Pre-Order Racing The Sun

Mary eBook Cover Top Part

The Kindle and Smashwords editions of Racing The Sun are now available for pre-order! This short novel is the sequel to Miami Morning, and continues the story of many of the series’ characters. It’s a book that’s both light and serious, trying to make sense, and have some fun while doing it, of contemporary life.

The ebook is $2.99 and the paperback (available on Amazon soon) will be $12.95. 

The print and ebook editions were beautifully formatted by Jo Robinson and the covers equally well done by Chris Graham of The Story Reading Ape. Thank you both!

Smorgasbord Autumn Reading – Miami Morning – A Leila Payson Novel by Mary Clark

Smorgasbord - Variety is the spice of life

Smorgasbord Autumn Reading

Today the autumn reading choice is Miami Morning – A Leila Payson Novel by Mary Clark. Leila is a teacher who discovers that skills she developed on another continent could help one of her pupils. Published by All Things That Matter Press August 2016

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About the Book.

Forty-something Leila Payson loves her job as a high school Social Studies teacher, her social life with a group of diverse friends, and volunteer work at her neighborhood playground. But when Leila discovers one of her students is going deaf, she finds herself on a learning curve of her own. In her twenties she had taught for a year in South Africa, where she met an occupational therapist and others working in creative ways with persons with disabilities. She brought back to her teaching a new perspective based on that experience. Now, years later, when the student asks for her help…

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Children of the Moon, Chapter 13: Sea Change

In Miami Will sank into the city’s tropical soul,
savoring the cultural and culinary flavors,
but before long he took to the open sea,
sailing to ports in South America, Africa,
Asia, India, China and Malaysia

He heard the songs of genesis, exodus
and revelation in the Atlantic, Pacific, Indian,
Caribbean, Mediterranean, and the Persian,
South China, Arctic, Caspian
and the Black, Red and Dead Sea

On returning to Miami, he joined a crew
treasure hunting; the captain said:
there’s treasure down below, down below
in vaults, from pirate ships,
man o’ war, and Spanish galleons

Will and the other divers donned their gear
and fell into the sea’s salty embrace:
another world opened before them

In the beguiling hold of the sea,
Will explored a ridge of storm-swept sand,
and spotted the glitter of gold and silver coins
large as his hands; he scooped them up
and clutched them to his beating heart

Rising to the surface he felt a surge
of exhilaration, for the first time
since his brother’s sentencing,
and he thought, this is what life should be,
this is what can heal me.

He broke the surface, gasping for air
and rejoicing in the freedom of breathing,
he cupped his hands to hold the coins
to the sun, with a cry of elation,
ready to be amazed

In the full wash of daylight he saw
twisted bits of metal, wave-broken shells
and small change

On board he saw others with the same debris,
picking out coin-shaped metal;
when he challenged them, they shrugged
and sneered with a pirate’s wink:
If people believe it’s valuable, what harm?

The captain called Will aside:
You are causing disruption, undermining
the others’ belief, and we all need to believe;
behind Will’s back he whispered:
I think he’s stealing. Watch him.

Will packed his things to leave,
while only one man came to say goodbye:
an old treasure hunter, a grizzled veteran
who had once discovered treasure
that was real and knew the difference

He sighed as he told Will:
The dance of illusion will last as long as the truth
is hidden, as long as it is in our interest to comply,
deny and lie; but you have re-opened my eyes;
he shook Will’s hand: Go now, my headstrong friend.

Will fell into a stupor: everything was the same;
but change was all around him;
he breathed the sulfur of igniting despair,
and guilt was the thing that burned:
I am betraying Sandy by being away.

