Raindrops, falling. Like my tears. This is so like those sad scenes in the movies. Thunder rolls, trees bend and sway. Lightening dances across the ground up ahead. Chaotic and hazed, the air is full of foreign objects whirling around. I shudder as I watch the hail and debris tear through glass windows, shattering, like my heart.
This isn't sadness, it's insanity. My mind is in turmoil. I clench my fists and clench my jaw, hard. I want to reach above the storm with my screams of anger, fear, and hurt. I hold it back, knowing how useless it would be. I give up, and let it go.

Tiny child, by your parents torn apart,
I wish I could hold you in my arms; not my heart.
Unloved, unprotected, not held by loving hands;
Your demise is cheered on and upheld in this land.

Unloved, unwanted, torn and abused:
Cast aside for selfish pleasure, broken; confused.
They pursued their own lust and chased after their pleasure,
Not facing their sins but removing their treasure.

Screams wrenched the atmosphere.
When the Twins crushed and killed it was called unfair.
Was it "them" or us? Questions everywhere.
All I know is God was there.

A mighty tornado went twisting down;
Homes demolished in many a town.
Death allowed to reap what was sown.
I know He was there, they were not alone.

Our soldiers give their lives in brave fight.
We let our trust take a cowardly flight.
We say goodby yet cry, distraught, in fright.
We forget they are held in the hand of His might.

1. Primal Again

eyes scan
wide space and
I am back

on the savanna
where I hunted
as a cub

my knuckles
in the wet ground
roots poke my

weak peachy flesh
but soon, that human skin
is again calloused paw-pads

I am back,
I am a hunter
again

all fours,
primal, and throw
my head skyward

and I roar
like my father taught me
they know I am coming

they scatter, all of them
as I run, I charge
they are no match

I smiled at my little girl and imagined what frame would fit best around this pose of hers. And then I stopped smiling. There were tears in her eyelashes. I looked closer and noticed the little pucker just below the left side of her lips that she always wore when she was sad or hurt. I wondered what was wrong. I forgot about the perfect frame and worried about my little daughter. I wondered if I should wake her up and ask what was wrong. Her mother would have known. But her mother wasn't here. I shook my head as I turned to go out the door and then I stopped.

Previous Chapter

Previous Chapter

When I woke up, I felt sick. I sat up in bed, realizing I was already late for work. Then suddenly the memories of the previous night flooded into my recollection and I fell back onto my bed.

My sister was dead, and I would never get to see her get married and become a mother, which was always her wish. But it would never be. My anger again was aroused, and I spoke aloud to God, saying, "Why, Lord, have you taken my sister's life? Do you not have any consideration for human kind?"

Previous Chapter

"Matilda is very sick."

I couldn't believe my brother's words. Yes she was sick; she'd been sick for the past week, but had been recovering the past couple days. I had been there at noon that day and she had seemed almost ready to get up and walk. I wondered how she could be sick again.

The evening was the fourteenth of December. The year was 1873. It was bitterly cold outside, yet I sat comfortable inside, warmed by a fire, and content and happy. But I could have been outside, chilled by the frosty fingers of the wind, and been just as content and happy. How could anyone not be who was in my place? God had blessed me, immensely. I was not yet twenty-three years of age and I had more than I could ask for.

I pulled into the drive and found a spot to park my car. I took the key out of the ignition and put it in my purse. I looked at my hands, palms up. They were shaking and sweating like crazy. I clenched them into fists to steady them and gritted my teeth.
"You can do this," I whispered to myself. "It'll be better this way."