tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33731652766833581872024-02-08T04:31:10.077-08:00BlysswrytesWryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-80747256648060326732011-08-17T12:26:00.000-07:002011-08-31T20:23:52.153-07:00No Place for a Queen in the Night<span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">No place for a queen in the night</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the freaks come out</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>No weaks come out</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>For fear of the night</span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"> </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">Where things are seen you don’t want to see</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not trying to be mean</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>But it’s no place for a queen</span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"> </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">So young lady put away your goods</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Out in the night you’ll</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Never be understood</span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"> </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">The streets only use you, abuse you,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And throw you away</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Not caring if you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Survive another day</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">Haven’t you heard?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There’s blood on the street</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>No place to plant your feet</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Trying not to get caught up in heat</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">No place for a queen without</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A real team</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>They don’t care about you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Playing with your head</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>And trying to screw</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">Your mind up</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Their so corrupt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Actions all abrupt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">So young lady let’s find the peace</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cause the violence won’t cease</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>It will only increase</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">Can’t you see your losing your</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Innocence</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>You will be wondering later </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Where your life went</span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"> </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">Don’t you see the tears in your</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mother’s eyes</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>The inhales your</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Grandmother sighs</span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"> </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">The cries of them calling your name</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Olivia, Olivia” the streets are no game</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>It’s just not the same</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>They won’t lead to your fame</span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"> </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">But your name may be in the news</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Your family singing the blues</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>It’s the path you choose</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Trying to pay all your dues</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";">This is no place for a queen </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All shades and creeds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> Be weary of those with greed</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Try wiping your eyes and smile so bright</span><br />
This is no place for a queen in the night</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Life BT", "serif";"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"> © Copyright 2008 Shawnte Barr (UN: blysswrytes at Blogger.Com). All rights reserved.</span></strong></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-28045480750424691872011-08-17T11:43:00.001-07:002011-08-17T11:44:43.609-07:00OuijaIn my family many stories are passed down from generation to generation. Some of these stories are historical in nature, teaching us about our past so we won’t get lost in the present. Others were lessons passed down to prepare us for our unknown futures. Some of those lessons went in one ear and were planted deep within our memories. Others, however, went out the other ear to be learned the hard way.<br />
<br />
My cousins and I—about twelve of us—were sitting around the living room talking about the movie “The Exorcist”. It had just gone off and we were debating whether something like that could ever really happen in real life. Half of us had said it could, while the other half said it couldn’t. <br />
<br />
“Well if you really want to know,” one of my cousins said, “just get a Ouija Board and see”.<br />
<br />
“I know y’all ain’t in here talkin’ ‘bout playin’ the Ouija Board?” Aunt Camille said. She had walked in the room after losing all her money playing Tunk, a card game, and decided, I guess, to come and see what us kids where doing. That’s why we were in the living room watching “The Exorcist” anyway; we were at Aunt May’s house entertaining ourselves while the adults played cards. <br />
<br />
“I’m tellin’ you, you don’t want to mess with that Ouija board. You oughta leave the devil right where he’s at.” Aunt Camille said overhearing us kids talk about the game. “Y’all don’t know about Murder John?” She asked, seizing our attention.<br />
<br />
“Who’s Murder John?” One of the younger kids asked, ready to be spooked.<br />
<br />
“I’m not gonna tell you now ‘cause I don’t want to scare you, but stay away from the Ouija board!” Aunt Camille warned. <br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
Almost twelve years after Aunt Camille gave us the warning, me and three of my friends walked out of Auburn High School. It was late spring but you couldn’t tell by the gray sky that followed us out of school like a tiger stalking its prey. <br />
<br />
“Hurry up, Shawnte, before you get caught. Just put your freakin’ coat on when you get over here.” Carrie yelled at me. Deciding to leave school for the rest of the day was the easy part, pulling it off was the challenge. Auburn High School was a huge school with several exits to escape through, choosing the exit would take strategic planning—especially if there were more than two people leaving. Rameka, Carrie, Lacy, and I chose to exit on the side of the school so we could catch the city bus. When we walked out the side doors we had to cross the teacher’s parking lot to make it to the other side of the fence where the bus stop was. Once we made it past the fence we were off school property and all the security guards could say to us was “You won’t make it pass next time,” but we had to get there first. So we dashed out, one-by-one, so we wouldn’t bring attention to ourselves until all of us made it to our destination. <br />
<br />
While we stood waiting for the bus to come, we puffed on cigarettes and talked about boys, not caring if anyone saw us. We decided to go to Carrie and Lacy’s house because their mother couldn’t give a darn whether they went to school or not, plus we could smoke all the cigarettes we wanted. <br />
<br />
“What we doin’ when we get there?” Remeka asked in her New York City accent.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know.” Carrie said. “We can play with the Ouija Board and get drunk.”<br />
<br />
“You gotta Ouija Board?” Rameka asked.<br />
<br />
“Yo, I ain’t allowed to play with that thing.” I said, fear entering my mind, body, and soul.<br />
<br />
“You ain’t allowed to leave school either, Shawnte, but you did.” Carrie said with a smirk on her face.<br />
<br />
“Well I ain’t playin’.” I said; mad she pulled my card.<br />
<br />
“You don’t have to,” Carrie said shrugging her shoulders, “you can sit and watch everyone else play.” <br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
