ALL LOST AT SEA - PART XIX
Bazooka-like-cannons were aimed at the flagship. Captain had gained his consciousness and he was ready for another fight. Jo'll ordered Nay and Yaya to fire as he steered the Blue Dragon close. Bazookas fired and two out of five hit and scraped the enemys airship. Above the Mediterranean Sea Rob Faverson and the remaining Corpses were getting away. Mission isn't finished until the leader is dead. Jo'll envisioned his life together with Mel and the baby. They were happy, almost peaceful happy couple, enjoying their life together in land and on the air inside the Blue Dragon. He remembered raising his kid and teaching him sword fighting, how to make a bow and how you always have to finish your plate. Then Jo'll almost shouted out loud when his memory took him to that grim day when the Corps soldiers hit and killed his son. Then he remembered his crew and all the missions they've been together. How Bara would always go head on fight after fight and come back smiling. How Maya would give people he liked "cat kisses" where he would squint his eyes. Macar would always laugh and point out that his doing it again. Everytime they had to camp Aera loved to cook and made the best barbaqued dishes. He wanted to cry but knew it wasn't the time for that and he sucked it up. He was back on deck and on pursuit. He managed to get the Blue Dragon near the flagship as the cannons fired loudly in the air. The shield wasn't giving up and the flagship didn't receive the amount of damage they were hoping for. Flagship started decending and accelerated. They were headed to the coast-line. KABOOM. One of the cannonballs had hit the left engine. The flagship crashed into the coast-line and the whole beach was on fire. Jo'll landed the Blue Dragon near the crash site. ~MM
Some write, some paint, some lay bricks, some scheme to head state, some murder, some save dying children, some sit and wait, some drive through the day, some cut through corruption, some simply vent. There is no disagreeing that the world we inhabit is full of extremes. And there is no disagreeing that each of us carries a glint of uniqueness. But having said that, I question duality and I question if it is duality that leads to intolerance. Intolerance need not show itself only in extremes. Someone refuses to acknowledge you like previously and you feel this sharp edge. Someone rankles your nerves at a restaurant and you curse them under your breath. You there, you and you and you and you! Different, so different - in age, in status, in colour, in every way. But wait. Are we really that dissimilar? Aren't we all looking for relief from something always? Aren't we all struggling as we seek to get somewhere? Aren't we all afraid of the darkness in some way? Don't we all cry on our lonely days? Why do we bank on so much duality and then expect the world to magically heal itself?
Same Dreams is from Butterflies & Skin. It’s been out for about a year. Crazy. It’s also been a crazy year. Oh life you never fail to keep me on my toes.
Posting in the moment- writing in the moment is what heals me. The immediate release of any words is so helpful (to not being an emotional basket case). I think this may seem odd to people, but hey everyone has their coping skills and at least I’m not smoking crack. 🤯🤪
(That was a joke and hopefully if you are reading this and smoking crack ...well please seek help. 😥🤨)
Off topic...um tomorrow is last day for the .99 cent download. And thank you to everyone who reads and comments. I’ve had nothing but nice things for the past 2 years here and not many can say that.
And of course thank you @ctupublishinggroup for making Butterflies & Skin exist for a year 👌🏻🦋. Peace love and never ending butterflies 🦋 😘
Side note: it takes bravery to look like a tired ass hot mess of mother on social media- so no judgment💁🏼♀️
TRAUMA. The “T” word. Let me tell you what—as much as I love the English language, as much as I adore losing time moving words around on a page to bring an experience to life, not all words are created equal. Just sitting with this word makes me break into a cold sweat and my stomach starts to knot itself up. -
Writers may relate, though to others this may sound bizarre, I often feel maternal towards words. I shape them, mold them, guide them; I carefully select their friends—the words that will sit on the left and the right of them, the adjectives and adverbs that will bring out the absolute best version of that noun . . . I’ve been playing with words for as long as I can remember. I can’t not do it. It’s an integral part of who I am. -
But some words are exceedingly difficult to use because my relationship with those words is complicated. TRAUMA is high on my list of undesirable words. I mean it’s easy to say, “We all have trauma”. But to sit with the whys of said trauma to try and map it—to make it make sense. It’s a daunting task. -
I am not my trauma. And yet, it’s woven so intricately through me it’s hard sometimes to know where it ends and I begin. Trauma shapes your thought patterns. It changes how you move in the world. It makes you second guess everything. -
I believe deeply in growth, in healing, in transparent communication. I believe scars tell the story of SURVIVORS and I have never been ashamed of my scars. But here’s the tricky thing about trauma—sometimes when you think it’s healed, you discover it’s just been lying dormant. Hibernating. And oh fuckity, fuck, will it take you for a spin. -
At least, that’s been my week. “I should be stronger. I should be over this. I shouldn’t fear him. I thought I was past this.” The mind gremlins have been nasty. And not to brag, but my self-talk is shockingly healthy. I rarely use the word “should”. Years of meditation and journaling and therapy + all the reading and daily kindness and forgiveness practices, I’m pretty gentle with myself. But he... apparently he can bring it all up. The shame. The insecurity. The fear—so much fear. My chest is constricting as I type this. -
(cont below 👇)