On her bunk bed Mira lay in oceanic darkness,
outside, wet black paws of rain fell,
scrabbling at the side of the house

The only light a single candle burning
beneath the windowsill, tight as infection;
with anguish and pride interweaving,
the way she braided her younger sister’s hair,
she thought of her dreams and her sister’s dreams

In her hand she held a postcard from Will:
a harbor city crouched by emerald water,
heat-blanched sky and lofty linen white clouds;
a sea change: she felt Will sequencing
away from her, away from love

Her father sat with her on the front porch
after the rainstorm had trooped away:
Remember, he said, Apaksi means hope;
and she nodded, and said she would,
but she felt the world drifting away

In the morning, Laurel and Mira waited
by Morris Rubra’s swinging gate,
fresh dew stinging their tense faces

He strode up to them, his gait light
and his face a landscape of relief,
his hands shaped like mittens

I’m trying to get Sandy’s sentence overturned,
he told them, and see if he will be released
or given a new trial.

Their voices sounded like bells, chiming
in unison: Do you think it’s possible?
Yes. He smiled. It’s a life-saving mission.

To read the Prologue, click here. You can follow the chapters from there.

Children of the Moon, Chapter 12: Solitude

To begin reading Children of the Moon, see the Prologue.

Laurel visited her grandmother:
Why didn’t I go with him that day?
Grandma Wing waved her hand:
How could you know what would happen?
But, Laurel said: I can’t help him.

The old woman snapped back:
Stand by him if you believe he’s innocent,
and you can overcome this;
you are farther rooted in the source
of all things than you can ever imagine.

Grandma Wing gives her a letter:
Your mother wrote this poem when young;
she called it “Sowing The Field.”

Bands of wheat fields flow gold and red
on a low road where clouds sweep overhead;
I walk among mountains steep and high
to catch spear-stalks of wheat as they fly

Reaching I grasp fleet arrows of wheat
as day yields to low clouds gold and red;
I watch each seed as it falls to my feet
through the reaping beat of my hands

Will wondered, too, why few believed
in his brother’s innocence;
he felt betrayed by friends and neighbors;
only a few said Sandy was the last person
they thought capable of violence

With most the rumors went viral:
he was always so quiet, so polite,
they had been fooled, or he was odd,
often alone, walking about
in a world of his own

Morris Rubra investigated and found:
There have been other incidents in the area,
and even several deaths that are unsolved.

In the ensuing hysteria the trial began;
Sandy’s guileless demeanor isolated him
and alienated the jury and the press;
he asked Morris Rubra if he seemed arrogant;
the lawyer replied: You appear to be too innocent.

With his family and handful of friends
in the courtroom, the judge sentenced Sandy
to prison; he turned to look at his parents:
his father’s face was granite,
his mother’s expression a frieze of grief

Morris Rubra began his appeal:
Never give in to despair,
I’ll do everything I can to see you free again.

A prison guard greeted him:
I have more respect for a man who comes clean
than one like you who never owns up.

You’re a coward, the guard said,
and probably feel like a genius
for getting away with other killings;
we know we’re putting an end to a lot
of suffering if we put an end to you.

The moon’s pale engravings on the cell wall
wove a pattern of loss and sorrow
as the knowledge of evil streamed in,
and this revelation caused the greatest pain
of all, and Sandy wept for the human condition

Not far away, in another town, a man
only a few years older than Sandy,
was arrested for the murder of a teen-aged girl;
he was convicted, sentenced to life in prison
and brought to a cell next to Sandy’s

He watched Sandy suffer with pleasure:
in a corrupt world there was no justice,
he thought in gratification of his cynicism;
better to embrace the chaos
and take whatever you can.

Blanca Cors recovered from her injuries
but was unable to identify her attacker;
Will’s anger erupted with Morris Rubra:
I can’t help my brother, or save him,
and I hate everybody who’s turned against him.

The older man counseled him:
Don’t let this make you bitter,
or lose your trust in people.

The wind in the pines was a fugue,
and in the sky and river a tomblike gloom;
Mira tried in vain to comfort Will,
and Morris Rubra to give him hope,
but Will was inconsolable

When Will fled to the coastal solitude
of Casey Key, he found brief respite;
on the beach he saw a group of teens his age,
threatening to rupture the amniotic sac
of light and wind that enwombed him

They waved to him, and he recognized each
one just as they closed in,
casting tall shadows on the sand;
the Gulf galloped over rocks and moss
glistened like sweat on horses’ flanks

Voices broke the hypnotic pulse of surf,
reverberating around him
and riding roughshod into his brain:
Hey, Will. We’re going to the rodeo.
Are you?

