8149 May 2014 #1
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8149 May 2014 #1
Short Stories 03 Tales of the Firefly Lantern, Part One by James McCarthy 08 The Dream Walker by Coleen Whitmore 14 How To Break The Platinum Promise by Taylor Evans
Short Scenes 11 Bedside Manners — erotica by Emma Long 18 Tell Me The Story Again by Christine Thomas
20 You Never Know What Tomorrow Will Bring by Alan Webber 21 My Secret Daughter by James McCarthy
Poetry 13 Lunch At La Dolce Vita 16 36th St. & Pleasure Point 14 The Minds Mirror 17 The Hawk And The Lizard by James McCarthy
23 Wandering Aimelessly Through A Misspelled Love by Stephanie Drey 22 I Called For You To Hear The Train by Sara Jones-Martin 22 #micropoetry #heartsoup 23 Publisher’s Note: Believing In Destiny 24 Roll And Write & Red Light Scratch 19 Cover Photo by Evan Trager May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 1
NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS FOR ISSUE 2
contributors
SHORT STORIES SHORT SCENES POETRY #MICROPOETRY ILLUSTRATIONS PHOTOGRAPHY
Coleen Whitmore (“The Dream Walker”, P. 8) discovered her passion for creative writing in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Many of her stories reflect real conversations from her serving of wine, beer and raviolis.
Complete the submission form
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James McCarthy (“Tales of The Firefly Lantern, Part One”, “Lunch At La Dolce Vita”, “36th St & Pleasure Point”, “The Minds Mirror,” “The Hawk and Lizard”, “Finding Somewhere Only We Know, A Short Scene”, “My Secret Daughter”) is a writer of poetry & prose and has a passion for writing, publishing, photography and outdoor adventure.
Emma Long (“Bedside Manners”, P. 11) has four daughters (5, 11, 15 and 16) and a son and resides in a small Arizona community. She writes, paints and loves her bike. Taylor Evans (“How To Break A Platinum Promise”, P. 14) is studying journalism at the University of Oregon, Eugene when he isn’t photographing light houses and the ocean. Christine Thomas (“Tell Me The Story Again”, P. 18) lives in Northern California and is currently working on her first Young Adult novel. Stephanie Drey (“Wandering Aimélessly Through A Misspelled Love”, P. 23) is a university student studying Art History and Music. Evan Trager (“Bring Out The Sunshine”, Cover Photo, P. 19) is a Northern California outdoor photographer. Other contributors include: Alisha Barnes, Jamie Edwards, Samuel Schull and Tommy Vanderbilt, by Aime Black, Angela Serrato, Lucas Knebel, Jess Mahaney and Doug Menuez.
Or, mail to: 8149 P.O. Box 1474 Roseville, CA
95678
submityours@nomoreblacktea.com
8149 IS A TRADEMARK OF BLACK TEA PRESS COPYRIGHT ©2014. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. VOLUME 1, NUMBER 1 (second edition), MAY 2014. 8149 (previously published as NO MORE BLACK TEA) is published quarterly. Publisher, James McCarthy. 8149 accepts original short fiction 1500-5000 words, scenes 750-1500 words, poetry, photography and art for publication. Our complete guidelines are available online at http://eightonefortynine.com/submissions/ and material can be submitted online or by mailing your submissions directly to us at: Black Tea Press, P.O. Box 1474, Roseville, CA 95678. By submitting your material to No More Black Tea you are agreeing to give 8149 nonexclusive worldwide rights and archival rights for digital and periodical publication in all languages with non-exclusive reprint rights. Publication of your submission(s) is considered payment. 8149, NO MORE BLACK TEA, BLACK TEA PRESS ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE RETURN OR LOSS OF, OR FOR DAMAGE OR ANY OTHER INJURY TO, UNSOLICITED MANUSCRIPTS, UNSOLICITED ART WORK (INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, DRAWINGS AND PHOTOGRAPHS), OR ANY OTHER UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. THOSE SUBMITTING MANUSCRIPTS, PHOTOGRAPHS, ART WORK, OR OTHER MATERIALS BY U.S. OR INTERNATIONAL MAIL (NON-ELECTRONIC) FOR CONSIDERATION SHOULD NOT SEND ORIGINALS.
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Illustration credit: http://www.oldbookillustrations.com
Tales of the Firefly Lantern by James McCarthy
Part One, Purple Clouds in Woodbridge | If you saw us in passing you would have no idea about our secret or the fear flowing through our days. We accepted the complications of the circumstances and choose to lead a double-life knowing the consequences and cope with the paranoia that was a side-effect of our illicit behavior. We made choices sometimes bolder than safer, but, for the moment, we lay under an apple tree above the small village of Woodbridge Ranch while the moon crept into the sky and cuddled with the stars. Our arms wrapped around each other. I loved this woman, but had no idea how to keep her, I thought, turning into her and held the silver key that laid on her chest with my hand, twisting it with my fingers, lost in the hope of what it opens: a door to somewhere only we know in a hidden cellar we haven’t been able to find again. “When we find it again,” she said, “squeezing my hand tucked under her back, “it’s going to be magniflorious.” I turned my head, our noses touching, “Magniforious,” I replied back, pausing for a quick second to wish upon a star in the sky, “I like the sound of that word,” and kissed her until she turned her eyes back up to the sky: an aurora of colors speckled with white dots just like the milky way. It romanticized the air like a purple magic dust sinking upon us and for a moment everything felt the way I imagined everything was meant to be. May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 3
“Isn’t it beautiful,” she said, turning back with another kiss and thinking out loud, “all those stars and galaxies somehow lined up so our souls could find one another.” I thought about her words and how that even while we went through the motions of our two separate lives we never understood how empty they were until now, even the happy moments of our past felt alone in contrast to right now. A breeze kicked up over the hill and the air covered us like a cool blanket. I pulled her closer. She laughed at my whisper. Another secret to share. We smiled. Trapped in a perfect moment we have never purposely forgotten and together escaped from truth that poisoned our realities. It started a few years back when we first met and came upon an old abandoned cellar. It had some interesting markings that lead us on a crazy adventure down into it. When reached the muddy bottom the spring was dried up. Just a small puddle of water remained with rocks in the shape of hearts. Some were pebble size, while others were a part of the wall with most of them being palm sized. It was a lovely find for an afternoon adventure. An exciting story to be told by generations, by our children’s children one-day. “I’m going to tell our kids about this,” I said, “about how I met their mother: in the bottom of a well surrounded by heart rocks.” Sarah laughed, holding the lantern towards the East wall, “our kids,” she chuckled with a flirt and playful smile, “so how many children do we have?” she asked, but before I could answer grabbed my arm, “look,” pointing to what looked like a door. “Four,” I answered watching her examine the wall of rock with her hands, sliding them along a path that outlined the door’s shape. “Four sounds perfect,” she replied, not really paying attention to my words, “and what are their names?” she asked while reading the rocks like braille. I watched her fingers trace around a heart that framed a keyhole and I answered, “Chloe, Emma, Lyla and Trevor”. She turned and looked at me. Lost in her 4 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
