And then in the swarm of a tornado, Landry was catapulted into her true self and forever became one with the rain, the sea and the water that surrounds us.

awgyphon© photograph courtesy of spiritofphotography.com

XANDRA

Xandra pressed down on the gas pushing her Carrera through the night. Leaning back into the seat she ran her fingers through her hair from the back of her neck up almost to the top of her head. Xandra found the silver tab and unzipped her being as far as she could, resting her head against the leather, becoming one with the car and speeding faster into the darkness and the vastness of the Badlands. It had been thirty-two years since Xandra’s existence had begun. To some she was a monster of sorts. To others she was proof that men and women of true genius walk among us. Xandra was smart, sexy, uninhibited. She was capable of the deepest form of love and the most complicated of crimes. She was dangerous and beautiful. Everything we feared and everything we wanted to be. Xandra was free in a way every man and woman desired... or so it seemed. When she was being designed, what no one realized or remotely considered was how lonely Xandra’s existence would be; and when that came to fruition no one seemed to care. As in most cases, people saw what they want to see. Everyone, but Xandra. She saw everything. Xandra was a chameleon. The first of her kind and a precursor of what the human race could become. A test case hardwired as an all seeing machine and an all knowing woman. A complete shape shifter that linked technology, animal, and human life force as one. She could do it all, but she also felt it all, emotionally. It was an unconscionable cross to bear. One that she could not escape. She had no release. Not one moment without feeling or knowing the weight of the world and the heart wrenching disposition of a lonely woman. There was nothing Xandra could do to fight it. She couldn’t hide, but she could run. She could run so fast that every ounce of her was consumed by the flight. Xandra absorbed her mind into the distance, pressed down on the gas and disappeared into the blue flame that lit up the night sky. awgryphon© photograph courtesy of flicker.com

PLEASE OPEN

Caroline wandered down an alley and came around a corner to a door. A painted blue door with an old, crafted copper handle leading to where, she didn’t know. Caroline was an average girl with an average background and an average life full of dreams beyond Wonderland and aspirations of creative endeavors that extended to the ends of the earth. Beside the landscape of Caroline’s ordinary every day life the painted blue door excited her. The mystery. The possibilities… The idea of what might be on the other side of it drew her closer. There was no sign, no number, no indication whatsoever of where the door might lead to or why it was painted or who had been behind its creation. It was such a simple door in such an ordinary setting with just a sparkle of something different. That’s what intrigued Caroline. It was extraordinary, but accessible. It was right there in front of her doing all that it could to invite her in. All that Caroline had to do was open the door. People passed by and cars cut through the alley, one after another, as Caroline stood contemplating. Could it be that there was no fear on the other side of that door? No rules? No judgment? Maybe there was an adventure just waiting for her to begin on the other side. Maybe walking though that door would be the start of all her dreams coming true. But what if that wasn’t it? What if there was something awful on the other side of the door? Something that might hurt her? Something that seemed wonderful and amazing that invited her in only to destroy her in the end? Or what if she opened the door and all she found on the other side of it was an average, ordinary room hidden behind a misleading and wondrous door? Was opening the door really a chance worth taking she wondered. Alice became tired of watching. She’d been on the other side of the door peering out at Caroline for quite some time. She’d been excited about Caroline and she’d been excited for the possibilities awaiting her, but Alice realized that too much time had passed; that all she could do was move on with her own adventure and hope that Caroline would begin hers. Perhaps someone else would find themselves looking out on the door when Caroline finally decided to walk through. Perhaps not. Alice had done all that she could do. The invitation had been sent it only needed to be accepted and that was up to Caroline. Alice turned away from the door, Caroline never having realized she was there… And Caroline stood contemplating as people passed by and cars cut through the alley, one after another… Please Open awgryphon© Photo courtesy of johnsadventures.com

Cranberries, Rain Drops, Butterflies and Abigail Christie St. John

Cranberries. No Strawberries… and lavender… Fresh mint and rosemary. Abigail woke up surrounded by the satisfying scents of a warm summer day full of life and possibilities. Her bed was comfortable. More comfortable than usual. The blankets and sheets had wrapped around her like the most brilliant cocoon, so much so that Abigail basked in them for a few minutes before she unrolled herself and floated out into the morning. She opened the curtains to find the sun shining after a storm filled night. Rain drops rested delicately where they’d landed on the leaves and flowers outside. Even butterflies were flittering about. It was clean and all so delicious to Abigail’s state of mind… or perhaps, “state of heart” would be the better way to describe it. As she danced from one room to the next drinking her tea, choosing her clothes and twirling her hair, Abigail had the sense that everything around her had changed. It was all for the better somehow. All for the good. You see, Abigail knew, but did not necessarily realize that nothing around her had changed. Nothing at all. Not in the least. Nothing, but Abigail. Because it had happened… again… Abigail Christie St. John was in love… Cranberries, Rain Drops, Butterflies and Abigail Christie St. John awgryphon© photography courtesy of visualizeus©