A collection of poems and random dribble...

Dead Flag Blues

The skyline is beautiful, burning.
I stand on an abyssal plain, looking
Through fog, thick and gray and cold, thinking
Peacefully, everything is beautiful, missing
The world's sweet smile, as it fades, burning.

She is beautiful, waving.
Gray silhouette on the edge of the abyss, reaching
For me, she is not real, encroaching
Upon the ashen floor which lies charred remains, singing
Sad tales of loss and grandeur, burning.

Dead flag blues I see, rotting.
God Rays pierce the plain in shaft, warming
The ground softening to summer, feeding
Energy into life, the color returns, blooming
Flowers with sweet smile, as they brighten, living.

Birthday

The car is on fire and serene rain crackles.

Today is someone's birthday
Who will never breathe its cool air
Taste its sweet smells
Hear the beautiful choral cacophony.

The din of the city deafens us.

Waste It

Suicide is easy, what happened to the revolution?
Are you a dissenter, irritated un-revolutionary?
What is your weapon of choice?
My weapon is words
Blunt and un-apologetic
Disturbing and cantankerous
To the system of lying liars.

I won’t waste my love on a nation.
I won’t waste it.


My love, O! Panda Bear

After you had deceived me,
And threw out all of my keys,
Said you loved a panda bear
For the sake of all things fair.
Fill your curiosity
Live in the mega-city.

I promise to give you my all
While we float through space
Passengers on this ball.

Sparks

It will be dawn before you wake,
I will be up.

The smell of tea tickles your sleeping fancy,
Come downstairs, Sparks, my love.

Breakfast is waiting for you,
Safe and warm away from the snow.

I am a bad cook, I know that,
But these omelets are for you.

You don’t have to be polite,
Or choke them down.




The Apocalypse Inside an Orange

Waves riding on warm gusts of wind rippled through the fields of dry brown straw behind the house. Dust clouds kicked up into small whirlwinds and danced across the roads before disseminating into the fields. The house stood alone, the only sign of human existence other than rough dirt roads, amid fields of straw that it blended with perfectly. It was a grand farmhouse in its heyday, although that time had come and gone several decades ago. The porch wrapped around three sides of the house, and steep vaulted rooflines reached for the sky. A lone tree shaded the south-facing side of the house, and filled Molly’s top-floor room with the effervescent sounds of rustling leaves. It soothed her in her worse moments.

"I am nine years old today,” Molly said to Mr. Madrid and Ms. Paris.
"Well congratulations beautiful, you deserve a tremendous present," Mr. Madrid said in a grandiose manner; Ms. Paris smiled serenely and winked at Molly.
"Do you think I will get anything this time?" She frowned after saying it, wishing that she hadn’t. Molly didn’t like to ponder such somber thoughts.
"I think you will have the most marvelous birthday you ever had, sweetie. I can feel it in the air." Miss Paris' voice was stately and sweet, like a loving mother's.
"I hope so, last year wasn't so lovely." Molly remembered her eighth birthday all too well. She remembered her parents yelling at each other, and then at her. She remembered when her dad brought the shovel inside, and she remembered when he had used it to club the dog to death and then bury it in the yard. Her father had told her it was her fault, and this was her punishment.
"Come on, I can smell breakfast cooking, lets go downstairs." Molly grabbed Mr. Madrid and Miss Paris, stuffed them into the front pockets of her overalls, and skipped down the stairs. The house was already beginning to heat up from the bright summer sun, the light piercing at sharp angles though windows with their curtains open. The walls were covered in dirty white paint that was slowly beginning to peel off the walls, like a banana peel, drooping towards the floor in long strips. The house glowed a sickly orange shade. Molly reached the landing with a loud thud, the stairs behind still reeling from her jaunt down, loud creaks emanated from the old wood. Her father came through the front door, a basket of eggs in one hand and two headless chickens in the other. The twitch of the chickens disturbed Molly, but she wouldn’t let her father see it in her eyes.

"God dammit girl, yer gonna make the whole damn house fall on us. Quit makin' so much noise!" Molly's father was a tall, wiry man, his cheeks sunk into his face like pieces of cloth pulled tight across his bones. His eyes were hidden back in his forehead; it was hard to distinguish any color or white in them for his prominent brow extruding above the sockets shadowed them. He had a sort of Neanderthal look about him.
"Sorry daddy," Molly started, "I'm just happy today." Her words came out innocent, her voice was soft and quivered, as if her words were fragile and teetering on the edge of a shelf.
"Well I ain't, so get outta my way." The look in her father's eyes immediately settled her and she turned away from him, with her head hung low, whispering to Mr. Madrid and Miss Paris.