own thoughts for few moments and then out blurted, “we have to find this key,” running her fingers over the shape of skeleton key, “it’s where we are supposed to be,” she said, “I can feel right here,” touching her heart, “and I don’t like the name Trevor. The other’s are nice though.” My eyes opened to the speckled sky, sharing the same thoughts of hope that continually end up back in the same place. How the mystery of this door always teases just enough to keep us believing in a place that may not even exist. Fate’s flirtatious game of hide and seek while we chase shadows of a love that is always just out of reach. And now that we have the key, we can’t find the door. She turned her head looking at me with her warm blue eyes soaked with sadness. I could see that her world no longer made sense to her if it ever did, much like my own. Both of us married out of social conformity and lust, not love. I had no idea what love was back then. I was 22, what I did know? Besides everything: love and sex were interchangeable emotions and marriage meant always having a warm body to cuddle up with at night and cheaper auto insurance and a better dental plan. I couldn’t have been more confused and coped with the eventual lack of companionship and my marriage grew farther apart. Sarah’s story was different. While my marriage was turning itself inside out hers was just beginning. Family, friends with kids, and no lasting relationship were her constant demons leaving her wondering why she wasn’t married and wanting kids. Then she found him. He was attractive and a good provider, but she knew something was always missing, but she didn’t care, because the post-it note stuck on the back of her uterus read ‘the clock is ticking’, but can you really go wrong marrying a prince. He provides her with everything she needs with exception to the one thing she wants, and like myself she didn’t recognize what that was until that day we looked each other in
the eyes in Castle Pines. the trees. “Actually,” she started to add, I sat up holding my knees while she but the sound of the horses grew to be a rubbed her hand up and down my back. louder distraction and she took my hand. “Sarah,” I said, watching the clouds conjure “We have to go”, she said dragging the in the dark sky swallowing the stars and thousand questions that raced through my purple magic. “Is this normal?” I asked, head down the backside of Huffaker’s Hill putting my hands in the air, touching the and into the woods towards Hidden Hills. rain, bewildered by its quick appearance. “You live in a castle!” I shouted ducking “Well,” she said rising to her feet and pulling under low hanging branches, “You mean herself in close to me. I could feel her heart you’re not a farm girl from Pleasant Grove?” beat through her chest against mine, “when I asked through the wind’s screaming. She you live in an enchanted world, sometimes you get enchanted weather,” she joked, but the clouds billowed above us into the Gods world. She kissed me in the rain as if it didn’t exist. Thunder started to growl above us. The steady pounding of the ground became harder as the horses raced closer; clanging of swords, dogs barking and soldiers shouting at us. Maybe this was an enchantment, I thought. Only once did we make a mistake by being obviously seen in the market of a tiny village east of here, but that was month’s ago. “Do you think he found out?” Illustration credit: Frantisek Kupka, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frantisek_Kupka I asked. She laughed at my question. “He doesn’t notice I am gone.” she said, “but, I am sure that he noticed this was gone,” holding stopped. Looked at me, and replied, “No,” the key from around her neck, wrapping it putting her fingers on my lips again with an into her fist, “Someone in town must have I’m sorry half smile that silently told me not heard us asking questions about the heartto ask anymore questions, and said, “I will shaped door.” I never really thought to ask tell you later,” and we ran. Trampling fallen where she had found the key until now. branches, stumbling over rocks in the moon’s “Where did you,” she put her hand over my shadow then hurdling fallen trees just as mouth stopping my words. Her eyes left quickly, fighting through the wind and cold mine, glancing to the left down the hill and rain that felt like drops of thorns pricking she answered the question not looking at me, at our cheeks. The once beautiful evening “the castle.” turned into a dark and stormy night, as my “Castle?” I remarked in more tone than feet, wet and slippery slide down the rocks, word, noticing she was staring across the passing her. horizon towards the burning torches that Sarah stayed close behind tripping a few looked like small fire flies dancing with times over rocks hidden inside puddles, May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 5
but she got to her feet fast and in seconds was back at my heels pushing me down the muddy trail towards I don’t know where. We stopped at the bottom of the hillside. Sara held her side with a glancing wince as she jogged up to me. “Do you think anyone heard this when it fell?” I joked, looking at a large fallen oak blocking the trail. My hair flat and black, dripping at the ends. She bent over onto her knees, slouched, “what happened?” Catching her breath she ignored my question and said, “they’re getting closer, we need to keep going.” I drowned in the blue of her eyes when she looked me. They couldn’t hide her pain or growing tiredness or her own secret that she has kept from me. I wondered how many others there may be or even if what she has told me up to now is even true. Confusion began to cloud my heart and I didn’t like the feeling of the one being deceived. Another noticeable long blink managing the pain with adrenaline and she flipped a leg over the tree with a determined resolution, “I don’t want to go back this time.” If she lied to me I thought, then she had to have had a good reason. I remember the stories she told me about her life and her husband. She described him as a good provider but often insinuated his callous behavior, controlling nature and his uneven temper. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t leave him. When I asked she would only reply that it was complicated and ask me for empathy. Now it’s starting to make sense I thought: she’s the Queen. I am having a secret affair with the Queen of Castle Pines. My head will be severed to the King on a stick tonight I thought lost in the darkness of the stormy night. “This enchanted weather appears to be only getting worse,” I said pointing to the dark gray clouds and putting my hand on her other leg. Her jacket fell open and I saw the blood on her blouse. “We need to find shelter and get that looked at”. She was stretched out on the top of the tree, exhausted and dripping wet. I couldn’t 6 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
tell the difference between her tears the streaming water down her face. She was exhausted and shook her head in agreement, flipping herself back over the tree, “where to now then,” she asked, “they’ll be here any second,” a thundering gallop shaking the ground. I caught a glimpse of the horses rounding the bend. Small rings of rain drops vibrated into larger circles in the puddles surrounding us. I looked around considering our choices. She leaned against me. I could see she was growing more tired as the adrenaline started to fade, The storm grew stronger and the horses closer. I spotted a place about 100 yards from the path that would probably work as a decent hiding place. The fallen tree would surely defeat their effort and it would at least give Sarah a few minutes of rest. “This way,” I said grabbing her hand, crawling over the tree and then sliding down a small embankment into the woods. She tripped. We fumbled in the mud and hid behind three large boulders and waited. The rain showering us in a steady sheet of cold. The gloom of the night and the fight of the storm made everything a soft blur which for us turned out to be a blessing as it hid our whereabouts to the horses and their riders. “Whoa!” the captain bellowed. The horse neighed and stomped in the mud and the dogs barking at the wind and trees. We hid, cuddled together behind the rocks. I looked at her and put my finger in front my lips with a silent “Shh.” She held her side and closed her eyes, resting her head against me, giving up for the moment while we blended into the sounds of the storm waiting for the King’s men to leave. “Marcus, John,” the captain called, “start chopping,” he ordered, pointing at the log that had to be 4 or 5 feet in diameter and 100 feet long. None of the horses would try to jump it. In fact climbing over it was hard enough. The mud was like a slippery black ice. Branches breaking and falling, winds bending the smaller twig-like trees in semicircles. Leaves chasing each other in a swirl