A few weeks later, another card game was going on and since she wasn’t attending, Aunt Camille became the designated babysitter. The same twelve cousins—plus some—piled into the living room, claimed spots on the floor, and prepared for a night of fun. We loved staying over Aunt Camille’s house, we got to eat all the junk food and do whatever we wanted to do. One of my cousins grabbed the remote control to turn the TV on, but Aunt Camille grabbed it from him. <br />
<br />
“Let me tell you about the Ouija Board and Murder John.” Aunt Camille said getting our attention. She told us that the board was made in the 1800’s and had a dark history. She said people used the boards in séances to contact the dead; but, overtime, the commercialization of the board lost its validity and people saw it as a game. The most powerful board, she told us, was one made by the person who would conduct the séances or would operate the board most of the time. She said it was a board familiar spirits—demons—and Satan used to fool people into thinking they were talking to a loved one or a “good spirit”.<br />
<br />
“I remember we lived in an old white house on York Street. All of us lived there: Our grandparents—Mama and Daddy—our mothers, and us kids.” She said looking around at us. “We were all bored and somebody got the idea to bring out the Ouija board we’d found to play with so we piled into the boys room ready to have fun.” Aunt Camille said the nine of them crowded around the board and started asking it questions; she said they got excited when the pointer started moving. Everything was going good, she said, until they asked the spirit operating the board its name. <br />
<br />
“What did it say?” One of the kids asked.<br />
<br />
“It spelled out M-u-r-d-e-r-J-o-h-n,” Aunt Camille said wringing her hands.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
We walked in the tiny two bedroom apartment and made ourselves at home. I sat on the couch and looked around; I noticed there were no pictures on the wall, except for a print of The Virgin Mary. There was no TV and I asked Lacy what happened to it, she said her mother said they didn’t deserve to have one. She said her and Carrie kept themselves busy by hanging out at a local bookstore called Magical Allusions—a witchcraft store where they purchased the Ouija Board.<br />
<br />
Lacy walked into the kitchen, grabbed the Seagram’s Gin bottle off the kitchen table, opened a cabinet, pulled out four glasses and started filling them, freely. “Lacy don’t pour so much,” Carrie said grabbing the bottle of out of her sister’s hand. “You know Mom’s gonna have a fit if we drink too much this time. Go get the game so we can play.”<br />
<br />
“I’m scared.” Rameka said. “What’s gonna happen? Do dead people really move the board?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah it’s cool wait ‘til you see it.” Lacy said setting the game in the middle of the coffee table. “But don’t worry about it; nothing’s going to happen…it’s only a game.”<br />
<br />
Rameka continued asking more questions, getting more anxious, and looking more fretful while she sat starring at the game. <br />
When asked, she claimed she never had any encounters with ghosts but the look on her face said what she didn’t want to. The truth was, we all had stories to tell, secret confrontations with dark entities that stalked us at night—ones we would never talk about if we were home alone.<br />
<br />
“Remember that time we lived on School Street?” Lacy asked looking at Carrie, who in return nodded her head yes. Lacy told us how whenever their mother worked late at night, and Carrie sneaked out the house, she always got woken up by a baby crying. Carrie laughed at Lacy and said she was just scared to be in a big old house all by herself. <br />
<br />
“No Car, usually I just turned over and went to sleep, but that night it was really loud. So loud I turned the light on in the room, but it only got louder.” Lacy said. She told us how the crying got more frantic, how she couldn’t ignore it, so she got up to go see where it was coming from. When she walked up to the room where the crying sounded like it was coming from, she opened the door and saw a woman with a daunting look on her face rocking a baby. Lacy said when the ghost saw her, the door slammed shut. She said she ran back in her room after that, grabbed her Bible, and put her head under the covers and fell asleep that way.<br />
<br />
“Well I do rememba one time when we first moved Upstate. We lived in this big house off Conkey in Rochesta.” Remeka said. “My little sistas hadn’t moved up yet, right, and it was just me and my motha in the house.” She said she lived in what looked like the spookiest house in Rochester, New York, but she said she loved it anyway because she got a chance to have her own room. She put a cigarette to her lip, drew it in slowly, and let the smoke out like she was ready to give a dissertation. She said she was sleeping peacefully in her brand new Sealy Posturepedic bed when she woke up suddenly. Not a spooky sudden, but an all of a sudden, like she knew somebody was watching her. Rameka said when she opened her eyes a little more she saw her mother just standing there and she asked her why she was standing there. She said when her mother didn’t say anything she turned her nightlight on to find no one there. Rameka said she was so scared she kept it on and stared at the spot all night, wondering what it was she saw. We stared at her, waiting for more, but she took another drag of her cigarette and shrugged her shoulders. <br />
<br />
Then everyone looked at me, not at Carrie, but at me. I didn’t want to tell everyone what happened in my room when I had to go home and sleep there by myself, but the pressure of their stares made the first words form in my throat. <br />
“All I know is I was watching TV and playing with my Barbie’s down in my basement.” I said sighing. I explained to them how my grandparents (whom I lived with) wanted me to use the lamp instead of the big light, but I had to use the light bulb from the lamp in my room. What was so strange about that night, I said, was that after I brought the light bulb back upstairs, and went to turn all the lights off downstairs, the light bulb was gone when I came back upstairs. No one could have taken it, I said, because I would have heard footsteps, and my grandparents were competing to see who could snore the loudest. I couldn’t find it anywhere, I told them, I even stuck my hand in the garbage disposal to see if it rolled in there, but it didn’t. <br />
<br />
I wasn’t going to rack my brain anymore than I already had so I went to bed. And then I was awakened in the middle of the night by heavy breathing in my ear and hot air on my face. I woke up and I couldn’t move, or hear myself scream, and it felt like someone was holding me. When I started reciting The Lord’s Prayer, and before I was finished, whatever it was turned me loose. When I turned around—from facing the wall—I saw a black shadow running through my room, and it haunted me on several other occasions. <br />
<br />
“Your room’s scary anyway.” Lacy said, “I don’t know whether it’s an attic or a room? Whatever it is it’s scary as hell.”<br />
“Tell me about it, I’m the one who has to sleep there.” I said contemplating asking my grandmother to sleep with me like I had done so many nights before. “What about you Carrie?”<br />
<br />
“What about me?” Carrie said. “It’s nothing. I mean a freakin’ black shadow walked down the stairs and sat on the couch. What’s there to be afraid of, you guys are a bunch of babies. Now are we going to play this got damn game or what cause I’m sick of sitting here just starring at it?” <br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
“That spells mur…murder John.” One of my cousins yelled out. <br />
<br />
“Yes it does.” Aunt Camille replied getting out of her seat and walking to the window. She stood there looking into the darkness for a few minutes just starring. And then she walked away, all of a sudden, like she saw something she didn’t intend to see.<br />
<br />
“Aunt Camille would you finish telling the story please?” Someone blurted out.<br />
<br />
“Dag y’all, can’t you see she’s trying.” I said, aware of the terror in her eyes.<br />
<br />
“This ain’t easy for me to tell y’all this. Y’all may not even believe it, but it’s true.” She said sitting back in the chair. She took a deep breath and exhaled, but the tension didn’t release from her body. She clawed at her shorts, let her body rock back and forth, and started grinding her lips. Then her eyes burned a spot on the wall where images of the past started to form, us kids became fixated on that spot, too, ready to see what she saw. <br />
<br />
“What happened Aunt Camille?” I asked. <br />
<br />