He tried to smile:
Yes, I’m coming to the rodeo; I’ll be there;
he knew he should be grateful for their loyalty,
for their attempted normalcy,
but these people belonged to a past illusion

Will told his father and added, my world
before god turned away;
his father threw up his hands: God?
We people bind our innocence in fear and lies,
and trot out the worst in ourselves with pride.

But doesn’t god give us that ability?
His father reflected a moment:
It doesn’t mean we have to use or develop it;
we can be the way Sandy is, so much like my parents,
and your grandparents, in kindness and humility

They were such good people, so decent
it makes me cry to remember them,
and they not only existed — they flourished.

Will was no longer listening;
his grandparents were killed in a highway accident,
on their way home from visiting the family;
there was no justice, no reward for being good,
and happiness was an illusion

Will dropped out of school, taking odd jobs
and one day hit the road; he was riding through
the Everglades when the moon’s sudden reflection
in a pond fired off a thought;
the marsh whisked by and the thought was lost

Children of the Moon, Chapter 11: Sacrifice

In the morning police cars pulled up
to the ranch house door;
an officer spoke to Will and Sandy’s parents:
We need to ask your son, the oldest one,
some questions.

Sandy? About what?
The officer replied: The assault on Blanca Cors;
he was seen near her home that day.

His mother cried out when Sandy was led
to the patrol car; as his father ran for his car,
she leaned down by the window
to look Sandy in the eye:
We’ll be right there.

In the interview, Sandy was asked:
What were you doing in the area?
and he reflected:
Just walking, hiking, looking at things
and . . . Sandy hesitated

He could not mention visiting Primitivo
and so he fell silent, protecting a friend
many would be too willing to sacrifice

The interrogator moved in:
You’re hiding something. What is it?
Sandy shook this off:
I was out walking; I didn’t hear
or see anything.

The man retorted: Nothing?
and then Sandy remembered:
There was a man; I think it was a man,
in a field; when I looked again
he was gone.

The officer’s voice turned sharp:
So you saw a man?
Or did you see her and want her?

Sandy bowed his head, folding his arms
across his chest, surprised at the rage
in his questioner’s voice

The man leaned in to bleat into Sandy’s ear:
She was beautiful, and you couldn’t help yourself.
What did you do to her?

Sandy’s silence was his answer,
as he began to understand his innocence,
all innocence is beyond proof by reason,
and cannot be revealed in words,
no matter how clear and eloquent

His brother and parents arrived at the station
and are informed of Sandy’s arrest for assault
on the wealthy widow, Blanca Cors

Sandy? His mother cried in disbelief:
Everyone who knows him knows
he is gentle and caring;
but the sergeant answered her:
We have reason to believe differently.

Sandy was brought into the hallway, handcuffed
and flanked by officers; his father spoke to him:
Sandy, we’ll fight this. Don’t give up.

At the arraignment, Morris Rubra argued for bail,
but the judge said:
Juveniles are the most dangerous.

The prosecutor pressed his case:
There is evidence of malice and depravity
and although he is 16, we ask he be tried
as an adult; Blanca Cors is fighting for her life,
so charges may be upgraded.

In his cell, Sandy told Morris Rubra:
I was leaving Mulberry Ranch
and saw Primitivo; it was neither of us.

The lawyer said he believed him, but:
We must respond to the accusations;
and Sandy mused:
Why do people assume the worst
about others and so quickly?

Morris Rubra’s reply echoed in the cell:
They don’t want to look too closely
into their own hearts.

After a moment the lawyer commented:
You give people the benefit of the doubt;
many, however, feel that others
have let them down, deceived them
or forsaken them for no good reason

But, he said, I’ve found the reason
for assuming the worst is often for power
and domination;
and he asked Sandy:
Don‘t you feel the need to dominate?