of child play on a school playground. A solider galloped up next to the captain and looked around. “They can’t be far,” he said. The captain snapped, “And why do you think that Kristof?” Kristof squinted his eyes, as if seeing through the raindrops, “they are on foot Kristof”, he said, “not even the horses want to be out in this weather,” he gave his stallion a wet, smack on the side, “so they will be running at a slower speed to avoid injury and most likely keep to the trail,” pointing beyond the fallen tree. “Unlikely,” Kristof replied at his Captain’s finger, “we would most likely see them had they continued down the trail.” Kristof had years of experience tracking people for the King which is what quickly moved him through the ranks of the Kingdom’s Guard and into the King’s secret police. Also, the reason they have chased the Queen and the mystery man through the woods this stormy night. The Captain grunted in defeat, taking a quick look over the embankment that we had just slid down, adding, “this weather makes it impossible for us to track them,” pausing, “I am afraid that the chase will end at this tree, Kristof.” Kristof looked up the hill and didn’t see that as a sensible way to travel. It would be too slippery and slow going. He dismounted his horse and walked along the muddy edge of the path. Broken branches hung in front of him, subtle but suspicious. He touched them, as if they talked to him and then stared into the woods through the downpour straight at the rocks we hid behind. I could feel his eyes. Keeping still made the night even colder with the uneven, gusty winds and pelting rain, at times frozen, but we huddled together and waited. “How did you get this key,” taking it my fingers, “from the castle,” I whispered when a soldier’s voice called back out to the Captain. “Kristof,” she whispered to the sound of the voice. “Who’s Kristof?” I asked. She wrapped her around mine and looking at me with a stare that I have never seen before and said with a courage I has
also never seen until now, “You need to let me handle this.” The Captain gave the horse a light tap with his spurs and trotted over to the edge of the trail. “Down there,” Kristof said pointing at the 3 boulders we were hiding behind, “that’s the direction they went.” The Captain looked down at him and asked how he knew that. Kristof turned to the broken branch and then back out at the woods, “look over there, maybe 20 yards, beyond the fallen tree” he explained, “it looks like they slipped,” pointing to a cleared muddy spot where Sarah stumbled and we fell. “Even the horses are too smart to try and walk down this embankment in this weather,” the Captain replied. He swatted at the rain trying to clear his view peering into the woods. The Captain was loyal to his promise to the King and his orders, but he wasn’t going to lose or injure men over them this time. He has searched for the Queen before. Knows of her illicit behavior and if the Queen wanted to leave, he believed she had that right. Kristof signaled a few men to come over and one by one they slid down the shallow, but muddy embankment. “No more than 100 yards,” he said, as a bolt of lightening struck the ground nearby breaking a cracking a tree branch above. She looked me with those eyes I only see when it’s time for her to leave. “Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I have to go,” she replied taking off the necklace and putting the key in my hand telling me to keep it safe, kissed me and then whispered, “meet me at the Hawk and Lizard Bridge in three days time.” She stood up and walked back into the storm and the company of her King’s men. The wind stopped and the rain lightened to a drizzle. No one even cared I was here. The End
May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 7
Photo credit: layoutsparks.com, http://bit.ly/1yHH1dP
The Dream Walker By Coleen Whitmore
A stream of guilty thoughts about yesterday’s dirty lunch date washed over my hands doing tonight’s dishes: rinse and repeat, the monotony reminded me of my marriage. I cook, he eats, I wash, he sleeps, he wakes, we fuck, I sleep and we do it all over again tomorrow. Picking up a plate, circling the sponge in soapy water I once again thought about having that difficult “I don’t love you anymore” conversation with Scott. I have had it inside my head, and heart so many times with myself but always losing my courage. Tonight was no different. Scott was almost asleep in the living room and for a very brief moment I remembered when we did the dishes together, watched tv next to each other on the couch, sometimes falling asleep with my head in his lap. Well, that was almost 11 years ago and things change. I Looked back at him over my shoulder and saw the top of the green pillow wiggle and his arm flop on top of it. The white noise of dishes and running water in the background was in a way peaceful to us both. We weren’t arguing or having to look at each other with blank feelings for the sake of our son who was eating with us. I looked around and couldn’t see Junior. He must be in his room playing video games with the cat again. It was the perfect time, I thought, the words, Scott we need to talk about things as I pushed his legs aside sitting next to him. They were so close but so afraid of coming out. I lost myself looking out the window, somewhere between where I was and where I wanted to be. “Oh shit,” I muttered in a low voice. “What?” Chris mumbled from the couch just about to enter his evening beer-coma. “I think I dropped my wedding ring in the sink.” Leaning closer into the window, watching a man walk across the street towards the house. He had blue jeans, a black jacket and baseball cap on in. He was unmistakable to me because I just saw Chris yesterday afternoon and drew a white heart on that jacket with a piece of chalk while he looked down into my eyes and told me that he didn’t want me to leave. What is he doing, I asked myself, watching him stop in the middle of the road and stare back at me. I shook my head at him, wet soapy hand on my mouth. His eyes closed and when then opened back up pointing his finger at himself. Then crossed his arms on his chest in an x and pointed a finger at me. I love you he said without words and then disappeared, crossing behind the stop sign on the corner of my front yard. 8 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
I turned off the water and dried my hands. Walking past Scott, I heard his light snoring and noticing his third beer sitting on the coffee table walked lightly to the door, hoping I would get there before the knock or worse the door bell. I slowed inched the door, a shallow creak in the hinges and watched Chris walk up to me. The screen door separating us. Why are you smiling I thought. “What are you doing here?” I said, “you can’t be here,” I told him, looking back towards the living room. “It’s dangerous,” I whispered through the mesh of the screen, “if he wakes up,” I paused, pulling the door inside my house closer to me to conceal my voice, “if he wakes up and finds you here, he will probably kill you, especially after what you have done.” Chris stood there smiling at me, “Why are you here?” I asked again, “please,” I said slightly annoyed and increasingly scared that Scott will wake up any minute now, or Junior will come out looking for one of us. “Tell me or I am closing this door.” “Come with me,” Chris said, holding out his hand. “You told me he abuses you, then leave.” My face became blank by his words. “It’s not that bad,” I replied back and took a deep breath, thinking, I can’t believe this happening, then softly pushed open the front door so it wouldn’t