“We asked if someone killed him and he spelled out no.” She said. Aunt Camille told us they all took turns asking him questions and then someone asked him why his name was Murder John and he spelled out: I-K-I-L-L. <br />
<br />
“But we laughed.” She said. “I think we made him real mad cause the board flipped over and the pointer flew across the room.”<br />
<br />
Aunt Camille said Uncle Dave went and got the pointer and the board, he said he wasn’t finished asking it questions. All us girls, and some of the boys, said we were done playing, but we didn’t leave the room. She said Uncle Dave wanted to know whether Murder John was real or not, so he asked him. Murder John spelled out yes. She said they should have stopped there, said they should have stopped when the pointer went flying across the room. “I’m still mad at Dave I swear I am.” Aunt Camille said digging her nails into her skin.<br />
<br />
“Why? What happened?” One of my cousins said.<br />
<br />
“What happened…?” Aunt Camille said jerking her head in the direction of the voice, “All hell broke loose that’s what happened.” <br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
We sat around the coffee table looking from the board to each other. Lacy and Rameka sat on lowback kitchen chairs across from Carrie and me who sat on the edge of the couch. “You got anybody you wanna talk to?” Carrie asked Rameka. Rameka leaned back in her seat, folded her arms, and shook her head no. <br />
<br />
“What about you Shawnte? I know there has to be someone you want to talk to. I ain’t trying to be funny but every time I look around you going to a funeral.”<br />
<br />
“I know right.” I said warming up to the idea of actually playing the game. “I want to talk to my grandfather. How do you play?” I guzzled the rest of my drink down, ready to wrestle with the board.<br />
<br />
“Talk to it.” Carrie said.<br />
<br />
“What do I say?” I asked. <br />
<br />
“Just talk to your got damn grandfather. Call out his name or something.” Carrie said exhaling smoke.<br />
<br />
“Shawnte just say ‘I want to talk to…’ What’s your grandfather’s name?” Lacy said moving her chair closer. <br />
<br />
“Louis Mack Morris.” I said.<br />
<br />
“Just say ‘I want to talk to Louis Mack Morris’ and then he will come.”<br />
<br />
I warmed up to the game; I was asking it questions and everything, but I wanted to know if it was really my grandfather. It spelled out yes. I didn’t believe it was him, I wasn’t convinced it was my grandfather, and I asked Carrie and Lacy how could I be sure it was him. They told me to ask him a question that only he or people in my family would know. So I asked the game what my nickname was and it spelled out: C-U-P. <br />
<br />
“How the heck…?” I said pushing myself violently to the back of the couch.<br />
<br />
“Shawnte, you are talking to a dead person. A spirit. Someone who knows things.” Carrie condescendingly said. <br />
<br />
“We’ll see about that.” I said ready to challenge the game. “I’m gonna ask it what color underwear I have on. No one knows that.” I scooted to the edge of the couch, ready to prove the game a liar. I put my fingers on the game confidently, looked at my three tipsy friends, and asked the question. It spelled out: W-H-I-T-E. <br />
<br />
“Yo, how the hell did it know that? Yo, I’m out.” I said jumping up and gathering my things. “I’m not messing with this stuff no more you heard.”<br />
<br />
“Shawnte come back.” I heard Lacy yell, but I was already gone.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
No one moved, everyone sat perfectly still; no one even blinked an eye. Aunt Camille started shaking her head from side to side, and then she closed her eyes, and pursed her lips, and opened her eyes again and said, “All hell broke loose. That damn Dave.” She said through clenched teeth. She told us how Uncle Dave kept taunting the spirit with questions, insinuating that Murder John wasn’t real. If you’re real, Uncle Dave asked, then what year was you born? 1-8-7-2, the pointer spelled out on the board. But Uncle Dave wouldn’t let it go. If you’re real, he asked, then how many people you killed? The entity spelled out, 1-4, with fervor.<br />
<br />
“We begged him to stop,” she said looking at the ceiling, “but he wouldn’t let it go. I can’t do…look I gotta go to the bathroom.” <br />
<br />
“Aww man Aunt Camille,” one of my boy cousins said “why you couldn’t finish first?”<br />
<br />
When she came back from the bathroom, Aunt Camille looked refreshed, but less ready to finish the story. She sat down, smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her pants, starred into the wall again, and said “All of us girls, Myra, Jenny, Vera, Dinah, and me moved to the other side of the room. We were scared. What was fun and games had turned real. Dave, Caleb, Tim, and Ben were still with the board.”<br />
<br />
“Well why y’all didn’t leave?” Someone asked.<br />
<br />
“They wouldn’t let us leave. If we left the game was over. They knew we would tell Daddy and then they’d get a whoppin’. But let me finish before I lose my nerve.” Aunt Camille said. She said Uncle Dave was still taunting the spirit, making it answer questions to prove it had once been a living, walking, talking man. I want to know if you real, she said Unlce Dave said, I want to know if you’re real. She said he kept saying. <br />
<br />
“Why he kept saying…” <br />
<br />
“Shh…let me finish.” She said. “Dave told that thang he wanted to see it. ‘Sho’ yo’self’ he said. ‘If you real sho’ yo’self’.” Aunt Camille said after that the board flew across the room; a shadow moved along the wall, the lights flicked on and off, and the mirror broke into a million pieces. <br />
<br />
“Are you serious?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“I’m not finished.” Aunt Camille said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Nobody will ever tell you this. Not too many people in the family want to talk about it, but that’s why we moved.” She told us how every window in the house broke and how every knife in the drawer flew across the room—one knife finding its way into our great-grandfather’s arm. “But nobody’ll talk about it,” she had said, “But I’m afraid Murder John been following us around.”<br />
<br />
“What makes you think he’s been following y’all around?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“I said us, meaning our whole family. Just leave the Ouija Board alone. It looks like a game but it isn’t.” <br />
<br />
<div align="center">#</div><br />
<br />
After I left Carrie and Lacy’s house I was headed home. I felt that, maybe, I was being followed by a spirit, perhaps even the devil himself. The story of Murder John came creeping into my mind along with paranoia. Every tree leaf that brushed up against me was, I felt, a spirit letting me know it was there—so I walked in the street. Every faint sound I heard was a spirit telling me it wasn’t going to leave me. When I got home I had a crook in my neck because I looked behind me more than I looked ahead, but the paranoia didn’t end when I walked in the door. Everything was different when I walked in, even the hello my grandmother and grandfather gave me was somehow off. Did they know? Could they possibly know I left school and disobeyed them by doing something taboo? Something I had been warned many times not to do? I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t look them in the eye knowing I had played a game I was forbidden to play, so I rushed downstairs to my basement, and didn’t come up until I heard them getting into bed. <br />
<br />
When I walked into my room something was different. It was the way I left it, yes, but it didn’t feel like the same room. I convinced myself that I was only disturbed by the events that occurred and the spooky story of Murder John—the one I had a hard time believing. I’m not afraid, I kept thinking. All the scary movies I watched, please, I’m not about to let a game scare me. I was done being afraid, done being scared. Who in their right mind would be afraid of game? A piece of wood? <br />
I grabbed my book, “Flyy Girl” by Omar Tyree, off my bookshelf, turned my lamp on, shut off the big light, and hopped in bed. I was just getting to the part where Tracy was meeting a guy named Victor for the first time, and I was enjoying every word on the page. And out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked like a shadow on my wall, but when I looked up nothing was there. It must have been my imagination. I continued reading, because this part of the book was getting juicy, and my lamp flickered. When I looked up again I saw a figure of a man on the wall. Then darkness crept upon my room. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="norm" style="padding: 5px;"><small><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2009 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.Com). All rights reserved.</span></b></small></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-16556413397528798752011-08-17T11:33:00.000-07:002011-08-17T11:33:13.407-07:00Our Own Demise in Plainview<div align="left"><span name="myContent">He was a young man about the age of 18<br />