"I shouldn't have upset him, something bad might happen like last year."
"Its okay honey, it's good you didn't provoke him. You need to be careful though, don’t tread on his toes. He'll warm up, you'll see." Miss Paris always calmed Molly down. She was a calm and sturdy wall upon which Molly often leaned.
"I hope so." Molly was sad again. The day was not starting off as well as she had hoped.
"You have every right to be happy today, missy. Miss Paris doesn't know what she is talking about. Don't let him stand in your way of fun. Do what you want," Mr. Madrid chimed in, invoking a sense of rebellion in Molly.
"I know exactly what I am talking about. Don't encourage her, Madrid. You know what happened last time she put a finger out." Miss Paris' scolding was harsh and put Molly back in her funk. Molly's mom walked into the anteroom carrying a plate of eggs and sausage.
"Who are you talking to, baby?" Molly's mother asked.
"Just Miss Paris and Mr. Madrid. I wish they would get along better." A look of worry rolled like a wave across her mother's face, her long blond locks glowed with sunlight streaming through the windows. She had a halo about her, a sense of angelic charm and charity.

Molly's mother, Andrea, was a beautiful woman, tall and slender, full of vibrancy and youth, although much of that was lost now. She was from a rich, traditional southern family. She had always done well in school and after she had graduated from high school, she was well prepped and paid for to attend Louisiana State University in the fall. All was fine and dandy until she met Molly's father on a night out in New Orleans. She was on Bourbon Street with some girl friends when he had come up to her. He wasn't attractive in the slightest sense, but something drew Andrea to him. Their night on the town was perfect, she would recall, and he was as charming as she would have expected a French nobleman to be. She knew she loved him in the morning, her naked body pressed against his in the bed they had shared the night before. He was from a poor working-class family in Mobile, and he had run away from home when he was seventeen, to New Orleans, to work on his uncle's boat, shucking oysters by the hundreds of pounds for twelve hours a day, for a measly 60 dollars a week. This was five years ago, he said, and now he was captain of his own boat. He then told her his dream. Molly's father's had always dreamt of moving to the plains, getting a farm house and some land, and working in the fields as a farmer all day. He wanted to grow corn and hay, and have a herd of horses. He also wanted to raise a family together, away from the blight of the cities, in a place where his kids would be safe. They spent the next week together, every second of it magical, and at the end, he had asked her to marry him, but also stated that he had very little money. This wasn't a problem, Andrea had said, and added that she would marry him. They formulated plans to meet again in a week on Bourbon Street, and catch a bus to Kansas City. In the meantime, Andrea would return home and take care of business.

Andrea's family lived in a huge, old plantation house in Bayou La Batre. It was down a long dirt road lined on each side by monolithic pecan trees. The backyard of the house opened to the Gulf of Mexico, and the grass was always kept immaculately neat by the grounds crew, beyond which could be seen the barrier islands of Alabama. On any given day, flocks of brown pelicans could be seen resting on the lawn before returning to their fishing expeditions. She spent her week at home secretly packing a suitcase full of her most personal effects and plotting on how to steal a portion of the family fortune. She had lunch with her mom and played interested in her future as a college student, her mind never leaving her future husband for a second.

At four in the morning on the day of her departure to New Orleans she awoke and crept down the stairs from the third floor to the basement. The basement housed a wine cellar and a couple of rooms dedicated to the servants. She knew the safe was kept in the wine cellar behind a false wall. She entered the cellar, the high humidity from the earthen walls chilling her and sending shivers down her spine. Maybe she was just nervous about what she was about to do. She found the false wall, and with a butter knife, pried the panel free. The safe was an old thing, and was heavily rusted about the hinges. She had brought an ice pick and a small hammer with her, and withdrawing the pick from her bag, she edged the tip of in the space between the door and the body of the safe. Andrea struck the ice pick with the hammer and hid in the corner to see if anyone in the house had heard the loud clang. She heard no movement in the house and proceeded to strike it again. This time, the door tilted forward slightly, one hinge ripping apart and disintegrating to dust. One more strike and she was in. There were piles of hard currency and she hurriedly and greedily stuffed handfuls of hundred dollar bills into her bag. On her way back to her room, she could see her friend sitting in her car at the front gate, waiting patiently. Andrea grabbed her suitcase, and bolted, she didn't bother to say goodbye or even leave a note as to what she had done and where she was going. Her family awoke the next morning; a general panic ensued at the plantation. Andrea's mother had found her room in disarray and many of her personal effects missing. Her father had found the safe, and swore he would find her and force her to work off every last cent of the forty five thousand dollars she had stolen; her mother cried openly. Andrea's father never found her, and her mother never stopped crying, eventually passing away during a particularly nasty bout of depression.