squeak and stood in front of him. I could smell him again and wanted to wrap my arms around him and feel his warm body, run my hands through his short hair, but I couldn’t. The undertow of anger grew inside me and a fear struck me. “You know I can’t do that,” I answered, “not right now at least,” and I put my hand flat on his heart like the day before looking into his eyes with a pleading please, you have to go, but at the same didn’t want him to leave and was secretly walking down the street with him into somewhere else where I was just dreaming. Then I pushed him away, “go.” He stepped back taking my arm. I felt his grip not willing to let go. The touch of the black fleece made me remember the day we met at the hotel and I never wanted to leave. I put my hand on his and for the safety of all of us I begged him to leave and I would talk to him tomorrow. “He will kill you,” I whispered slowly, fighting back the emotional pull towards him, as he looked into my blue eyes but had no words. “Please,” I begged, “let me handle this,” kissing him three times; once for every word that I could no longer say out loud: I love you. I slipped back inside and closed the door. My forehead gently made a thud on the back of the door thinking that I should have went with him; ran out with Junior
right then and there and left this bad choice behind, but I can’t just do it. Scott said he would kill him, and me, if I ever I left for him and that he would take everyone I love away from me, including Junior. Scott slept in his beer nap while I lived in the shadows of his dominance manipulated by fear and coercion. He heard a banging in his head like a door knocking and then muffled voices like running water. “Fine,” he said, “I will get it,” put his beer on the kitchen counter while Christine stared outside washing the dishes like she always does after dinner. He opened it and saw him. Dressed in blue jeans, a black jacket and baseball cap. He knew exactly who this intruder of his life was. “What are you doing here?” he asked through the screen door. “Where’s Christine?” “Go away,” he answered, “and don’t come back here again.” He wasn’t as tall as I thought, maybe 5 foot 6 or 7, wearing an old faded North Face t-shirt in her favorite shade of Navy blue. His hair was a sandy blond like his sons. “She told me you abuse her and she wants to leave.” His face had a painted expression of anger, anxiety and pride. The memories of her explaining the affair
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rattled him. “Scott, who is it?” Christine asked from the kitchen. “You’re boyfriend,” he replied just before a deafening bang, an metal chime of the shell casing bouncing on the floor. “What the hell was that,” Christine shouted, running to the door. He watched her run through the door, just as we fell to our knees looking at our hands stained red almost in surprise. He watched her lift my head and heard her call my name. Small, rapid footsteps thumped against the new hardwood floors as Junior ran closer, standing next to his dad with holding a gun by his side. “Mommy, what was that noise?” Christine looked back at her son through the screen, “go to your bedroom,” she said with a cracking voice. Junior just stood there looking at the blood on her hands, “-now,” she yelled and looked back at Scott with fear and anger. “You did what you said you would do. Now take your son to his room and call an ambulance.” She turned back to me and wept with anger saying “I told you he’d shoot you.” She pressed down on the black fleece jack, soaked red, trying to slow the bleeding and looked into his eyes. Through the screen Scott saw her lips moving but couldn’t hear her words, “Don’t leave me,” she said, “I love you and just found you, you impatient idiot.” He took his son’s hand and disappeared into the delayed sound of someone knocking at the door. He noticed Christine wasn’t at the sink and got off the couch looking for her. “Who was at the door?” I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned around. “It was just a high school kid selling magazines,” I answered, “and I’m sorry if our talking woke you up.” He looked at her with a strange deja-vu confusion and chuckled. “You know I was having the weirdest dream,” he said looking into her eyes. “You had an affair and the guy came to the door saying that I abused you and then I shot him and you ran to his side but I couldn’t hear what you were saying to him over the sound of the sirens.” “Well it’s a good thing dreams are only dreams,” I answered walking back to the kitchen, “and, nothing more.” “Hey, did you find your ring?,” Scott asked from around the corner. I looked at the blue Bud Light Platinum bottle on the coffee table and answered back that I’ve still got it, slipping it back on my finger, “It didn’t fall too far this time.” I stood in front of the sink of cold, soapy water and watched Chris walk away thinking to myself don’t stop trying, one day I will say I do. The End 10 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
Photo credit: Doug Menuez | http://dougmenuez.com/tag/fate/
Bedsides Manners (erotica) By Emma Long
The reading lamp on the nightstand warmed the room with soft yellow light. Above the short, but long bookcase, a tv was mounted on the wall, her jewelry box and a silver necklace laid on the surface along with a family photo from last November. They all wore matching blue jeans and white t-shirts and posed against a dilapidated wooden fence, the ground sprinkled by autumn colors; their smiles hid the exhaustive argument they had on the way to the outing. A circular votive candle holder hung over the bed but never used. The bed was made, as she always made it after they showered in the morning, and two chairs sat in each corner of the
bedroom with her night shirt flung over one of them and his sweat pants on the other; slippers tucked underneath. Undressing from the day, she pulled the white and pink lettered shirt over her head. Kneeling beside the bed she reached under dragging out an old shoe box that had a large orange sales sticker on it and took out a small brown leather journal then pushed the box back where she kept it hidden from her husband; sometimes even herself. Tossing the sheets aside, she laid down and opened the journal. August 14, 2009 “Okay, you can give me a hug,” she said to me, looking at me warmly with
eyes smiling from the inside out and a voice that I just knew. We hugged, and let our hearts beat against each other. I didn’t want to let go as they made-out like lovecrazy teenagers. We stood in the middle of the Subway parking lot,leaning against her white Ford, captivated by one another until our arms fell to their sides holding hands. I glanced down and saw our fingers interlocked in a sweet yet complicated reunion, then back up over her boobs and into her blue eyes where I am forever a hostage to her beauty and the tan line on her finger. This explained what she wouldn’t tell me until I drove 1,374 miles to see her, but it was already too late. It didn’t
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matter to either one of us that was married. We had already fallen in love with no more than a hug and touch of the hand, and I knew that all I wanted was to take her with me into the rest of my life. Time passed quickly: the park, lunch at La Dolce Vita and a never ending kiss that changed our lives. On the drive back to California she text’d, “I want to feel you inside me.” A tease that lead to the most enjoyable drive through the Great Salt Lake. #end She placed the journal face down on her chest closing her eyes, taking herself back to that conversation. Her cheeks blushing the color of her lipstick which she hadn’t taken off yet. She bit down on the corner of her lower lip, touching herself in a way she also remembered him touching her on that midnight rendezvous outside the movie theater and then again in the hotel room a month later. Moistening her fingers in her mouth, she slid them under her shorts. The soft brush of her wet finger touching her sensitive skin. A tickling sensation flowed through her body while she massaged herself gently, turning pages of the journal. A soft moan as her finger became wetter and slightly dipped inside her discovering a warm, sticky pleasure. Moving her finger in and out, she closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the delight.