I asked him what he wanted out of life and he replied<br />
“I have no special or particular dream”<br />
I asked if he knew the hunt was on, and that he was the prey<br />
But he wasn’t at all concerned with what I had to say<br />
That’s what scared me the most<br />
All people wanting out of life is to brag and boast<br />
What ever happened to love, or even a friendly hello?<br />
People are in such a rush to get to where they gotta go<br />
Not stopping to take a look around<br />
You can hear it in the music, it has such a different sound<br />
So much inspiration, but inspired I am not<br />
Tired of writing poems about the effects of selling crack rock<br />
“There’s something in the way of things!” Baraka replied<br />
This should not be a shocker, nor should it be denied<br />
I never saw the young man again but I heard his name on the news<br />
So sad to see a life gone just cause he was lost and confused<br />
What will it take for the people to awake and get ahead?<br />
To stop thinking of oneself and to get out of the bed<br />
No more sleeping, so stretch and say hello<br />
To a new day and out into the world you go</span></div><div align="center" class="norm" style="padding: 5px;"><small><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Bloggerf.Com). All rights reserved.</span></b></small></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-29425449975082282902011-08-17T11:13:00.000-07:002011-08-17T11:13:20.579-07:00A Piano's Love<div align="left"><span name="myContent">I wish I had a piano<br />
I’d play it every day<br />
I wish I had taken lessons at an early age<br />
<br />
I’d become one with the melody and get lost in a trance<br />
I’d tickle the ivories; you know make my fingers dance<br />
I’d play a song that only the piano could play<br />
It would speak to you what my mouth couldn’t say<br />
<br />
I wish I had a piano I’d play a song for my mother<br />
And thank her for giving birth to me and my brothers<br />
I’d say congratulations for obtaining your goal<br />
You let God lead the way and let Him take control<br />
<br />
I would tell my grandparents thanks for putting up with a child like me<br />
I know that task must not have been easy<br />
The lyrics would smoothly flow<br />
And I’d bring your head to high from low<br />
<br />
The melody would soothe the inside of your soul and make you loose control<br />
Everyone would have a young heart even the old<br />
I’d say to my father, “I learned a lot from you”<br />
Even through prison walls your words penetrated through<br />
I’d tell my step-father “Thank you for paying attention”<br />
You know just in case I forget to mention<br />
<br />
I’d tell my family that I love them and wish they felt the same<br />
Do ya’ll remember that no-touch-gravel game?<br />
Remember we was fly, rolling our necks and swinging our braids<br />
Now we’re all players in a masquerade <br />
<br />
It’s funny what a piano can do<br />
It can make you fall in love and get you in the mood<br />
There is no mistaken what a piano can say<br />
But all I really want to do is play</span></div><div align="center" class="norm" style="padding: 5px;"><small><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.Com). All rights reserved.</span></b></small></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-74761123093151320462011-08-17T11:07:00.001-07:002011-08-17T11:07:43.141-07:00Systematic Ills<div align="left"><span name="myContent">I looked out the window and started to cry<br />
Now listen to me closely as I tell you why<br />
Young Black men on the street trying to live and survive<br />
You got this one right here just trying to stay alive<br />
Young babies living hard growing up much too fast<br />
Mommies running ‘round strung trying to make her high last<br />
My father told me, “Only the strong survive”<br />
But this system is working hard to take our pride<br />
We were once told to keep our heads to the sky<br />
We must look up even when we cry<br />
Our young Black men carry the weight of the world on his shoulder<br />
And then you have the nerve to lock him up for selling drugs on the corner<br />
You put him in a jail that does not rehabilitate<br />
You judge him, play God, and try to steal his fate<br />
God said the enemy only comes to kill, steal, and destroy<br />
Well the system is the enemy for young Black boys</span></div><div align="center" class="norm" style="padding: 5px;"><small><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.Com). All rights reserved.</span></b></small></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-56411695827260787652011-08-03T14:46:00.001-07:002011-08-03T14:46:58.040-07:00Rebirth<span name="myContent">Used to get my hair fried, died, and laid to the side<br />
Just to take away from my African pride<br />
To forget my identity; forget who I be<br />
Stopped ceeing reality and seen what I wanted to see<br />
Out of the darkness came beauty and blue<br />
And that’s when I began to act all brand new<br />
Ripped my brain out just to put a new one in<br />
Went way past seven and became a perfect ten<br />
Started to learn my Asiatic Mathematics<br />
Just to begin a new tactic<br />
I crossed waters to the motherland <br />
So that I can understand who I am<br />
Then I noticed I was really the same<br />
Just had a new face and a new name<br />
Man fears what he does not know to be true<br />
And what he can not conquer with his crew<br />
A wise man said to fear nothing but G-O-D<br />
Take jealousy out your heart and never envy<br />
Never let cash rule who you plan to become<br />
And walk in the ways of the Almighty Sun<br />
Now everybody act like they forgot about God</span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.Com). All rights reserved.</span></strong></span>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-31276612362288049662011-08-03T14:36:00.000-07:002011-08-03T19:29:51.615-07:00Cause I'm the Sh-t<span name="myContent">For years I thought otherwise <br />
Looking in the mirror the sight I despised<br />
I couldn’t find one good thing to say about myself<br />
Knocking all of my pictures off the shelf<br />
“You’re beautiful," she said and that set my spirit free<br />
I began to have the power to really see me<br />
<br />
That’s why I say I’m the sh-- <br />
<br />
Not conceited at all<br />
I’ve earned the right to stand tall<br />
I always prayed to be humble<br />
To hold my head high when I stumble</span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent"> I know I’m not the only one to really feel this way<br />
So I know you feel me when I speak the words I say<br />
I look at so many women full of beauty who can’t see<br />
That beautiful is more than skin deep<br />
<br />
That’s why I know I’m the sh-- <br />
<br />
My weapon to woo you is my sunshine smile<br />
Then I get you hooked with my laid back style<br />
I speak from the heart so sensual and deep<br />
My words will creep upon your spirit when you are asleep <br />
My power.<br />
My light.<br />
I was always an ery myst<br />
And I’m versatile with an eclectic twyst<br />
<br />
They call me B-Luv, <br />
They call me Ms. Blyss<br />
And that’s what makes me the shit!</span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.Com). All rights reserved.</span></strong>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-17441608579841264672011-07-28T17:37:00.000-07:002011-07-28T18:23:51.415-07:00<span name="myContent">What of Gossip?<br />
A blessing lost<br />
Feelings of hurt within the air<br />
Negativity and confusion when we stare<br />
<br />
I must find the strength to continue on and seek the light<br />
Then he gave me a pen and said “Child write!”<br />
Trust in God and He will see you through<br />
Soon there will be a new and improved you<br />
<br />
Patience my child this ain’t all that new<br />
Been getting you ready and besides this ain’t all about you<br />
Rumors come and go, and just so you know<br />
People will never spread how far you will go<br />
<br />
Just senseless chatter for the hater inclined<br />
Ruthless gossip for the undefined <br />
That’s why now I watch what I say<br />
Cause I will have to live with what I say everyday<br />
<br />
Gossip, rumors<br />
Whispers in the wind<br />
Leaving me to feel congested and closed in</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.com). All rights reserved.</span></strong>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-90898251599072282312011-07-24T13:12:00.000-07:002011-07-24T14:44:43.037-07:00Fallen Angel<div align="left"><span name="myContent">I shined so brightly the world could see the sun upon my face<br />
But now I have fallen from grace<br />
<br />
Like an angel with clipped wings <br />