Andrea and her husband bought the house in Nebraska for twenty five thousand dollars. It was an old thing, but large and it had over a hundred acres of fertile farmland. The house itself looked as if it had existed for nearly a hundred years and had never been painted since its construction. All the floors and stairs creaked and god forbid there was a bad storm. The roof leaked here and there and the house would sway slightly in heavy wind. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer, but it was home, and Andrea was happy. The farm was doing well for a couple of years and she was as happy as could be as a house wife, making meals and cleaning for her doting husband, but then came the drought. And Molly. For nearly ten years, the fields had yielded very little and now were full of rough brown hay. Molly's family was going broke and was having a hard time raising enough food for themselves much less enough to sell to make money. There never were any horses; the family had been unable to afford any. To make matters worse, to sell anything they had to drive fifteen miles to town, down a rough dirt road that took its toll on the truck. They couldn't afford to drive Molly to school everyday, and the school bus didn't pass their house, so Molly was home-schooled by her mother. They had almost no money for toys and Molly didn't know any children her age, but she had a vivid imagination and usually existed in a fantasyland populated by her and Mr. Madrid and Miss Paris. Her mother had taught Molly of the great European cities, as if they were some fantasyland, and not actual places where one could walk down the streets and see and smell and hear everything. Molly yearned to escape to this fantasy playground she had heard so much about, eventually leading her to name her dolls after two of the most grand, and then they developed personalities and Molly found some friends to play with.

"Do they have anything good to say today?" Molly's mother asked her.
"Not really, they're arguing again over the best advice to give me. They never agree on anything."
"Honey, I am not sure that taking advice from your dolls is such a good thing. Maybe you should come to me with your problems instead." Andrea's voice was tinged with pleading, encouragement. "Do you want some breakfast, I made it for you on your big day." Andrea leaned closer to her daughter and whispered into Molly's ear. "This afternoon, come meet me by the old tree, the one above your place, I have something special for you." She smiled at Molly and gave her a little kiss on the forehead and a mischievous grin and moved back into the kitchen. Molly's father was sitting at the table gutting one of the two chickens; blood and feathers were strewn all over the kitchen table.
"Jesus, clean this shit up, we are just about to eat breakfast. Do this outside, where you belong. It's Molly's birthday today."
"Woman, don't ya dare open your mouth to me like that. I ought'a bust yer lip for that. And whadda I care 'bout Molly's birthday? Jus' mean she gettin' bigger and needin' more food and such. Mind yer place, cook and clean, that's whatcha do, not open yer damn mouth."
"How dare you talk to me like that, especially in front of Molly! You have no right to..."
"Ya need ta SHUT UP right this minute, bitch. I have no right ta what? Yeh have no right to anythin'! Ya're my wife, and ya will do as yer told, now sit tha hell down!" Andrea didn't sit down, she glanced at Molly who was cowering behind her and seemed to get even bigger. A fast movement and Andrea dropped the plates of food. They shattered and Molly's feet, splashing egg on to her overalls. Molly's mother was bent over the table, thick red liquid dripping from her broken nose, dancing with her tears and then dropping to the table.

Molly bolted out of the kitchen, her father's voice saying, "Yeh get back up an' I'm gonna hit ya again." She left without her shoes and ran as hard as she could through the hard, prickly straw, heading for a small cave on the other side of the hill in front of her. The hay and rocks didn't cut her feet; they were heavily callused from having no shoes for the first seven years of her life. Even now, she rarely wore them, except when she had to go into town, or church. She was scared but she forced herself not to cry, reminding her that crying was a sign of weakness. When she was younger, her father had always hit her when she cried, yelling at her that she was not allowed to cry, to show weakness. She was strong and in control of her emotions and sprinted over the hill without issue. She found her cave and sat down to catch her breath. This was Molly's safe place, her panic room. It was small, the ceiling barely high enough for a small nine year old girl to stand up right in. The walls were smooth and black and hard, and Molly had drawn all over them with pastels her mother had given her a couple years ago on Christmas. Most of the pictures were simple, scratched on to the walls with rocks, or drawn occasionally with pastel browns and yellows. The vast majority of the pictures were all variants around a central theme: Molly and her mother, and the Eiffel Tower. There were mushrooms growing out of the damp ground, nearly covering every square inch of it. She couldn't hear anything inside the cave other than a soft wind whistling at the opening, and the soothing white noise of hay swaying, like a fan on random intervals. She couldn't hear the shouting and she liked it that way.

"Well guys, should we go, or should we stay here?" Molly asked Mr. Madrid and Miss Paris. Miss Paris still had egg on her face, and Molly wiped it off gingerly.
"Remember what happened last time we went there. You got us lost and your mother was furious, told you never to go back there if I remember correctly." Miss Paris was right, the last time had been dreadful, and Molly had almost lost Miss Paris to the foul creature that guarded the entrance to a part of her world she had never been able to reach. She hadn't returned to her world since that day, but she had had a burning desire to know what lay beyond the monster. It was her world after all, and she couldn't understand how part of it could be blocked and guarded by something so evil and dangerous.
"I think we should go. You need to have some fun today, Molly. It's your birthday, do whatever you think will be fun." Like usual, Mr. Madrid was playing devil's advocate to Miss Paris.
"I am supposed to meet mommy in a little bit, what if we don't come back in time? What if I miss her and she is angry and doesn't give me my surprise?" There were tears in Molly's eyes now. "What if she doesn't love me anymore, and she hurts me like dad? I don't want any more hurts. What if we could take mommy with us, for good, and get away from dad? Is that possible? We could give her the keys too, and then we could all go away together and never come back. I never want to be without her." Molly was sobbing and Mr. Madrid and Miss Paris were poorly trying to console her.