September 15, 2009. I can’t explain how wonderful today was. She stood in front me with those angelic eyes I remember from the month before and immediately grabbed my lips with hers. “Do you have any music?” she asked me. I opened the laptop on the nightstand double-clicked the playlist she made for me: Keep Me In Your Thoughts by Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers filled the room. She stood at the foot of the bed, shoulder length blonde hair looking at me in nothing but her blue panties and matching bra with a seductive “come and get me” smile. My eyes lusting up and down her petite body as it crawled on top of me taking my lips into her mouth. She held me, hard, moving her hand, while my erection grew harder and my hand slipped under her panties feeling the warm, wet pleasure of her sex, finger sinking shallowly inside her fire. She moaned and rocked her hips a few times then spun on top of me, grinding against my dick. I unsnapped her bra. She wiggled it off her arms, left then right, staring deep into my eyes with a naughty smile. My hand cupping her squishy boobs, my thumbs circling her nipples; our mouths open and tongues twist together. She rubbed down against me, her panties sliding askew, letting the tip of my penis slide inside
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her, slippery and warm. She lifted her waist back and up slowly, starting a rhythm: up and down, back and forth, whispering, “Mm, I love how you feel inside me,” between long breaths as the sensation spread through her body, swinging her hips back into me again. I felt my cock’s tip touch her soft pillow; warm, tingling and erotic. Slowly pressing farther inside her wet and happy flower, tight, warm and hot. She squeezed her legs into my side and moaned, “I want to feel you cum inside me,” wrapping her arms around my back and pulling my upper body down on top her breasts. Her waist rocking with my motion as we start the pattern again: up and down, left and right and down again, slowly in and out. A sensuous tempo. The pleasure desiring to release tickled by a growing pressure from my toes to my finger tips which ran through her blonde hair. I moved inside her somewhere in between slow and then deep and fast and then slow until her finger nails lightly ran down my shoulders and sides of my back while her soul was massaged by an exhaustive orgasm. I was about to cum and pushed deep inside her until I felt that soft, warm pillow surrounded by our warm release. My lips buried in her neck, feeling completely vulnerable yet totally satisfied. She whispered, “I love you”.
#end She slipped her hand out from under panties back over her belly and between her breasts with a self-satisfied, quiet moan. His silhouette stood in the door watching her. “What are you reading?” he asked with a curiosity and stretched himself out on the bed beside her. “Just an old journal of mine from high school that I found in the garage this afternoon,” she answered. His hand rested on top of her bare, naked leg stroking its smoothness along the inside of her thigh. She was wet and aroused from the journal and sensitive to her husbands touch. She shivered and took a long breath before returning him an obligated seductive smile closing the pages of the brown journal, slipping it under the pillow. Licking her fingers she reached through his boxers, rubbing his dick hard while circling her tongue with his and then along his lips in a long convincing kiss. His hand rushed over her belly under her shirt grabbing her breasts, squeezing them and then down again between her legs tugging her panties from around her knees. She slid her back down the pillow flipping him and he dropped on top of her; his boxers tugged off with her feet and she opened her legs like a good wife. He quickly plunged his penis inside her wet sensuous vagina. She moaned loud enough so he heard her, staring at the ceiling. Thrusting in and out; wet, smooth, warm and fast. She put a hand on his shoulder, her other under the pillow, escaping back into the memories, the words she just read, thinking, “you should be here instead,” squeezing the brown journal as she came.
Lunch At La Dolce Vita By James McCarthy White patio doors swing open Blonde hair sways with her walk a light bounce “The beautiful girl has arrived” — Sam said raising his arm to her beauty “An angel,” — he boasted “that God himself dropped from Heaven” A white towel hung from his arm Pouring two glasses of wine Her cheeks blush-pink Her eyes blue as the sky “You told him to say that” — she flirted Glasses chime Toasting forbidden love Rubbing her foot against my leg White Christmas lights Stretched along the patio’s rail Sparkling like the diamond on her finger What a gorgeous bride she made running my hand along her smoothshaven leg Eating someone else’s ravioli
The End May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 13
Photo credit: Kissed By The Sun Photography | http://bit.ly/Uio9Tr
How To Break The Platinum Promise By Taylor Evans
I drove into the office parking lot not really wanting to be here but after being forced to confess my affair I didn’t have much of a choice. It was either leave the marriage or work it out; even if my heart really wasn’t in it any more. Divorce is something I don’t want to put my son through having been part of a broken family myself as well as having a mother who abandoned me. This is why I am looking for a parking spot, doing what I think is right, yet never more confused about anything in my life. Circling a few rows of cars, I finally pulled into a spot in the back where Scott could easily see me. The leaves on the trees were hanging heavy from the rain and run-off rushed like a mini river down the roads edge. It was nice to sit and watch the rain express how I felt inside. Ironic, I thought, as I listened to Adele’s “Someone Like You” fill the car. A cool mist tickled my cheek as rain spit inside from the cracked window while I waited and cried and thought more about whether I sincerely wanted to be here. So this is what it looks like to cry from the inside I thought watching the water bead and stream down the windshield. Why am I here I kept thinking to myself. The music washing out the sound of my confusion. The song’s lyrics soaking into my head with vivid dream-like memories of those days Scott tells to forget. “The past is the past,” he says. “I heard that you’re settled down / That you found a girl and you’re married now / I heard that your dreams came true / Guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you” Those lyrics are right, I thought, I’m married now, looking at my ring, turning it slightly with my thumb, thinking about the drive through the mountains with Josh and when I shared the story about how I picked the platinum wedding band of blue sapphires out myself; how I told my bridesmaid getting into the limo after the ceremony that I couldn’t do this; how it’s not that I love him that matters, but how -- an internal conflict of pride, guilt 14 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
and submissive, faithful duty. “Regrets and mistakes, they’re memories made / Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?” Scott’s truck pulled up my beside my car. I wiped the tears and rain from my eyes and turned off Adele. We ran through the rain into the counselor’s office. A degree in Marriage and Family Counseling hung on the wall over his desk. A country style couch with light green and blue flowers sat across from a low back, espresso colored swivel chair and side table with a white Starbucks coffee cup and a spiral notebook. He sat down with a smile which started our first counseling session. I was here in mind, as they say, but not in heart. I had to play the game in order to stay with my son and keep Scott from getting mad. He’s a good provider, but not a nice man when you cross him. His words often shameful and disrespectful; controlling. Scary. “The rain is nice change today?” the counselor asked smiling at us. We leaned against the sofa’s arms, legs crossed, sitting at opposite sides. I held a pillow thinking to myself again, I have to be here for my son. He deserves the best life possible. “How long have you been married?” the counselor asked, picking up his notebook from the side table. There was an awkward moment of silence. My eyes staring the gray carpet. “8 years,” my husband finally answered. His voice, a tone of disappointment. I can’t imagine how he felt after my betrayal, but it didn’t feel like I was betraying him. I didn’t really even think about it. It felt right. It felt like I had just found the person who was always missing in my life and what I was doing really didn’t become real until that night I pee’d on a stick and it said: “Yes, you’re pregnant.” I realized then that I was trying to escape from something I didn’t
want to understand. My husband and I are happy, I told myself again, half aware of the continuing awkward silence of the room. I know we are happy. We are having another baby I though, but I don’t feel happy like on the inside; I feel alone. Christine, the counselor spoke, noticing my apparent lack of engagement in the conversation. “There are 10 emotional needs that every marriage must meet,” he continued, “do you know what they are?” I looked up from the staring at the carpet with a depressed smile and shook my head no. He returned an empathetic half smile. The words “let me explain them,” followed. #1 Affection, Another Day Another Year He walked over to me and leaned in for a kiss. I sighed and put one arm around him, patting his shoulder and asked “Do you feel better now?” He leaned back still close enough for a kiss and said, “kiss me.” I half-smiled and replied, “brush your teeth first.” #2 Sexual Fulfillment, You Suck “Chloe’s sleeping like a baby,” he said putting his hand on my smooth, naked leg just under my shorts. “Stop” I thought, looking at him, moving his hand onto the sheets between us and raising my Nook in front my blue eyes, deep enlarging pupils. “I have a headache,” I answered and went back to reading 50 Shades of Gray.