I’ve been blinded by things<br />
<br />
Strutting blindly not seeing what’s in front of me<br />
I’ve been screaming silently just trying to break free<br />
Waiting patiently for the Sun to shine on me<br />
<br />
No Sun on my face I have fallen from grace<br />
Staring out into space<br />
Gotta get out of this place<br />
<br />
I need some peace of mind maybe a shoulder to pour my soul<br />
But all who’s around have got hearts of stone cold<br />
<br />
Quantum changes in my life<br />
I ain’t been living right in God’s sight<br />
<br />
So from now on I’m a butterfly with uncolored wings<br />
A humming bird who fails to sing<br />
<br />
A rainbow with no arch<br />
Like no trees in a park<br />
<br />
A fallen angel out of the sky<br />
But I am not yet ready to die<br />
Guess that’s why I smile when I cry<br />
<br />
Cause I’m in love with the joy that comes after the pain<br />
Like a flower it’s my sunshine and rain<br />
<br />
I am an angel fallen from grace<br />
With no sun upon my face<br />
Waiting patiently to take my place</span></div><div align="center" class="norm" style="padding: 5px;"><small><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger). All rights reserved.</b></span></small></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-72729766748182679712011-07-21T17:43:00.000-07:002011-07-28T18:26:05.847-07:00Zoom: Fantasy World Since I was a Girl<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Zoom…I lived in a fantasy world since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I dreamt of an African warrior, who’d take away the pain,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>No need to take away the rain,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But please no fingers to blame</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A fantasy world </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I only knew love through a movie,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Growing up listening to songs like, “Do me...baby”,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>And naw everything ain’t gravy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No more searching I’m done for awhile,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We gon’ do things up Ms. Blyss style</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A fantasy world </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I told him I held out for 4 looong years</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I know I’m not a hoe,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But my first mistake was letting him through the front door</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He was like a BreaTH of fresh air</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A sun ray,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In my world full of gray,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But hey what can I say,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>It’s a new day</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A fantasy world</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Oh now you don’t know my name</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Is it a game?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Now you got me thinking and I’m not sure I feel the same</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m a real woman, sometimes feisty</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sometimes shy,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Don’t ask why,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just know I ain’t down with a lie,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>So I sigh,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>And try not to cry</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Cause I’ve lived in a fantasy world since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I just want to be held and hugged</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And showed some love,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">And whoever goes first be waiting at the cloudy stairs above</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Real love, real love, Aphrodite’s son can you hear my name</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Ladi Luv!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Better known as Ms. Blyss</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But I guess my premonition missed</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ll be putting back on my shoes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And I’ma be cool,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Don’t want to be a link on a chain called a fool.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A fantasy world since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I want to wake up and look into loves eyes </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With no goodbyes</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>And no dry hi’s</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A fantasy world since I was a girl</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span>A fantasy world since I was a girl</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">A fantasy world since I was a girl<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2007 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes at Blogger.com). All rights reserved.</span></strong><br />
</div></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-11564949848283821992011-07-17T15:47:00.000-07:002011-07-17T15:47:49.845-07:00Strange Things in the Florida Sun<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Janie walked in the door of her grandparents’ six room house and all the memories of her childhood flooded her mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a small house that sat in the deep wooded area of Ocala, Florida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In thirty year’s nothing changed, everything was still the same, even the smell of mothballs and fried chicken lingered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All her aunts and uncles had been born there, but they refused to step foot back in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Strange things have happened there Janie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You sure you want to take on this responsibility?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said to her when they found out the house had been willed to her after Grandpa Joe passed away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she asked them what kind of things happened they would utter things like “you see hags running in those woods,” or “we used to see people living in the trees that were no bigger than a humming bird”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Janie thought they were all crazy, she spent many nights in the house and never saw or heard anything that would make her cringe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Whatever happened back then was none of Janie’s concern now; she was looking for a new life, away from the city and away from her ex-husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the divorce became final, Mack had been calling and harassing her in hopes of getting back together with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had enough when he called her at three-thirty in the morning telling her he was outside the house and wanted to see the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Are you crazy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked him jumping out of bed to see his white Cadillac Seville parked outside the house they once shared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They're my kids and I can see them whenever I want,” he said jumping out of the car.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m not opening the door for you,” she said walking in the hallway to peek in on the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You don’t gotta let me in, I still have my key,” he said jigging the key in the lock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie ran downstairs to put the bolt lock on she installed a few days prior, but forgot to lock before she went to bed. When she got to the door and tried turning the lock, Mack pushed the door open knocking Janie to the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“You trynna keep me from my kids?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said grabbing her by the neck.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Mack, it’s late,” she said, her voice trembling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why don’t you come back later after they get out of school?