writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 


This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.

cc&d v199.9

Order this writing
in the book
Laying the
Groundwork 		Laying the Groundwork
paperback (just issues) 5.5" x 8.5" book w/ b&w pages: $15.95 paperback perfect-bound 5.5" x 8.5" book w/ b&w pages: $17.95 paperback
6" x 9" cc&d perfect-bound book w/ b&w pages: $21.95		 paperback
6" x 9" cc&d perfect-bound book w/ color pages: $114.95
this writing is in the collection book
Ink in my Blood (prose edition)
(PDF file) download: only $4.95
(b&w pgs): paperback book $16.95
(b&w pgs):hardcover book $32.95
(color pgs): paperback book $64.95
(color pgs): hardcover book $74.95
 Ink in my Blood (prose edition)
The Song

Kent Tankersley

        “Thought I saw something,” Warren explained as he caught up with Mike. “Down there, some sort of movement.”
    Mike gave just a glance in the direction Warren had nodded. He saw nothing, not even a single leaf moving among the chaos of underbrush. But then again he didn’t expect to either. “Maybe a bird,” he suggested.
    Warren continued to study the forest that dropped away steeply from the trail they were standing in. “Maybe a bear,” he said.
    “If so, he won’t be bothering us,” Mike assured him. He had had enough trouble with Warren on this trip without having him get skittish about bears. “Come on, let’s get going.”
    Mike shifted his pack and continued up the trail, leaving Warren to stand where he was, still peering at the underbrush. They were still far below the ridgeline, immersed in woods so deep and sunless that the broad mountainside they were climbing was hidden in all directions by relentless green growth. The ground at their feet was covered by a carpet of wood sorrel and moss several inches thick, forming large humps over rocks or logs or whatever else had chanced to lie long enough upon the earth to be slowly, surely covered over. Only the black soil of the trail, and a gray hulking boulder here and there, disrupted the green universe that surrounded them.
    Mike, already fifty yards up the trail, turned around to find Warren still gazing downhill to where the woods fell away out of sight. “Damn it, Warren,” he shouted. “We’ve got to make camp by sundown.” He watched as his friend only slowly seemed to awaken from a dream and move again up the trail. Mike leaned back against a boulder to rest his pack as Warren climbed up to him. He repeated quietly, “We need to keep moving, Warren. It’s getting late, and we’ve really got to make Avery Gap tonight.”
    Warren leaned against the rock beside Mike. “This is the most vegetated place I’ve ever seen,” he said, not a bit convinced of any need to hurry.
    “Too much vegetation, if you ask me,” Mike said, looking up at the canopy above. “I liked it a whole lot better in the meadow this morning. Sunshine, and open space. And wind, for God’s sake. There’s no wind up here. Nothing. It’s just like the sunshine—can’t get through the trees.”
    Warren seemed to let that soak in before answering. “I like it. It’s quiet. You can hear yourself think here.” He paused. “You can almost hear all these plants breathing. Almost feel it.”
    Mike raised himself off the coarse surface of the rock. “I can believe you might feel the plants breathe, Warren,” he said with a grin.
    “I’m serious. This place is different. It’s cool and peaceful, but it’s more than that. Elaine would like it here.”
    Mike gave his friend a sharp look. “Here we go again. So that’s why you’ve had your head up your ass ever since we started. You’re still moping around about her? I was hoping that coming up here would get your mind off her.”
    Warren straightened up and took a few steps back downhill to where clumps of moss almost flowed over the trail. He released his hip belt and lowered his pack to the soft vegetation. “No, it doesn’t work. It only makes it worse.”
    “Now what?” asked Mike.
    “I’m resting. This is supposed to be a fun trip, right? Besides, why can’t we camp here?”
    “No way. Too spooky for me,” Mike answered. “Anyway, show me a level spot to put the tent.”
    He watched Warren opening his pack, and continued, “What’s this thing you have for Elaine anyway? How can she have you by the balls so much? You hardly even know her.”
    Warren just stared at him.
    “Listen, how many times have you actually even talked to her?”
    “I’ve talked to her.”
    “Yeah, twice. And the last time she made it real clear what she thinks of you.”
    Warren pulled a water bottle from his pack. “I don’t care what she thinks of me. That doesn’t change anything.”
    “No, I guess it doesn’t, does it? I guess it makes it all that much better. Know what I think? I think you like all this heartache you’ve been moaning about.”
    Warren looked away saying nothing.
    “Don’t get mad, just listen. You’re just dreaming, Warren, that’s all. It’s only this illusion you have. Why pick her? Why not fall for someone you actually know, somebody real?”
    Warren spun around. “Because, damn it, it is her that I love. I can’t control that.”
    “Yeah, like you’ve tried. You like the fantasy too much. Loving someone you can’t have. It’s easier than real life.”
    Warren glared at Mike and spoke quietly. “I can’t help it. That’s all,” he said, then stalked off down the trail a few yards, taking swipes at the bushes with his hiking staff.
    “Oh, brother,” Mike exhaled, as he watched Warren come to a halt and stare once again off into the woods below.
    He leaned against the boulder again to take the full weight of the pack off his shoulders. He could hear the solemn croak of a raven passing overhead, and craned his head to try and catch a glimpse of the bird’s black form through the few gaps in the leaves where tiny patches of blue sky showed through. A limb beside the boulder started swaying up and down with a light breeze that began to surge up the slope, the first wind Mike had felt for hours. He closed his eyes to feel the refreshing air flow across his sweaty face.