May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 15
#3 Conversation, What’s For Dinner Walking through the front door he made it known it was a tough day at work by loud footsteps down the hall and the slam of the door from the garage. The voices of Phineas and Ferb between us, standing behind me and despite my lack of interest, continued, saying, “anyhow, I lost the blah-blah-blah account,” shaking his head, “I need a beer.” I rested my blonde head on top of juniors, absorbed in his little 9 year old world while distracted by an agitated voice asking from the kitchen, “what’s for dinner?” TSST, a Bud Light Platinum popping open. I looked his way answering, “whatever, we already ate,” kissing my son’s head. #4 Recreational Companionship, Do You Want To Go To The Lake Today? My beautiful body stretched down the slender couch, angelic eyes concealed behind this week’s People Magazine. “You didn’t start the coffee?” he asked, shirtless and bed-headed. “No,” I answered, thinking to myself, “read between the lines dick head,” while listening to the coffee grinder work and kitchen drawers make a musical thudding rhythm. “Junior and I are going to the lake today, you coming?” he asked standing at my toes which I just finished painting purple. I put the magazine face-down on my chest and looked at him for a long second, before answering, “No, I have errands to run today.” #5 Honesty and Openness, Sugar Rush “I will try my best,” I text’d then deleted from my phone’s messages app right before it vibrated again with a new message, “do you want to meet for lunch?” fingers paused on the slide out keyboard while I thought for a moment about how to respond back to him . My fingers jumped around the keyboard spelling it out, “I can’t. I have to run to Target and buy some candy for junior’s harvest festival after school today,” with short clicks ending on Send; fingers typing again, “William Hughes Park 1pm. I only have a few minutes. M u.” #6 Physical Attractiveness, Body & Mind I got out off bed and slipped my panties back 16 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
on. I could feel him watching me. “What?” I asked at his naked reflection in the mirror, It was hard not to notice his pale gut and foolish look of thinking he doesn’t have to worry about charming the woman he takes to bed anymore. He took my beauty for granted. I knew it and looked at myself in the same mirror, smiling, knowing another man wants to appreciate every goose bump on my smooth skin that arouses. “I thought you were coming,” he said patting his hand on the sheets next to him while I slipped my boobs into my sports bra. “No, I’ve already done that,” I smiled, rosy cheeks, “didn’t you even notice?” He pulled the sheet up, covering himself, watching me finish getting dressed: black riding shorts and a navy blue shirt then pull my hair back into pony tail. I turned around and looked at him trying to put how I felt into words: “you are slightly more pleasurable than my vibrator.” I’m going to the lake for a ride. Be home later. #7 Financial Support, Trade Off His laptop screen reflected the Mastercard bill in his glasses, as he asked, “What did you buy at Ulta?” “Perfume,” I answered while crocheting on the couch. “And, what in the world did you spend $63.27 on at Victoria’s Secret?” he also asked starting to sound pique. I put down my needles and yarn and lifted up my shirt, “this bra,” I answered, “and what I wore to bed last night”. He sighed, lost in a reflection of his own plight, adding “You’ve got to be kidding,” head shaking at me, “Cheesecake Factory and Teaz and Pleaz?”, sigh, “What are you thinking?” Again, I looked up and answered “cheesecake and a little pleasure,” with a devilish grin. “Do you want to play?” I asked. He returned a cold stare. Tired of his grumbling I said “I’m going back to work,” His stare became frustrated and I finished by reminding him it was his turn to do the laundry. #8 Domestic Support, Roommates The Saturday morning sun glinted through the half open blinds across an unmade bed. The steam after two showers filled the room a soft, misty fog. “I thought we would run to Costco and then pack the boat up for winter after lunch,” he said, still wrapped in a towel, looking for a t-shirt, asking
me, “I thought you were going to hang these up yesterday.” I slipped a leg into my cycling shorts and answered, “I’m not your mother.” He exhaled loudly and mumbled, “What the hell do you do all day?” Thinking I didn’t hear him, but I did and I thought about it: I went and left a bag of Reese’s Pieces on a doorstep, scratched a heart on a wooden bridge in the park and picked up my son from school. I looked at him with a smile and answered “I’m going to the park for a bike ride.” On the way out of the bedroom, I turned around adding, “Also, make the bed after putting away your clothes.” #9 Admiration, Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk Sweetheart “I’d ask him to go get the milk but he’d probably find a way to screw it up,” I typed smiling. “Who are you texting?” he asked. “My boyfriend,” I snarked without blinking his direction. He looked at me with a growing resent and exhaled a silent “fuck you”.
head to the left towards me, “when you leave today take some time together and talk about those things.” He smiled at the room and finished up his helpful advice with, “remember, communication in any relationship is the glue to happiness.” I felt my phone vibrate in my purse and took it out, “How r u?” I read, “I didn’t have the courage to tell him it’s over,” I text’d back. It vibrated a few seconds later, “that’s what you said last time.” My fingers swiped across the keyboard in angst, “I told you to let me handle it.” Another shake from the phone, “he’s never going to leave,” it read. I swiped back, “you don’t know that.” Scott watched me and asked a little bit annoyed, “who are you texting?” “The sitter,” I lied. I paid the counselor $50 and we left without change. The End
#10 Family Commitment, Stand-Off “We need to talk,” I said sitting on the couch across from him. “I’m not happy and staying for junior isn’t working.” I took a long breath, wiping a tear from my cheek, hearing him mutter “Why?” I looked at him with my watery eyes and explained, “It’s fine, at times, but it’s missing something still, even after the counseling and the second chance you gave me,” I blew my nose and looked at him, “We love each other for junior, not for us.” He sighed, realizing she was right, thinking, “isn’t that why we agreed to stay together after your affair”, and asked, “Okay, now what?” A long silence stood between us until I answered, “you leave.” “Well,” the counselor said with a short sigh, “Scott,” looking at him, “Christine,” turning his May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 17
Tell Me The Story Again By Christine Thomas I grabbed the lapels of her blue peacoat jacket, pulled her close and kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft like her cheeks I held between my hands. “This time,” I said between another kiss, looking into the blue mystery of her eyes lost in an ocean of dreams, I lovingly whispered, “let’s try something different.” She smiled, pushing her hair away from her face as the Nevada wind swirled around us, Mount Rose blurred in the background. “We will,” kissing me back she said, rolling her hands around the back of my head, through my hair. I knew what she meant, I thought. I have heard it before so many times that I didn’t know what to believe any longer. In fact, it was at this exact same spot on this Hill that she wrote in a letter three years earlier. I thought about her declaration of love and feelings for me. The raw vulnerability of her words held close to my heart until the day she lied about everything she had written in those pages. Those words crumpled into a meaningless excuse. It was just a fling she told her husband and everyone her image meant something to. She excused her passionate words justifying they were crafted by the emotional loss of her child and did not mean what they said. I care for you but I don’t love you she later wrote because people were now watching. It was different this time though. Today, there was no fear of consequence or talks about being controlled, or guilted into trying to make her marriage work. She was in a better place this time. I could feel the peace she had finally found in her difficult decision after so many years of struggle, depression and dominance over her life. Her eyes had a courage that I remember the first time looking into them that cool day in Colorado. 18 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
Her hands slid down my side, a tender kiss . “I and want to leave him.” Our connection no longer had to reach through dreams or decipher cryptic messages or hide in the shadows of our disposable emotions anymore. We stood on top the Hill this time unconstrained by the complexities of our fears -free to love at last and scream it from the mountain top if we wanted to or whisper it into each other’s ear in bed without guilt. This time she meant it. “Look,” she said, pointing to a red-tail hawk circling above our heads, playing in the wind, “it’s like everything is right where it’s suppose to be finally,” watching the bird glide in circles then swoop down landing on a rock below. “It only took us five years,” she said with a small love-me smile. I could see my old smiling face in reflecting in the dilated pupils of eyes from five years earlier. “This is where I kissed you last time”, she said, “do you remember?” sliding her hands into the front pockets of my jeans like she did the time before. I could feel her hands as they fell deeper inside and pulled me close. Her lips reached towards mine meeting with another kiss, lasting until the sun set. The End
Minds Mirror By James McCarthy There are times I see myself in the opaque moments of the day fractal, diamond reflections of life here and over there reaching at them pressing my fingers together pinching air —a moment somewhere between today and tomorrow I see who I am meant to be.