I feel the need to escape from domination,
Sandy said, and he opened his hands:
Why can’t people see that I’m innocent?

Morris Rubra said, with a wry laugh:
It’s hard to know who’s innocent
by looking at them or watching them;
I’ve known people who smile and charm,
but by gumbo, were the most guilty.

So how can I defend myself, or be defended,
when any defense opens the door to guilt,
and any defense can be seen as a pretense?

The lawyer said:
That’s a good question,
and one I’ve tangled with a long time.

Sandy paced the cell:
In defending myself I’ll become self-righteous;
and he was surprised at Morris Rubra’s response:
You leave the self-righteousness to me;
I excel at it.

Sandy saw the irony:
Aren’t you sacrificing part of your better self
when you do that?
Morris Rubra raised his brows:
Yes; but I’ve chosen to make that sacrifice.

To read the Prologue, click here. You can read the following chapters from there.

Children of the Moon, Chapter 10: Border Road

To read the Prologue, click here.

Laurel moved through her grandmother’s home,
through her creation with its sense and sensibility
and memories of a life worth living;
Grandma Wing reigned sovereign over this world
and gave it a special radiance

Aunt Ida bowed her head to whisper:
She’s our Mae West, our Madonna;
a shocking, fearless adventuress

Grandma Wing told Laurel of her travels
with her husband, in the short span
between retirement and his death

Laurel was intrigued: All over the world?
Yes, all over the world; but I know I can’t have
that back again; so I might as well enjoy myself.

A smoking roast simmered in the oven
and fresh green beans in summer savory,
and a sauce only her grandmother knew;
Laurel set the table:
But what if you fall in love again?

Grandma Wing smiled:
I doubt that will happen, and anyway
it’s much too much trouble at my age;

The old woman faced Laurel:
Did you fall in love?
No, Laurel blushed,
and Grandma Wing laughed:
You will.

On the river, Mira looked to the western sky:
It’s late, she said: Wait, did you hear that?
Will listened; a whistling sound dropped
and spiked again:
Nighthawk?

They ran up the boat ramp near Mulberry Ranch
where killdeer whirred over a sandy field
shrieking kee – kee – keee

Another scream mingled with the wild abandon
of river, birds and wildlife;
Mira and Will walked towards the piercing cry
to see a man bolt from a manor house
on the neighboring ranch

Will turned with widened eyes to Mira:
Primitivo!
Yes, yes, I think so, she replied;
They raced to follow him, calling his new name,
but Primitivo slipped away into darkness

They turned toward the house,
a sour taste of dread in their mouths
to the open front door

From the threshold they peered inside;
the house was quiet, crimson light pooled
on the floor, streaked the walls

Will broke the silence: No one’s here.
They ran with arms and legs at odds
back to the boat, and rode the river home;
an alligator glided by, watching them
with one red eye

The swamp’s mouth opened wide
and a silhouette of a man ripped at a woman
as if he could carve his name in her flesh

A corona of sun rested on every flower,
detailed every spike of tall grass;
a figure crashed into the swamp
and fox and deer went slinking away
in the bug-in-amber spell

On Border Road, Sandy saw a man kneeling,
tending to his crop; a sphinx moth whirled
its turbine wings,
and the breeze shifted into high gear;
but when he looked back no one was there

With Uncle Joe driving and Aunt Ida in the front seat,
crossing Border Road Laurel thought she saw Sandy
and started to wave, but he was walking away

Children of the Moon, Chapter 8: Wilderness Song

To read Chapter 7, click here
pasturegraySandy heard only the sound of his footsteps
as he ran along the roads and through woods;
he ran until the motion carried him
ecstatically, heroically forward; hours passed
when he thought of nothing

But an occasional calculation of direction
and time of day; he drifted along to sounds
without known sources, some near
and some too far away
to know if they were real or imagined