The wind shifted and the sounds changed, the whistle at the opening of the cave gave way to the sound of thunder in the distance and the air smelled of fresh summer rain. There was a short, scraggly tree near the entrance of the cave, and Molly could see a bluebird sitting in its branches, hunkering down against the wind. Molly was sure the bluebird was staring at her. She stared back and slowly stopped crying, her body heaved in deep but slow sobs. Occasionally the bluebird would cock its head from side to side, but it's eyes never left Molly's. She was transfixed. A sound reached her mind, a sound of heavenly music; of choirs full of beautiful angels, like flocks of bluebirds singing in perfect harmony. The sound coalesced slowly into words, still in the tones of the heavens. At first Molly couldn't understand what she was hearing, and her eyes were still upon the bluebird that had not flown away yet, and its eyes were still upon her. She began to understand. It was her mother's voice, and it was telling her that she loved her very much. It was saying that everything was going to be okay, if she just heads for the tracks. There was mention of an orange tree, something about it bringing light to her life. Something else then followed about heading west, but Molly was confused and having a harder time following the words. Again it said that she loved her, and to remember to go to the train tracks. Thuds from above forced Molly to finally look away from the bluebird, and the second she did, it flew off the branch and disappeared into the distance.

The orange tree, still in its burlap sack of dirt, tumbled through the entrance, knocking down Miss Paris, a couple errant oranges rolled across the floor to Molly. Molly's father stood at the door, an axe and something about the size of soccer ball in a bag in his hands.
"Yer mother wanted ta give yeh that for ya birthday." His eyes were like black holes in the sky, totally devoid of life. Whatever was in the bag was leaking. "She spent tha last of our savin's on it. She figured ya'll could plant it together. The wretched witch never told me abou' it. I found it by tha' old mine out back o' tha house. I only jus' found out abou' it. But she got her comin's." He dropped the bag on the floor and Andrea's lifeless head rolled, landing face down and teetering back and forth on her broken nose. The eyes were still open. Molly stared in shock, her mind filled with white noise, as her father moved towards the orange tree on the ground. Lying under the tree was Miss Paris, and Molly's father reached down and picked the doll up off the ground.
“Now, what’s this? Miss Paris? You wouldn’ want nothin’ bad to happen to Miss Paris, would ya Molly?” His tone was malicious, evil and stuffed full of connotations of misdeeds.
“Please don’t hurt Miss Paris, she didn’t do anything to you.” Molly screamed, she was terrified and hysterical; she had no idea what was happening to her.
“Nah, I guess she didn’. But yer momma did. She bought that there orange tree for yeh, and bankrupted me. She had you, and ruined my life. I got hers now, but ya gonna learn a lesson here. You will obey me.” He set Miss Paris down on the ground in front of him and raised the axe above his head.
“Any last words to yer precious Miss Paris, yeh useless rat?” Miss Paris looked at Molly, she wore a sad smile and her eyes were kind and caring.
“Molly, it will be alright, my darling. Remember what your mom said, ‘head for the tracks’. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” Molly started to sob again as Miss Paris looked at her, her smile never changing. The axe came down through Miss Paris’ head, splintering the plastic doll to pieces; shards of rock stung Molly’s face. She collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably as her father stood at the mouth of cave, laughing and wheezing. Her father looked around, “Now where’s tha other doll of yers, Mr. Whatever, he’s up now.” She still had Mr. Madrid in her pocket and she could feel him struggling to reach the surface, but she didn’t care, her mother and Miss Paris were gone.
“Miss Molly,” Mr. Madrid was whispering. “Miss Molly, now’s our chance, he is distracted looking for me, he’s drunk. We can get away.”
“What if he catches us, he will kill us both?” Molly’s voice was barely distinguishable from her sobs.
“Make sure he can’t. We have to try, he will kill us anyway.” Mr. Madrid was right, and Molly knew it. She took a deep breath and her sobs relaxed a little. She knew what to do, and her only chance was for sure soon to be over, she thought.

Slowly she stood up; her mind was clearing out the white noise that had buffered her from the reality of the situation. She sprinted directly at her father and with super-little-girl force, punched him square in the testicles. His face clenched and he collapsed to the floor, the axe clanging against the hard rock floor. He screamed a string of obscenities at Molly and struggled to regain composure. Molly wasn’t thinking, only acting. The axe was in her hand now, and it was heavy, but she could lift it. She buried the axe in her father’s forehead, using the weight of it to her advantage, and the river of obscenities ceased. In fact, there was no noise at all to Molly as she wiped a spattering of blood across her overalls; she couldn’t hear the wind. She couldn’t see the walls of the cave. White noise descended upon her, enveloping her like a giant cotton ball, protecting her for a moment from reality. She drifted away from the cave and the horror, finding herself riding the wind like dandelion achenes over endless fields of green grass. It was beautiful and for a moment she felt good again, and whole.

