Edweird had heard of this place as he crossed out of the green, lush forest and into the mountains of snow and bitter winds. Not only did it come like a whisper from the clouds, but the indigenous peoples of cerise, flaxen, and sepia spoke loudly of it.

Down into the valley, he stumbled, exhausted by this drive to find this place they called “Same,” or was it “Sane?” By the time he reached the desert’s edge, the name no longer mattered.

It was the destination, not the journey, that spurred Edweird forward.

The rocky landscape gave way to endless vistas of bright titian and heliotrope bruisings. It became difficult for Edweird to recognize the sky from the earth, and many times it caused him to stumble and fall. Still, he found the will to regain his footing and step forward and forward again.

Parched, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, Edweird fell victim again and again to the taste of the gritted soil of an ancient mirage. He cried foul each time and threatened to surrender to the elements but never found the right place.

Hands and knees shredded, and his mind numbed to the ever-presence of fatigue and loneliness, Edweird came to a long, high wall. Slowly, he stood, using the smooth stones as leverage to find his balance.

Confusion set in, and he found it hard to decide which direction he should go. It was too high and smooth to go over, and he could not see the end of this structure to either side of himself.

Edweird felt stuck.

Finally, a gust of hot air forced him to his right, and he followed the wall for days and nights. Upon his third turn, for the wall was circular and not straight, he discovered a crack between the rocks.

Though his eyesight was weak, he could see people moving, passing by the narrow opening. Edweird pressed himself into the gash, and though frightened of tight spaces, forced his withered body through to the other side.

Inside the walls, Edweird watched as the forms he’d seen from the outside, turn to look at him. Many did not stop to recognize this busted and battered man as he dropped to his knees in surrender.

“We’ve been expecting you,” a calm voice stated.

Edweird looked up and saw the form of a man standing with a blinding sun obscuring his face.

“Come,” the man said. “Let us get you water and crackers.”

Edweird stumbled to his feet and followed obediently. All around himself, he saw people shrieking, crying, dancing, laughing wildly, talking and mumbling, singing, and doing other strange things that only those who have lost their minds would do.

After a meal of saltines and cool water, the man said, “Welcome to…”

Edweird could not make out the name. Did he say, “Same” or “Sane?” Though the problem had plagued Edward before this, he was safe now and therefore no longer concerned himself with such details.

After resting for three days and feeling stronger in body and mind, Edweird decided he must be moving on. He needed to find his way back to his place of beginning.

He returned to that part of the wall through which he had entered, only to find the slot was absent. For three days, he searched, and for three days, he found the same thing, solid stone, polished smooth, but no escape.

On the fourth day, he was approached by the man with the sun in his face, once again.

“The crease you seek will not return until your soul heals,” the man said.

Edweird leaned back against the wall and slipped to the ground, screaming and crying at his plight. The idea of being trapped was too much, and Edweird cracked with madness.

And though it would pass in the blink of an eye, seventeen years later, the crack in the wall would open, but by this time, he was comfortable in his sameness and sanity. Still, from time to time, Edweird inwardly thought of that slight opening and his life before.

He could not help himself. Nor could Edweird help become the man with the glowing orb that adumbrated his image.

In my twenties, I never thought about death. I never thought about dying. Even when nearly killed, I was sure I would live forever and be happy.

In my forties, I began thinking about death as my folk and friends began to die, and I developed a sudden fear of dying. I didn’t want to die viewing it as unfair.

Now, in my sixties, I know that I will die one day. My greatest fear isn’t of death itself, or even what lays beyond, rather that I’ll die alone in an uncomfortable bed, mindless of myself and those I love.

I woke with the strangest thought — while cleaning out our vacuum cleaner I became a vacuum cleaner.

eternal language
music, math and they can speak
i am deaf, dumb, blind

silence is golden
say nothing till spoken to
but birds get to sing?

She contacted me via email, saying she had information about any gruesome crime story I was investigating, and it sounded promising. Cats were disappearing from all over town, only to later be found torn to pieces and partially devoured.

I wanted to know if this was the work of a cult.

We agreed to meet in a park east of the train depot at four that afternoon when it would be the least busy. I found it puzzling that she didn’t want to talk to me over the phone, citing the risk of being spied on even though she’d used the Internet.

Since we’d never seen one another before, she described what she’d be wearing for our meet-up. Red hair, green jacket

Cautious, I wondered about the fringes of the park, keeping an eye for any out-of-place activity. Finally, I saw a woman who fit the description.

Wanting to remain careful, I didn’t approach her right away. I waited another five minutes before walking down the path to where she was kneeling.

Once within a few feet of her, I knew something was wrong, and I was in danger. Her growl was low and long as she turned and charged.

My Cousin Elmo says, “When the moon hits your eye like it’s 4:45, it’s November.”

It was as dark as Hades as he approached the underpass. The shaft was even darker.

He could see illumination at the far end, and that gave him hope. It meant people, and where there were people, there was safety, food, and fire.

Slowly he walked down the passageway, hugging the wall. He couldn’t see a thing in front of him, so he shuffled to avoid tripping.

More than halfway to the glow, he sensed a movement, then heard the knife’s click. He’d have to pass through Hell to get to the light at the end of his eternal tunnel.

It is the worst customer service that I have ever experienced.

Yesterday, I purchased an item from this place right over the border in California. I got it home and found that it did not work.

So today, I took it back and asked if I could get a refund. The young woman behind the counter politely told me ‘no’ even though I still had the receipt.

So, I asked if I could get it replaced. Again, the answer was ‘no.’

Then I asked to talk to a manager. I explained to the guy that I had just bought the item, got it home, and found it did not work.

The manager smiled at me and said, “You are out of luck.”

“So, no refund? No replacement?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head.

I left upset, vowing not to buy another lottery ticket from that place ever again.

My Cousin Elmo says, “Instead of Facebook jail, let’s call it Metapause.”