A symphony of random music;
this is the wilderness song:
belong, belong

A yellow carpet of bur marigold swept down
to the riverbank where the river’s current
sang the name Macaco

All along the border, river and streams
interlocked to nurture a living body;
Sandy rested in a cup of royal fern, his face
appearing in the foliage, and from his forehead
sprang a fountain of fruiting branches

He came in from the border to join his family,
helping to set out large plank tables
by the ranch house and load them with food,
while fresh steaks simmered
over an open pit fire

Downwind, behind a stand of trees
a vat of skunk cabbage was boiling;
Laurel and Will went to investigate
and Laurel asked the boys’ mother:
Where do you get these?

In the spring, she answered, orange-colored pods
burst out of the ground in the pinewoods,
and then these tender coils; all summer they grow.
But, she told Laurel, if a branch falls or an animal
brushes them, they give off a rotten aroma.

Will interjected: It smells like skunk spray
when you cook it, but it tastes okay,
he added quickly, like store-bought cabbage.

Chicken and hot dogs roasted on a grill
and baked beans, Bibb lettuce, beefsteak tomatoes.
Vidalia onions, corn on the cob,
three bean salad, green beans,
hot sauce, jam and pies were piled on the tables

The women wore jeans and crisp shirts
and the men brown or blue pants
with slanted western-style pockets
and embossed leather belts with large buckles
and lariats with turquoise or silver

The boys and girls in blue jeans
and tees took off their cowboy hats
to sit with their families and friends
among the enormous oaks
as the day’s shadows gathered

When evening came, moonflowers expanded
in a dream on a web of vines;
Will drifted off to sleep in a comforting beam
of light, the sun’s belated gift:
a lightning stroke slowed down

A bird balanced on a branch, and while he watched,
the bird went through transmutations
of colors and shapes and attitudes,
crossfading from one into another;
Mira, he said, waking up

Banners of light drifted above all sound and reflection;
as the four explored Shadow’s garden,
Laurel cradled a welter of leaves:
He’s growing vegetables. Lettuce, radish
and tomatoes, broccoli, sweet potatoes.

Shadow emerged from the pine forest;
Sandy’s eyes mirrored the changing scene:
It’s like a cloud the way he moves, filled with light.

But, Will pointed out, a shadow follows him;
I wish we could help him more;
and Mira said: It’s up to him now.

Shadow came to them:
I am rare and threatened, I am native and strange,
I move slowly among all things, I am these and more.

Shadow stood still, looking at the children:
I am a man in the prime of my life just awakening.
Sandy’s eyes swam with light; and Will exclaimed:
Primitivo! We’ll call you Primitivo;
Shadow considered this: That may be.

Mira’s father drove to Casey Key the next day;
pulling off on a road’s scattershot shoulder,
she watched him climb out to talk to fishermen,
inspecting the catch, trading stories:
Snook are good today.

They headed straight for the Gulf of Mexico,
the white lip of the beach blazing in the same sun
that had bleached the Calusa shell mounds,
the same sun that scorched
the Spanish conquistadors

Her father said:
Ponce de León saw Florida on Easter Day,
and named it Pascua Florida: the feast of flowers

Years later, a new expedition sailed from Cadiz;
Pedro Menéndez de Avilés with a thousand people;
in 1565 he landed on Florida’s northeast coast,
not far away from a settlement of French Huguenots;
he had orders to cast them out.

The French were here first?
He answered her surprise:
Up near St. Mary’s, but in two years the Spanish
had driven out the French
and built the city of St. Augustine

Menéndez set up seven garrisons on Florida’s coasts,
one of them here at Charlotte Harbor;
Did they really think there was gold here?
Her father responded with a laugh:
Menéndez had bigger plans

He believed Florida could be conquered,
both physically and spiritually;
he thought diplomacy would convert the native people.
But his soldiers attacked native villages,
and Spanish priests ridiculed native religious beliefs

When one of his forts was destroyed
Menéndez changed his mind;
he proclaimed the natives were savages,
and he asked the Spanish king to allow:
“that war be made upon them with all vigor,
a war of fire and blood,
and that those taken alive shall be sold as slaves
removing them from the country
and taking them to neighboring islands.”