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I want to see my kids now,” he demanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only could Janie smell the liquor on him, but she could see that he was drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when Mack got that intoxicated he was a force to be reckoned with, but Janie had enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They’re sleeping Mack, come back later,” she said firmly. That’s all Janie remembered before he knocked her out cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hurt for her to remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hurt for her to think about what he could have done had he not passed out on top of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Janie walked into the small room her grandparents slept in and all the memoires she forgot came back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Memories like the times her grandmother would hand her a comb and tell her to scratch and grease her scalp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sat her bags on the steel framed bed and let the load she was carrying in her heart free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a new beginning for Janie and there was no way she was going to let the baggage she was carrying from her past into her future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mommy the light doesn’t work in the bathroom,” Janie’s daughter, Melina, said startling her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well Lina get the light bulbs out of the Lowe’s bag in the car and ask Kwame to put them in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell him to make sure he puts them in before it gets dark, because there’s no street lights out here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No street lights?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom are you serious?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to stay here,” Melina said staring out the bedroom window. “It looks scary outside Mom.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nonsense Lina, I used to love staying here with my grandparents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing to be afraid of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now go do what I told you to do,” Janie said running her fingers through her new unwanted hair cut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Janie walked outside to make sure Melina was doing what she was told, and when she heard the melodramatic story Melina was telling Kwame she laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She became uneasy when she felt someone watching her; she turned around and noticed an old woman with long braided brittle silver hair staring at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rocking slowly back and forth on her porch, the old woman sat there with a crocheted blanket sitting on her lap glaring at Janie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie waved to her, but the old woman just sat there staring and rocking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie stepped off her porch, sure the frail old woman didn’t see her, and headed over to introduce herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closer Janie got to the frail looking woman the slower she rocked until she came to a complete stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Hello ma’am,” Janie said approaching the gray wooden porch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You Janie Mae grandbaby ain’tcha?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old woman said holding an old rusty can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes ma’am I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My name is…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Your name is Janie after your grandmamma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You moving in that house wit’ dem chil’ren?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman said spitting black juice into the can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked at Janie with cold eyes, disapproving and stern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah… yes ma’am. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s your name? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t remember you; I used to come here…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You don’t remember me, but I remember you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember your mama too, used to play with my great-grandbaby Cora when she was little,” the old lady said sticking her nose in the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Your great-granddaughter?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie laughed trying to ease the tension. “You don’t look a day over fifty ma’am.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the old woman didn’t crack a smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well you never told me your name Ma’am,” Janie said looking around to see if she saw anyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you live here all by yourself?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“I’m the only one left!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old woman shouted throwing the quilt off her lap and standing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Looky here Janie Mae grandbaby,” the old woman said in an unyielding voice. “You best mind your business ‘round here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell them chil’ren’s not to be runnin’ ‘round unattended you hear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Specially in my yard,” she said before opening her screen door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“I didn’t mean to offend you ma’am really, and don’t worry about the kids I’ll keep an eye on them,” Janie said backing away.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“I ain’t the one needs be worryin,” the old woman said walking into her house slamming her screen door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Janie stood there for a minute trying to figure out what the lady meant when she felt an ice chilling breeze on the side of her face, snapping her out of the daze she was in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rubbed her hand across her face and realized that under the hot Florida sun, there was not a single tree leaf blowing and Janie couldn’t understand why she felt such a cool breeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she looked in the direction the wind came from the old woman stood watching Janie through a window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She almost tripped over her feet trying to make it home, but when Janie got there it didn’t make her feel any better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She decided that from that day forward she would mind her own business.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was six months before Kwame and Melina started asking about going to see their dad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Janie didn’t like the idea of them being alone with a drunk, he assured her that he was attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on a regular basis. They all agreed that the kids would spend the whole summer in Baltimore between their dad’s and Janie’s parents’ house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all honesty, Janie was relieved that the kids were going away for a little while; since moving into her grandparents’ home she hadn’t had a minute to herself and she needed the peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After seeing the kids off, Janie went to Wal-mart and bought as many candles as she could fit into the shopping cart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On her way back home, Janie blasted the music and didn’t have a single care in the world, all she thought about was taking a long hot bath and catching up on some reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she pulled into the wooded area leading to her house she felt strange, kind of like she was going into a trance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned the air condition on and rolled the windows up, she was sure it was the heat making her feel light headed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she made the left turn down the road she lived on her eyes gravitated to what looked like a man running up a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the hell!” She yelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I must really need to relax because I’m trippin’ right now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Janie walked in the house, sat the half dozen bags of candles down, and began emptying them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had all kinds of candles to liven up the small sleepy house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had tea light candles, short and tall candles, and huge round three wicked candles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lit candles all around the house and went in the bathroom to run her bath water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled to herself when she laid her satin night gown down on the bed along with her favorite Bath and Body Works lotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went to the bathroom, opened her brand new champagne bubble bath, and lavishly poured some into the filling bathtub.