Daughters of Men

A Field of Wild Flowers

Forward

"I can’t stand the spinning when I close my eyes," she admits. "Tell me a story."

"The darkness has a name and you should know it if you are to continue on as you do," he says breathing deeply. He looks as though a weight has lifted off him. He considers his words for a while. "Allow me to invade your mind. First, I want to wipe it clean. Consider for a moment. Just consider," Alien says in a calming voice that sweeps over Analie hypnotically. "Life is but a vapor, we live for a season then we pass away. We are but grass in a field. You know the Laws of Life, formerly the Cell Theory. All living things are made up of cells. Cells come from other cells. Cells are made of positive, negative, and neutral energy. Energy is neither created nor destroyed, but can be transformed from one form to another, and on and on. All the energy around us was created by a greater energy. Nothing random happens with energy. Everything happens as a direct result of something else. You know all of this right?"

She shakes her head in agreement. He continues, "Good stories and music live from generation to generation. Now, consider for a moment, the unwritten story . . . my story . . . your story . . . it’s all true. It’s all part of the same story. Just as real as you and I are right now, is the truth behind the stories. There is a story that is the basic story, but there is so much more that is not written. There are other stories. From these, rise questions people of all ages have ached to know, but are only comforted by the faith that someday in an after life it will all be made clear. All the negative powers you have been fighting have many names. I think you have given them your own names and I will let you sort that out on your own.

Now for the part that no one has written down. Let’s see where to begin," he scratches his head and a small smoke ring escapes his nostrils. "

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"Who will weave us a tale tonight?" A strange little man asks, pointing his gnarled fingers at the crowd. "I believe I feel like a love story, tonight."

His voice is high and cracked. It is neither welcoming nor inviting. He stops on a female squatting down on the outer edge of the circle. He likes to pick unlikely characters. She wears a bitter scowl under her dark mop of hair. She always wears straight black pants, a loose-fitting black T-shirt, and carries a book bag. She has a silver chain around her neck with an obviously missing pendant. Her dark eyes, which seem to have neither white nor sparkle, pierce him. He wonders what a smile would do to her and if such a creature has ever known love. She is too young to have much wisdom and her darkness makes him fearful. Every generation of youth has its own rebellion.

"How about you?" he says with a taunting grin.

"Me," Stormy replies in shock. It is the first time anyone in this town has said a word to her. She normally stands in the shadows and listens. She stands on the outside observing.

"Yes," he smiles. "You have visited our circle many times and never shared a story of your own. It is time. Are you willing?"

Stormy’s mind spins searching for words. Then she realizes, no one would believe her anyway. The truth has always been more than most people could handle. She has seen the truth crush a strong woman and bring a mighty man to his knees. The power of words cannot be tamed when at least tainted with the truth. "Yes."

"And what is your name, so we may rave?" He questions with a welcoming smile and raised eye brow.

"Stormy," she lies. She feels their judgement as she approaches the center ring. "In this story I will tell you about a girl named Analie and of her adventures in love. I’ll call it: A Field of Wildflowers." The wall beside her flashes with the images of the face in her imagination; the face of her former self. She is so different that no one would guess it to be she. The image flickers to a field and becomes more vivid. Stormy sits down and revisits the events which brought her here. Where is here? Strange; it’s all too strange to be real. Her mind drifts on the sea of her past before she docks at the place she plans to visit. She misses her fields of wild flowers.

"Twice upon my life I’ve wondered,
Now many times I’ve pondered,
The boundless expanse of love.
Is it sent from below or above?
I do not know, for now I roam,
Because of it, so far from home.
It has been my sin and savior,
Least yet, an excuse for my behavior.
How can I expect someone else to give me,
a gift when I can’t return the courtesy.
I love no one, even myself,
my heart is broken, put on a shelf.
Love is but a vast and vague emotion,
That requires much devotion.
Many never weigh the cost,
Until at last, that love is lost."