You know those words from memory?
He sighed: I know those words by heart;
Menéndez died in 1574.
Everything he did was in vain.
Only St. Augustine remains.

And the Calusa? she asked him;
With a sigh he answered:
By the mid-1700s the tribe was gone,
devastated by war and disease,
leaving ragged scars on the human spirit.

Children of the Moon, Chapter 5: Refuge

bassroadSandy pushed aside saplings to reveal
a deer’s nest-like home;
Laurel ran her hands across fawn-soft,
red feathered grasses
and blackberries jetted in waves from the earth

A box turtle feasted on the berries,
leathery neck stretched out to reach
the lowest clustered branches

Laurel and Sandy picked berries,
washing them in a stream, and Laurel said:
I want to take all of them home.
My aunt is learning to cook Southern food;
she’s enchanted with the Florida lifestyle.

Sandy took off his shirt: Here, use this;
and they laughed as they wrapped the fruit;
Laurel led him across her lawn: Come with me;
but placing a hand on his bare chest,
Sandy hesitated

Laurel smiled at him: They won’t mind.
A woman flashed to the door, a platinum blonde
in frosty make up: Come in. Look at this.
She held a carrot-colored concoction:
Sweet potato casserole.

This is Sandy, Aunt Ida, Laurel said,
and she placed the shirt-wrapped fruit and berries
on the kitchen counter; Aunt Ida ran her hands
through Laurel’s unruly hair: Thank god
your grandmother thought of us.

Laurel and Sandy sat on the screen porch;
My mother died, and my father wasn’t able
to take care of me, she told Sandy;
Grandma Wing came up to get me,
and now my aunt and uncle have custody.

Mira’s home was suspended in a wave of light,
the tar paper roof sizzled and bubbled into blisters;
her father revved up the jeep:
We’re going to see your grandmother,
I want you to meet her.

In Fort Myers, they drove by parades of royal palms
and white bands of sidewalks on broad avenues,
date palms and flowering spires of yucca,
scalloped emerald lawns of St. Augustine grass,
and the winter palaces of Thomas Edison and Henry Ford

Her father looked grim: Fort Myers was born in the heat
of the Seminole Wars, in a garrison town
on the south bank of the Caloosahatchee River

Ponce de León landed on an island near here;
the Calusa were waiting and fought the Spanish,
sending them back to Puerto Rico;
Mira studied his face: So that was it?
He went on quietly: That was just the beginning

Ponce de León sailed to Spain to seek
permission to conquer Florida;
he returned with more soldiers,
the Calusa watched until they began to build villages
and then they attacked

Ponce de León was wounded by an arrow
and sailed away to Cuba
where he died a few days later

And that was the beginning and the end;
the Calusa were killed by war and disease;
years later the Seminoles came to this place.

In the 1830s and 40s, Mira’s father continued,
the federal government built a ring of forts
around the last of the Seminoles

The soldiers destroyed villages, killing many
and capturing women and children,
sending them to the hills of Oklahoma

One day, a hurricane drove the army
from the Caloosahatchee, but local people
were encouraged to ignore the treaty
and to move into Seminole territory;
soldiers retired and stayed on

Cattle ranching began to grow
and ranchers brought beef into port
at Punta Rassa; in the early 1900s the rich
began to build mansions
and snowbirds found a winter haven.

Mira smiled:
But in reality
we are still here.

When Mira came face to face
with her grandmother, she sat by her father
in the shade of sprawling live oaks
dipping into the mirror of a lake
creating a tranquil but lively darkness

The old woman said softly:
I cannot shelter everyone
but for many my sanctuary is lasting;
I place my roots in the earth
and rise graceful and wide;
my hands sing in the wind
as I embrace the air, birds fly from my hair,
and rain makes me stronger;
I am alive in all seasons;
my head rises high, but my roots
grow deep into the grain

To read Children of the Moon, The Prologue, click here
From there, you’ll be able to read the next chapter and so on.