Bring Out The Sunshine Cover Photograph By Evan Trager This photograph was taken in Rocklin, California off Sierra College Blvd. in late February 2014. I love the oaks in this area, especially in the early Spring when you can still see the strong, twisted definition and strength of the branches and limbs before the leaves fill in the sleeping beauty.
When I first drove by this awesome tree on my way into Lincoln, California, it called out to me to go sit under it; lean against its trunk, kick my feet up on rock and read a little Paulo Coelho. Unfortunately this tree is on private property so the closest I will get to living out that dream is to print it, frame and it hang it on my family room wall. It was taken using a Nikon D600 with a Nikon 24-120mm lens at 102mm, f/8, 1/250 sec and ISO 100. I converted the photo to black and white using Lightroom 5. The color image has the most vibrant blue sky, green buds and grass. I felt that the black and white version expressed the emotion when I first saw it: strong, hard-lines and alone, desiring company despite it was surrounded by sunshine and passers-by admiring its freedom. May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 19
Finding Somewhere Only We Know By James McCarthy
She stepped off the bucket and stood in front of the door. I looked up, and asked myself how we would get back to the top, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everything that I needed was right here in front of me, beautiful, smooth, warm, soft golden strands of hair which seemed to faintly luminescence and I didn’t care if we ever left the damp murkiness of this well as long as we were together. I watched her look at it. Running her fingers along the archway of stone shaping the top of a heart, the aged wood exterior, cracked and warped and dark like the dirt surrounding it. In the middle, framed like a window, was a painting of a tree; tall with blossoming orange flowers. Despite how old everything was, the painting was in pristine condition. The door wasn’t large, maybe 5 feet tall and 3 feet wide but still doesn’t explain how we missed it earlier. Here it is though, in front of us now, once again. She knocked. “I guess no one’s home,” she said joking. I like her sense of humor, the way she teases me with her smile. I pointed to a rusted latch where a heart shaped lock was the only thing between us and whatever was on the other side. “It’s another heart,” she said softly. “Why are we whispering,” I asked, holding the heart lock in my hand. “I don’t know,” she said, “but come here,” and kissed me three times whispering “I - love - you,” between each and placing her hand on my chest, “just you,” slipping the key from around my neck and sliding it into the lock’s heart. A short click echoed against the walls. The latch fell open. We looked at each other with no words, just a smile as she took my hand and squeezed it opening the door. A ray of light cast against the ground over our shoes as the door edged open. A loud sucking wind chasing us from behind and the Hawk swooped above us with a shrill cry into 20 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
the sky. Taking her hand; ring vanishing in a poof of purple smoke, we tucked our heads and walked into what very well could be our destiny or our greatest mistake. The End (*A teaser from a future chapter of Tales of The Firefly Lantern, Part One (Page 3).
36th St. And Pleasure Point By James McCarthy 10:38PM iphone dims “stay in your car” -she texts -closes the door “why do you have a bassinet in your backseat?” “that’s too bad” with a wink “drive” at the corner of 36th St. and Pleasure Point bodies moving like waves sweat tastes like ocean on our lips and tongue she pushes my hand into the cushion of her heart - boom, boom, boom, boom sharing an unspoken vow a shooting “I love you” through the Santa Cruz sky the tide pulled back by Amphitrite sitting on the moon above us watching, wondering “what are they going to do” she whispers between a kiss “I have to go”
My Secret Daughter
The Hawk And Lizard
By James McCarthy
By James McCarthy
“Chloe” “Mom” “Stop feeding the birds your french fries” She looked at her mom with those just-like-her-own blue eyes. The summer breeze lifting the thin blonde strands around shoulders as if dancing along with the tune she sung to herself, lost in her own little 7-year old world. Giggling, she answered back, “but they love them, look” and tossed another towards the small black birds with gray feathers that hopped and pecked at the ground surrounding her. “The big white one’s are mean,” she said, pointing, “soosh, go away mean ones. No french fries for you, only the little baby ones.” Sara smiled watching her take another french fry from the white paper pouch and toss it away from the mean birds. “Yes, they look so happy eating your lunch,” she said smiling back and looking at her phone vibrating for an incoming text message: “i miss you” it read. Sara smiled at it pressing the delete button and looked back up at Chloe. “Come over here baby, mommy needs a hug.” “Oookay mommy, just one more,” she tosses a cold golden fry, “last one little birdie” and spun-round, her pink dress with green and purple flowers whirling with the wind above her knees. For a moment Sarah saw herself when she was 7 and smiled, arms open as Chloe skipped towards her, crashing into her knocking her onto her back onto the picnic blanket. She held Chloe tightly in her arms and rolled left and right with her, laughing together. “I love you mom.” “I’m so happy,” she said with a smile, watching at the birdies hop and peck at the ground aimlessly for more fries. Sara looked into the green leaves of summer above her and thought about his text and the day they met here at this park, holding a secret so tight to her heart, that not even he knew about. Her phone vibrates again in her pocket. “I love you too baby.”
sagebrush bitter sweet dirt and pine smells of nevada small white dots hang from a crescent moon mars, venus, a slice of scorpio admiring Mount Rose I found you on this hill below a blanket of clouds you took my hand and we walked hello— do you hear me, see me, anymore my heart is lonely my soul vulnerable for you — in the rain turning to snow the sun setting into moonlight I look through your misty morning fog breathe in your cool air show me who you are who I am our unfailing love a hawk soaring above a lizard sunning on the rock a snake crossing the path, squirrels chasing peanuts, rabbits hiding in sage my shoes scuff around the gravel path caked by the dry Nevada earth kicking the rocks shaped in your heart this is where i found you
The End May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 21
I Called For You To Hear The Train By Sara Jones-Martin
Whistle screamed from locomotive Number 482 her blue eyes a mirrors reflection of cotton ball clouds swirling gray rising into the clear autumn sky she sits in the Alamosa Parlor Car lost in a blurring dream a Kinkade of pines, meadows, wooden bridges, riding rocky cliff edges rolling down historic tracks dated 1925 chatting with nature clickety-clack, clickety-clack, (clickety-clack) sauntering through the San Juan Mountains of Colorado whistle blows, shouting “hello” to the hawk above down the Durango, Silverton rails - three rings and his eyes open - from two thousand miles away - finger pressing answer - he listens to her voice talking to her son - distracted by the sounds of life their hands together in the East his heart lay alone in the West, legs wrapped around a green pillow ear to his phone arms wrapped around her back in two separate truths they shared a ride along the Ainmas river until three beeps and she was gone passengers going home to their hotel beds.