***


    There are times when the senses merge, when sounds can be felt as much as heard. The mating call of a ruffled grouse, as he summons his mate, is like that. It starts as a low drumming that you notice only by the alarming feeling that your heart is suddenly racing for no reason. It’s a muffled sound that could come from anywhere in the forest, any direction, any distance. As hard as you try, you can’t locate it or even be sure you’re hearing it.
    When such a penetrating sound comes to you in the shape of a human voice, the rise and fall of the speaker’s words — sensed by your entire body, your entire being — form a wonderful melody, a strange but familiar song that touches the human soul.
    When The Song came, Mike was still leaning against the rock with his eyes shut. As it first washed over him, he froze still. Warily, he opened his eyes and straightened up. The soundless singing came from somewhere out of sight below the trail. He stood motionless, straining to hear it. The melody again filtered up through the forest, slightly more audible and this time painfully irresistible.
    He searched the woods below him, while The Song, steady and unwavering, grew louder still. As it took hold of him, his head spun and he began to sway slightly with the wind. He could now feel The Song’s silent meaning. It spoke of light and wind and spiralling heights of love and unearthly matters beyond anyone’s knowing.
    Suddenly, Mike flattened himself against the boulder in terror. In the underbrush far below he saw the flash of a human figure, a bright movement mostly hidden as it darted between trees. The Song coursing up the mountainside rose even louder, filling the forest with its unnatural resonance. The bright figure below moved effortlessly up the slope, but not toward Mike. He was struggling to get a better view when The Song pitched upward once more and abruptly stopped.
    It was finished. And Mike knew instantly that The Song had not been meant for him. Desperately he looked at Warren, still standing in the trail and gazing at the blinding white figure directly below him. He turned to Mike. “Can you see her, Mike? She’s beautiful,” he said calmly. He looked back toward the singer. “She’s so beautiful. She looks...like...Elaine.”
    Without warning, he dropped his water bottle and plunged down the slope into the underbrush. Mike sprung off the boulder and charged down the trail to where Warren had been standing. Fumbling frantically with his shoulder straps, he paused just long enough to throw off his pack and catch a glimpse of his friend already far down the slope, hurdling over a fallen log while, just ahead of him, the florescent-white figure retreated further into the woods with feminine grace. Unable to find his voice to shout, Mike bolted downhill in mad pursuit.
    He lost all trace of Warren half an hour later. Exhausted, he clung to a tree trunk and yelled wildly between great grasps of breath. His calls went nowhere. They vanished among the trees as if the lifeless air simply drained the words from his mouth. He bushwhacked back to the trail alone. When he got there, everything looked the same. He could hear only a solitary bird singing. He stared dumbly at Warren’s open pack, lying where it had been so casually dropped among the ferns and moss. Trembling, Mike shouldered his own pack and did not stop walking until, hours later, in a moon-lit meadow pulsing with the sound of a million crickets, he reached Avery Gap.’



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...