To read Children of the Moon, Chapter 6: Renegade, click here

Illustration by Forrest S. Clark

Miami Morning: A Leila Payson Novel

cropped-cropped-miamibeach3.jpgLeila Payson, known to her students and friends as Miss Pacer, is always pushing the boundaries of her experience, to become a better teacher and human being. She enjoys her work as a high school Social Studies teacher, her adventures with her diverse friends, and her volunteer work at a local playground. But Leila is at a midpoint in her life.

When one of her students begins to lose his hearing, she immerses herself in learning about people with disabilities and the challenges they face. This takes her back to an earlier time when she spent a year teaching in South Africa. There she saw an occupational therapist at work, and met others working in the disability community. Now, years later, when the student asks for her help, she begins a pivotal journey.

Besides this, a mysterious man keeps appearing at her favorite places. Her friends keep her on her toes. And at Leila’s high school, a young guidance counselor sees Leila as a mentor, while the other counselor views her as a rival. Trouble is brewing in the paradise of South Miami. But are there new possibilities as well?

Publication date: Spring 2016. Publisher: All Things That Matter Press.

Children of the Moon Chapter 2 Shadow

reedysmallAs Will came near an apparition unfolded
into a gaunt figure whose face was pale,
his eyes black holes, hair billows of smoke,
his voice a storm as he spoke: And you wonder
how I came to be this troll beneath a tree.

Will moved toward the specter to ask
questions on his mind for some time:
What happened to you? Why are you alone?
With no place to live, no friends
and no family?

Shadow moved toward Will:
I will tell you as I told your brother:
I heard a call when I was young
when I was walking near a swamp;
I thought it was a signal of distress

What it was and where it came from
I have never known, and as I searched
for the source, I became unhinged;
wraiths danced before me, moss streamed
down from trees, sweat poured from me like rain

I lost my way and shouted:
Where are you? I wandered deeper in;
the cry came again:
I felt alone, and bewildered I lashed out
in anger and fear

I ran and came to a rundown home,
windows shuttered, but at the front door
a man stood as if waiting for me

This man pointed to the moon and said:
The sun is bright today. And look,
the children play!

I shivered but still approached him:
Tell me who you are;
the man laughed and replied:
I’m the door at the gate
and I await the hinge.

Will stumbled back, trembling,
wanting to escape the vision;
but Shadow was unrelenting:
the man screamed and pulled a knife
stabbing at unseen demons

I turned to leave, but he caught me;
and so we wrestled:
the child and the man

I saw him pitch full length at my feet
and his face staring, helpless:
in his panic he had wounded himself;
I watched his blood mingle with the mud
and I moved away, I tried to run

But back I came to watch the life flood
from him, until this ancient man of men
was no more than a form limned in the dust.

Shadow gathered himself together:
I hurled the blade away;
Will swayed, almost losing his balance

Shadow’s expression switched from terror
to amazement as he said:
I put my hand to my mouth and felt a claw;
looking down I saw I was
a man deformed.

Will cried: But your family, didn’t they look for you?
Shadow blinked: The pain I felt was blinding;
my family mourned the loss of their child,
not knowing I still lived, mocked and feared by all
and trapped in a state of decay.

Will felt Shadow’s terrible secret fade: I’m sorry;
but Shadow raised his voice: Don’t be.
I began my journey before I knew myself
and for that reason spent years
wandering in the wilderness.

Will stood beside Shadow:
Can’t you start over?
Shadow laughed: You are young!
He bowed his head: Once I knew I was capable
of terrible things I sentenced myself to this lonely place.

Will offered: I’ll give you a new name;
Shadow fell silent, and his face was bleak,
but Will saw a momentary spark
in his eyes, before he returned to his shelter
in the trees

To read The Prologue click here
To read Chapter 1 click here