22 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
#micropoetry #heartsoup @twitter @chloedreams you were conceived in my dream, kicking to my hearts love song, waiting in my veins to be born. @sjamesmccarthy Lets jump to the moon and chase the stars, pulling those Santa Cruz waves back to where they belong. @florentin0ariza She opened the purple envelope unfolding a torn page from a familiar book and only had to read the page number, 126, to know what it meant. @nomoreblacktea the meds let you love him with a comfortable, blissful numbness while you live in happiness through hazy blues trying to remember emotion. don’t let yourself not feel. @scandy1029 Thoughts kept hidden, Compartmentalized. Stored w/in the confines Of my mind. Urging 2b heard,2b read & w/paper & pen,I write @Lotus_Heals The disillusions of you Shattered your dreams & mine You did not want to give it time There was another standing already in line @newponics i’ve spent so much time w/my illusions of you i don’t know who is real i thought i had you figured out misled by what i feel
Follow us on Twitter @nomoreblacktea
Publisher’s Note: Believing In Destiny Wandering Aimélessly Through A Misspelled Love By Stephanie Drey misguided mistrusted silent & alone she walks through her day holding hands with fiction sunshine that is not hers air which she is forced to share the sweet love of her child is all she stays for a heart like a hotel the truth she bled suffocated — controlled a domain with a forgotten soul wandering in the smoke of a glass pipe illusion permissing herself to love him with a delightful numbness fate wake her up — it’s time to go show her heart to why it roams a blonde ghost in a blue world a shadow in a misspelled love eyes lost in gray
Hello! Thank you for downloading and reading the issue 1 second edition of No More Black Tea, a literary magazine about forbidden love and broken hearts inspired by a now distant friend, okay, a lover who played her party in my life but now is gone. She left a lasting imprint on my heart and tattooed my soul with a desire to find my destined true love and courage to chase my dream no matter what. I hope that you like the changes in the publication’s design, as well as an additional short story, short scene, poem and all the photographs and illustrations which really make the second edition POP! I loved the ebook idea, but PDF is so much more sexy for where No More Black Tea is heading. Also, a great thanks to all the inspiring and creative people on Twitter that helped make this revision a publication to be proud of; special thanks to Michelle for her support, feedback and encouragement. If you want to be part of a future issue of No More Black Tea, submit your material online at nomoreblacktea.com
searching for her Heaven while complacent in her Hell
May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 23
Roll And Write
quick dialog and ideas inspired by a roll of dice A simple and fun way to get the fingers typing or hand writing. Take some dice, 8-sided dice are perfect, and roll-em’. Don’t add them together, but read them as a whole number and take the bigger of smaller of the number and start writing using only the number of words which you rolled (e.g, you roll an 8 and a 1 so your roll &write number is is either 18 or 81).
59 rolled, by Alisha Barnes In winter 1973, God dropped an angel from Heaven above. As she descended to Earth, the clouds colored her hair blonde, the sky made her eyes a calming blue, the hawk gave her strength and clarity, nature made her one of a kind beautiful and the butterflies cradled her to her mother’s womb who brought her into the world. 36 rolled, by Jamie Edwards I got use to the silence and now the only voice of hers that I hear is that of what I remember in my head whispering between my ears, “one more drink and she is gone.” 67 rolled, by Samuel Schull The man woke up; cold, sweating, dark in a highpitch silence. His wife put her palm on his cheek. He touched her hand, “I had an affair.” Small breaths, “That’s okay hunnie, you’re just talking in your sleep again”. She rolled over; wept with
silent tears, “me too.” He rolled away, sighed thinking about her, she the other man. Their son keeping warm between their cold hearts. 25 rolled, by Tommy Vanderbilt I want to give you back my heart. Will you take it? It’s behind the wooden door with half a moon inside a secret elevator. 21 rolled, by Daniel Stephens She kissed his lips, ran her fingernails down his back, waiting for the rain while feeling the thunder shake inside her. 16 rolled, by James McCarthy An unborn soul in Heaven weeps because you and I were not strong enough to change. 18 rolled, by David Torgersen I bought you a Magic-8Ball so hopefully you can make better choices now, but “My Sources Say No”.
Submit Your Own Roll And Write submityours@eighyonefortynine.com 24 No More Black Tea, May 2014 (second edition)
Red Light Scratch short thoughts & ideas inspired at red lights How do you pass the time at red lights? Take out a note book and scratch out some quick dialog for a story, verse for a poem or song.
I Saw You This Morning, by Aime Black You came to me this morning, sometime between 3:24 AM and 4:48 AM, in between a dream, and cuddled against me. We spoke no words, just lay darkness, street light flickering outside the window behind us, your head rested against my chest, my fingers combing through your hair until you fell asleep and then had to leave; a moment our souls connected somewhere between together. Christmas Eve, by Anglea Serrto She poured her fourth glass of wine, a Primal Roots Red Blend, 2009, and from the kitchen said, “oh, Santa, there will be sex tonight,” carrying two glasses back to the twinkling Christmas tree. Santa was done with Christmas and sleeping on the couch. She put his glass on the table, speaking softly, “without you I guess,” walking into the bedroom alone. The Heart And The Head, by Lucas Knebel Disgusted, she watched him sitting on the couch, contemplating the idea: “I pretend you don’t exist in between the moments that you must.” Not moving his eyes from the tv, he felt her brooding stare and asked, “What are you thinking?” She stared hopeless at him thinking to herself, you should know. Don’t Believe Yourself, by Aime Black A pain emerged, screaming, a deafening cry / long, soft eyelashes pressed together like our hands / A soft breeze from an ocean wave, carried her into a dream, where a beautiful woman stood, dressed in all white, a veil hiding her face, eyes for someone else, her soul could only see / A voice spoke, asking “if we do?”, head faintly nodding, kissing the whole night through / A warm feeling inside, praying “please I changed my mind” / “why do I keep him hidden away, trapped in silence, when he’s there in every blink of my eye, emerging from my every thought” / two people, two hearts, beating in different places, waiting to harmonize.
Submit Your Own Red Light Scratch submityours@eightyoneforty.com
May 2014 (second edition), No More Black Tea 25
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