Molly stood in the cave for what seemed like an hour without moving or blinking, lost to the wind and the cotton, nobody manning the cockpit. Mr. Madrid remained silent the whole time. Finally, Molly began to move again as her surroundings became reality. She picked up the orange tree and brushed some dust from the leaves. The tree was only a couple feet tall and it was skinny and light, and she could carry it with ease. She had one thing on her mind, to follow her mother’s instructions and head for the railroad tracks. The tracks were about half of a mile away, and she took her time getting there. Occasionally her or Mr. Madrid would make some small quip, but a conversation never developed, they were both too in shock. She walked the tracks for a couple of hours, crying here and there, and then gaining small amounts of control over her emotions. As the sun was setting, she heard the sounds of a train approaching behind her. She hid behind a bush and asked Mr. Madrid if they should try to get on it. They conversed for a short while before deciding that they might as well try. As the train passed, Molly ran with Mr. Madrid in her pocket and the orange tree in one hand. The train was slow and she had no problem hoisting herself into the boxcar. The inside of the boxcar was lined with soft hay, unlike the kinds that grew in her father’s fields. The thought of her father pained her momentarily. On top of the hay were hundreds of boxes of fruit and vegetables, and on the side the address for delivery was listed. San Diego, California. The train was bound for California. She sat down and ate an orange off the tree, the last remaining. It was sweet and fresh, the quintessential orange example, and it made her feel good as she ate it. Her strength slowly crept back into her body. She cried as she ate, thinking of her mother the whole time. She really loved me, she thought, as she began to fall asleep. She pushed some hay into a pile and laid her head down upon it and fell asleep almost immediately.

The bluebird flew low over the boxcar, occasionally coming into land on the roof to rest it’s tired wings. The train picked up speed as it traveled through the plains of Nebraska and eastern Colorado. Sensing it would soon be outmatched for speed, the bluebird flew in through the open door and came to rest on top of a stack of boxes. Its eyes were kind and as it nestled down to rest, it stared at Molly. The bluebird watched as Molly slept, never taking its eyes off of her. Slowly, sleep came to the bluebird as the train made its journey south around the Rocky Mountains.

When Molly woke a warm light was beaming through the door, warming her to a blissful state of peace. She slowly opened her eyes, briefly forgetting her current state of existence. She could taste salt on her tongue and smell it in the air. The ocean was her view, framed in the door of the boxcar, an interactive photograph that changed every second, hanging on the wall of her room. Waking up, she stood and stretched and looked around. It was then that she noticed the bluebird, still hunkered down fast asleep on the tallest stack of boxes. She stared at the bluebird, taking a step towards it every now and then. She was very close before the bluebird woke up. Unafraid, the bluebird stood and stretched its wings. It stared at Molly and she could have sworn that it was smiling at her serenely. With a loud chirp, the bluebird took off, flying a complete circle around Molly’s head before departing through the door. It hunted for insects and then returned to follow the train south along California’s coast. Mr. Madrid stirred in Molly’s pocket, startling her for she had almost forgotten he was there. She pulled him out of her pocket, setting him down on a box, and then pointed towards the view.

“Miss Molly, is that the ocean?” It was the first time Mr. Madrid had spoken since arriving on the train.
“Yes. That is the Pacific Ocean, I think. We must be in California.” The view humbled Molly, and she felt oddly serene and light, like the air had gotten thinner or she had grown strong through the night. The feeling she had in her was something new to her entirely. The train was slowing down now as it approached the outlying suburbs of the city.
“Madrid, I think we should get off when the train slows down enough.” She picked up Mr. Madrid and placed him again in her front pocket, and she smiled for the first time in longer than she could remember. This was a beautiful place and she felt safe. The sun continued to fill her with warmth, physical and otherwise. She felt whole and centered for the first time in her life. The early morning sun turned the ocean into a waltz of lights simultaneously blinding and healing Molly. The sea birds played chicken with the lights, diving for them only to miss by inches and plunge into the water. This was a strange and whimsical game to Molly, but it was freedom illustrated. The breeze was cool on her face and washed her bad thoughts away, replacing them with the beautiful imagery of life. They entered the city and Molly saw the faces of beautiful people, of families smiling and laughing, and the faces saw Molly. A commotion began to stir in the streets as more people took notice. The train put it brakes on and screeched to a stop. Concerned and kind faces filled the door and a woman stepped forward. She was beautiful and elegant, and she held herself with confidence. The kindness in her face washed over Molly, and she felt her knees go weak. She collapsed to her knees and the world spun around her. She could see people climbing into the boxcar and could feel hands reaching for her, petting her hair and slowly lowering her to the floor. The voices were soft and benevolent, but Molly couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“Madrid, what’s happening? Are we gonna be okay?” Molly barely managed to utter the words as she felt herself being lifted by gentle hands. They were carrying her out of the car, and with the final bit of her strength she grabbed the Orange tree. Someone gently removed it from her hands and whispered into her ear.
“Don’t worry honey, I got it.” The voice was angelic, with compassion of a sort unknown to Molly. A compassion for life. “Don’t worry about a thing, you are okay, and everything will be okay. We’ll take care of you. You are safe now.”
“Yes, Miss Molly.” Mr. Madrid said at last, just as they lowered Molly onto a stretcher. “I think everything to be alright.” The last Molly saw that day was the same beautiful face from before as she climbed into the ambulance and shut the door.