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She stuck her hand in the water and turned the cold water off; she wanted to relax and the only way she could do that was with a hot bath.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Janie sank her body into the steaming hot claw foot bathtub and released the tension she felt in her body. The iridescent light from the candles filled the room with a serene energy, and when she closed her eyes she let her mind take her to a peaceful place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she opened them she was shocked to find that every flame on every candle was blown out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since there was very little light shining in the bathroom she washed her body in a hurry, got out the tub, and flicked the light switch to the ‘on’ position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s strange,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The light was working before I got in the tub.” She wrapped herself in her terrycloth towel and went into her bedroom to see whether the light was working in there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the light didn’t come on in her bedroom she went into every room only to discover that all the candles were blown out and none of the lights worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She called the power company, but they said they had no reports of any power outages in the area.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Janie lit all the candles around the house again and went to her room to get dressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she went back into the living room she discovered the candles were out again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Okay grandma or grandpa I know it’s you so please stop, I know you’re here,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a cacophonous laughter—coming from nowhere in particular—told her it was not her grandparents and that it was time to get some sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went to her room pulled the sheet back, eased into bed, and fell into a deep sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Brutally awakened by the violent shaking of her bed, Janie tried to get up but couldn’t move; it was as if someone was pressing down on her chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Our Father, which art in Heaven,” she began chanting the Lord’s Prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hollow be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…,” she said straining to even breathe the inaudible words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But before she finished the prayer she no longer felt restrained and saw a dark shadow run across her room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She jerked her body out of the bed, felt her way to the night stand, and grabbed the flashlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She grabbed her cell phone, hit the button to automatically dial her mother’s number, and ran over to her bedroom door to shut it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Before her mother could answer the phone Janie looked out her bedroom window and saw the old lady standing on her porch with what looked like a handful of cut hair in her hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie ran her fingers through her head and, before she started to panic, she remembered that Mack chopped all but a few inches off before he passed out on top of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Janie, what’s wrong with you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mother screamed in the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You call my house at two-thirty in the morning and not say anything something must be wrong.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mom, I…,” Janie said trying to speak.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Did you talk to anybody Janie?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mother demanded, but Janie didn’t say a word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t have to tell me, it’s the witching hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to the bathroom right now, you’ve got to hurry. They like to tap into your weaknesses and play tricks on your mind.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I…I can’t move mom, the old lady next door….”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Did you talk to her?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie’s mother calmly asked her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, when I first moved in, but...”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie replied still in shock.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’ve got to move now! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to the bathroom and on the side of the wall near the toilette there’s a board that has an oval hole in it, you need to find it. Hurry up Janie, get yourself together, this is serious,” her mother said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie grabbed the flashlight, ran to the bathroom and searched for the oval hole her mother instructed her to find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt that same eerie wind blow on her face again, making all the hairs on her body stick up, but she ignored it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she found the oval hole she started hearing voices whispering, telling her she’d die if she opened it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a quarter to three Janie, you found that hole yet, you’ve got to hurry.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I got it mom, now what do you want me to do?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie asked frantically.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hit it three times saying ‘Rohoyah minah’, but I want you to hit it really hard on the last time Janie.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did as she was told and when she opened it Janie found a picture of an old woman in a casket, a white rag, a black candle, and a box of matches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told her mother what she found and her mother gave her instructions to perform a ritual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“After you light the candle, look in the matchbox and there’s a needle in there, you need to prick your finger, drop your blood on that rag, and wrap the rag around the picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After you do that, say ‘Ethel Lee Deans you don’t belong here, you are dead, you are not welcome here, go back to where you belong.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve got to say it with conviction.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie did as she was told and as soon as she was done all the lights came back on in her house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You want to tell me what the hell is going on mom!” Janie screamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mother told her how Ethel Lee Deans was an old hag who died, but every so often she liked to come back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told Janie how people said the old woman lived to be 120 years old; some said she was even older than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told Janie how the old woman didn’t like Janie’s grandmother because she stopped letting her play with the old hags great-great-granddaughter Cora.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I remember my mother coming into my room telling me Cora got bit by a snake and was dead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember going to her funeral, then about a week later Cora came back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was outside playing with her in the yard when my mother told me to come in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked me who I was playing with, and when I told her it was Cora she told me not to play with her again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother said ‘Old Hag Ethel done turned her grandbaby into a zombie’.