Molly’s dream was beautiful and cheerful. She was on the beach, and the sun was warm, and the surf played tag with her ankles. She danced in circles, her white dress swirling around her waist. The voice that was calling her name was her mother’s, just as she had sounded when she was alive. Molly ran to her mother and jumped into her arms. Her mother was crying, not sad tears, but tears of joy. She kept repeating that everything was good now, and that she was safe. She said that she would always be watching over Molly.

The bluebird followed the ambulance to the hospital and took roost in a tree outside of Molly’s window. When Molly was released from the hospital, a young childless couple adopted her, and the bluebird followed them to their home and built a nest in the backyard. The bluebird relocated to New York City when Molly moved away to college, and for the first time, denizens of New York reported seeing a bluebird nesting on the edge of an apartment building. And then they would report seeing baby bluebirds plummeting from the ledge, only to open their wings and soar for the first time, a graceful ballet of nature amidst the utter chaos of the city. Nature had found a way for to succeed gains the most hostile conditions. Molly only saw the bluebird once more in her life after college, and it was on the day she married her husband. The bluebird sat in a tree over looking the ceremony, watching. At the kiss, it chirped, and again flew one circle around Molly and flew off out of sight. Molly watched as her eyes filled with tears. Molly’s new husband squeezed her hand, a look of concern on his eyes.
“What is it, Honey?” He asked.
“Ask me again, some other time and I will tell you.”
“Is everything okay?” Molly turned and looked into his eyes and kissed him softly.
“Everything is alright. And everything will be alright for the rest of it.” She looked up into the sky, and again tears filled her eyes. She spoke to the sky, as if praying, but all she had to say was, “thank you, mom. Everything really is alright now.”

The orange tree, now planted in a small yard outside the hospital Molly had been brought to, was said to be the most magnificent specimen of its species ever seen. It drew scientists and botanists and fruit fanatics from all around to witness the splendor and perfection of the oranges it produced. Geneticists couldn’t have produced anything more perfect. The tree produced, like clockwork, nine oranges a year, no more or less, for 67 years straight, regardless of drought or chill, heat or monsoon, until the day that Molly died peacefully asleep in bed with her husband. After that, it never produced another orange, and the scientists who routinely came to inspect it could never understand why it just quit one day. The tree never died, but instead grew larger and more magnificent as each year passed, even though it never again produced fruit. It stands there to this day, massive and beautiful, providing solace to the terminal patients of the hospital, a solemn reminder that life is, in fact, beautiful and fascinating and downright mystical at times.



Ida Lee

Adapted for the screen from the Mothership album The 11th Dimensional Symphony

Scene 1

September 15. A government lab somewhere. Standard lab appearance: white, sterile. Several scientists in white lab coats mill about working on various projects. Two scientists are staring at a large computer screen, engaged in a tense debate.

Dr. Funke: The results, I am afraid, don’t lie. We have to alert the appropriate authorities.
Dr. Statz: You know what the consequences of that will be. They will silence us. We will cease to exist.
Dr. Funke: It is our duty as scientists to alert the world to this! This is bigger than the two of us, bigger than the country, bigger than earth. Every single person on the planet deserves to know.
Dr. Statz: What if we are wrong? This will cause mass panic across every corner of the globe. Do you really want to be responsible for that? People will die in the ensuing hysteria; it is inevitable.
Dr. Funke: Everyone is going to die anyways! Don’t they deserve to know? They deserve the time to reflect and make things right. Spend their time doing what they want. The spores will multiply unlike anything we have ever seen when it snows, and it will snow, soon. The evidence is undeniable. When it snows, the spores will make our atmosphere toxic before spring arrives. Everyone will die, including us, and everyone deserves to know it is coming. Does it matter if the government gets rid of us for telling the world directly?

[Silence for a minute, Dr. Statz thinks heavily]

Dr. Statz: You are right; I believe the evidence is irrefutable as well. It’s just hard; I don’t want to believe it. I am grateful for the fact that I can now put my priorities straight, and spend time with my wife, properly. Lets do it, I have contacts at CNN who will run the story. It will take some time to put together a report, but I’ll make some phone calls immediately.
Dr. Funke: This is the greatest scientific achievement of our careers. Sadly, it is also our last. Let us wait until tomorrow to continue with the next phase. I need to see my wife, and my kids. We knew this day would come sometime, but I had always hoped it would be hundreds of thousands of years after I was dead.

[Dr. Statz turns off the monitor and walks over to his desk. He pulls an expensive bottle of scotch out of the desk, along with two glasses.]

Dr. Statz: Sit down and have a drink with me. I was saving this scotch for the moment I knew we had achieved something truly great. I see no more appropriate time than this one to drink it. How sobering it is that it must be this moment. In my wildest dreams I have never dreamt of finding the first alien life on the planet earth, and that the discovery would signal the end of days.
Dr. Funke: I think most about what we could have accomplished, and now will never. It saddens me to think about what could have been. I am going to go home and tell my wife I love her. I recommend you do the same.

[Dr. Funke gets up to leave, his drink having never been touched.]

Dr. Funke: Thank you for the drink, but I must go home. Tomorrow will be trying, and I hope to spend a long evening with my wife. I fear I may never have another chance.


Scene 2

September 20. Hawaii. A beautiful and ornate home set in a lush forest. A man walks through the woods away from the house. He is crying. He makes his way to a large metal door cut out of a rock face. He enters a code on the keypad and enters. Inside is a huge hangar. In the center of the hangar, a large spaceship sits incomplete but very close to being finished. A woman is washing the windows of the cockpit singing softly to herself. They engage in conversation.

Jonas: [voice trembling] Honey, come down here for a second. I need to tell you something.
Kat: What is it babe? Are you okay?
Jonas: Sit down Kat. I just watched the news. All of the stations are running the same story.
Kat: What is it? What happened?
Jonas: They say we are going to die. All of us.
Kat: What? What do you mean? What are they talking about? Not really us, right?
Jonas: Yes, honey, us. All of us, I mean. Everyone. Everybody on the planet is going to die.
Kat: What the hell are you talking about? Of course we are all going to die, everyone dies eventually.
Jonas: No, I mean we are all going to die at the same time. Some scientists found something. Something from a distant galaxy. They say it arrived on the meteorite that crashed in Kansas last year. A spore or something. They say the explosion from the impact spread them all over the world. Remember how cold last winter was?
Kat: Yeah, wait, what? I still don’t understand what you are talking about. How are we all going to die? What does that mean?
Jonas: It means just that, Kat. When it snows this winter, the snow will cause the spores to change, very rapidly, and they will release huge volumes of toxic gas into the atmosphere. By December, our atmosphere will be too toxic to breathe safely, and it will render us insane, unable to do much of anything. We will all die shortly thereafter from exposure and starvation.
Kat: Oh my god. [silence] Everybody?
Jonas: Yes honey, everybody. The planet will die.
Kat: Jonas…. What are we going to do? What about the company? Our families, the other people on earth, what about them?
Jonas: It doesn’t matter now. None of that matters anymore. The only thing that matters is you and me. We are going to finish the ship, just as we had planned, and finish our lives in space, just you and me. I already dissolved the company’s assets to give us the resources we need to finish the ship as fast as possible. I gave everybody enough money to take care of them and theirs until the end. What else was I supposed to do?
Kat: Nothing, I guess. It just seems so…. awful. We can’t save anyone?
Jonas: No, Kat, we can’t. It is out of our hands. Only God can save them now.
Kat: You said we needed another eight to ten months to finish Ida Lee. We have five at most. What are we going to do?
Jonas: We are going to spend everyday together, working on this ship until she is finished, and then we will launch. Hopefully we will finish her in time, but if not, at least we will spend all of our last days together.
Kat: I love you Jonas, you should know that.
Jonas: I do know that babe. Don’t ever think that I don’t. I love you too.


Scene 3

Dr. Funke waits outside the Oval Office for a meeting with President Obama. The door opens and he is shown in, and given a seat in front of the desk. President Obama enters the room through a secret door.
Obama: Sorry I am late, Dr. Funke. What is so urgent that could not wait another couple of days?
Dr. Funke: President Obama, my colleagues and I have discovered something that is completely devastating to us. We have discovered that the end of the world is near. The meteorite that crashed in Kansas has spread a spore around the planet that when introduced to snow will lead to insanity for all living beings, followed shortly by death. There is nothing we can do to stop it; it is only a matter of time now.
Obama: Are you absolutely certain of your results, Doctor?
Dr. Funke: Yes sir, I am. There is no doubt in my mind.

Silence

Obama: Who have you told about this so far?
Dr. Funke: Just my wife, Mr. President. But, I am afraid to mention, I have also sent copies of my report to all the major news outlets in the country and in England. I felt it was my duty.
Obama: You are aware of the consequences for these actions, I assume?
Dr. Funke: Yes, Mr. President, I am.
Obama: And you still went ahead and sent the reports?
Dr. Funke: Yes, sir. They should have already arrived and will probably be broadcast in the next half hour.
Obama: Why did you do this?
Dr Funke: I was under the impression that the government would cover-up our findings, never releasing them to the world until it was too late. I felt that the people of the world deserved the time allotted to them now to do as they please, to make sure that they could spend their last days filling their priorities however they see fit to.
Obama: I see. I agree with you, but you are right, we would have prevented the release, if only to spare lives and resources that will surely be lost in the ensuing panic. Your heart is in the right place, Doctor, but your mind is not. You know what must happen next?
Dr. Funke: Yes sir, I do. Thank you for seeing me.

Secret service agents come into the office and haul Dr. Funke away. President Obama picks up the phone and makes a call.