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A zombie mom? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t believe that,” Janie said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You don’t believe it or you don’t want to believe it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all told you strange things happened there and you didn’t want to believe it, we grew up there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re going to stay there you have to pay attention to how people act and react.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to make sure you ask them lots of questions, talk to them about recent things that happened in the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they don’t want to answer any of your questions, then they have something to hide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s okay to have friends, but you have to watch out for the sake of them babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you start talking to hags and people who practice magic you give them permission to play games with your mind,” Janie’s mother said. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two talked until the sun came up, but that didn’t make Janie feel any better.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">For the next few weeks Janie had a hard time falling asleep at night, it took her awhile to fall asleep without her nightlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After awhile she was surprised she didn’t even have any nightmares; it was as if the old hag never existed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when she went outside to do yard work she didn’t even look in the direction of the old woman’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, everything was returning to normal and she enjoyed the rest of her vacation in peace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By the time the kids came back everything was back to normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no more chilling winds in the hot-muggy-heat of Ocala, Florida, and no more strange things happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was going great, so great that Janie forgot about the night when a real witch rode her back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was sure, willing to bet, nothing else could go wrong, and now she was free to live her life in peace </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">On Sunday’s, Janie liked to wake up early to do yard work before it got too hot outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While she was sitting down at the kitchen table having her morning coffee a little girl knocked on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She thought it was strange for a child to be up and dressed that early in the morning, but it was Sunday and Janie assumed the little girl was getting ready to go to Sunday school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Can yo’ lil girl come out to play ma’am?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl asked in the sweetest southern accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“She’s sleeping sweetie, she can come out to play when she gets up,” Janie said smiling at the girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Janie finished her coffee she went into her bedroom to put her gardening clothes on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she glimpsed out her bedroom window she was surprised to see the little girl still outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Curious about who the lonesome looking little girl was, Janie went to Melina’s room to question her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shook Melina lightly, sat on the edge of her bed, and ran her fingers through her hair. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Yeah mom?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Melina said squinting her eyes to keep the sunlight out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“A little girl just came here for you, where do you know her from?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never seen her around here before.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“She’s visiting, I just met her yesterday,” Melina said yawning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Well where is she staying?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Not too far mom, I think in one of those houses over there,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Melina said pointing towards Janie’s room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Well what’s her name?’’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janie asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">“Cora.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Melina said turning over.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Copyright 2011 Shawnte Barr (UN: Blysswrytes). All rights reserved.</span></strong></span></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3373165276683358187.post-26733613508986893732011-07-17T15:30:00.000-07:002011-07-17T15:39:30.218-07:00Love Reign<div align="center" class="P2" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><strong><u></u></strong></span></span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Walls so high I can't even see</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Built of steal so tearing them down won't be easy</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I wonder how does love sound? Or, how does it feel?</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Sometimes I question if love is really real</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">A long time ago from me it was took</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Now I only know love through a book</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I tried many times to tear the walls down</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Seeking and yearning just to be found</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Only to be misunderstood</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Time has taught me tearing them down does no good</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I met love one day, looked right in his eyes</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I felt like he heard all of my cries</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">He was like the white dove flying over my head</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">With him there would be no more tears to shed</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">But fear set in and I backed away</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I'd have to see love another day</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Guess it was just heartache I opposed</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">This must be why my heart has been closed</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">So many times I fell asleep with love on my mind</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">But I didn't trust love cause it was leading me blind</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">A wall built of bricks surely went up</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Not slowly either I'm talking abrupt</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Everything and everyone seemed to disappear</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Had me singing “Hey Lover” I ain't felt this way in years</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">A love unknown to me and a feeling so true</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Turned my gray skies sunshine blue</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">January 13<span class="T1">th</span> the day I fell in love</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I had a lesson to learn about the power of love</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Walls built with sticks ready to be torn down</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">A fallen queen with no crown</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Making way for a heart that’s been torn</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">I was once a woman burned and scorned</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Walls put up by hurt and pain</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";">Walls torn down by loves reign</span></div><div class="P1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", "serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Copyright 2008 Shawnte Barr (UN Blysswrytes). All rights reserved.</span></strong></span></div>WryterBlysshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14719886263408817951noreply@blogger.com0