Scene 4

October 1. Jonas and Kat sit snuggled on the couch watching the news reports. On the tv images of riots and fires fill the screen. The Empire State Building smolders. Kat has obviously been crying.

Kat: Why did this happen? Why are people trying to kill each other?
Jonas: People are stupid when faced with something they can’t control or deal with.
Kat: Those terrorists blew up London with a nuclear weapon. Killed 7 million people. What was the point of that?
Jonas: I don’t know honey, I just don’t know anymore. We still have each other. Just focus on that.
Kat: I love you, Jonas.
Jonas: I love you too, Kat.
Kat: Jonas, what’s going to happen to our families? Can’t they come with us?
Jonas: [sighs] No honey, they can’t, the ship was only designed to support us. If we bring anyone else along, it will be too much for the ship to handle, and we will all die. The only chance we have of survival is to leave our families and friends behind, to leave our lives behind and begin anew on the ship. It will be okay. We will survive and we will prosper.



Scene 5

February 28. Hawaii. Jonas is at the helm of Ida Lee. The bay doors are open and sunlight streams through a brown atmosphere. Kat walks in.

Jonas: Hey! Babe, you wanna give me a hand here? I need you to go to the control panel and turn the power on.

[Kat walks over to the control panel and presses a button.]

Jonas: Thanks baby.
Kat: Jonas, five more people died this morning trying to scale the electric fence. Don’t you think we should turn down the voltage?
Jonas: No, I don’t. Pain doesn’t keep people from getting to us, to here. All the people fleeing the northern and southern parts of the globe can’t overrun us. We have to finish Ida Lee. Soon by the look and smell of the atmosphere.
Kat: It just… It seems….. Ugh, never mind. I just saw on the news that Honolulu had been devastated by riots and fighting. My mother was there, I can’t get a hold of her, and the government is not letting anybody leave. What if something happened to her?
Jonas: She is lost Kat, there is nothing we can do now except remember her, and go on with our lives. I am sorry honey.
Kat: [tears in her eyes] You know, Jonas, you can be a real asshole sometimes. She is my only family.
Jonas: I am your family too, Kat. Remember that.

Silence

Kat: We need to get out of here, Jonas. I can’t take this anymore, I feel like I am losing my mind.
Jonas: Well, give me one second to try this and if it works, we can leave in about a week. How does that sound?

[Jonas presses a button in the ship and it comes to life.]

Jonas: It works! It actually works. Hang on a sec and let me boot the computers.
Kat: It works? Oh my god, Jonas, we can actually fly it? Into space?
Jonas: I think so; the computer diagnostic says everything is in perfect working order. I think we are good to go!
Kat: Oh Jonas, thank you!
Jonas: We should get to work on packing and making sure we have everything we need. The greenhouses on board are all running perfectly. We will have plenty of oxygen, water, and vegetables for the rest of our lives. I think everything is going to be okay.


Scene 6

March 10. Hawaii. The hangar is burning and Jonas stands at the entrance to Ida Lee with an AR-15. Five or six bodies lay at the base of the stairs. An explosion rocks the hangar as Kat comes running through the door into the hangar.

Jonas: Kat! Hurry!
Kat: I am coming! They are right behind me. Is the ship ready?
Jonas: Yeah, it is.

[Jonas fires at the group of people coming through the door. A few fall to the floor. Kat sprints up the stairs into Ida Lee and Jonas closes the door. They sprint into the cockpit.

Jonas: Start ignition sequence. Communications array on.
Kat: Ignition sequence activated. Countdown initiated. T-Minus 60 seconds until launch.
Jonas: Strap in, Kat.
Kat: Oh shit! I forgot something. It’s in the desk outside. I can make it, Ill be right back.

[Kat jumps out of the co-pilot seat and heads outside]

Kat: I got the gun; I’ll take them out and be right back!
Jonas: Don’t do it, Kat. It is not worth it.

[She opens the door and kills three of the remaining four people. The other she shoots at the base of the stairs. She trips and falls and breaks her ankle. Limping, she makes it to the desk and grabs the picture of her mom.]

Jonas: Kat! Twenty seconds, hurry honey!

[The airlock doors slam shut right as Kat heaves herself through the outer door. She is trapped in the airlock. Ida Lee launches and Kat screams]

Jonas: Kat! No! Baby, hold your breath!
Kat: [Through the intercom] Jonas, it hurts! My head, it hurts so bad
Jonas: Hold your breath baby! I am coming!
Kat: I cant, Jonas [crying]. I am going to die!

[Jonas reaches the airlock door as Ida Lee rockets through the atmosphere. Kat is seizing and bleeding. She collapses and her head bulges and bursts]

Jonas: Kat! Kat! No, baby! Kat!

[Jonas stumbles back to the cockpit as Ida Lee leaves the atmosphere into space]

Jonas: [sobbing] Kat. No baby, I need you. What am I going to do now? Nobody, there’s nobody. Anywhere. I can’t live without you baby.

[Jonas plots a new course for Cygnus X-1. His course takes him into the center of a black hole. The ship jumps into hyperspace, bound for the black hole.]