Monday, March 24, 2014
"You taking on passengers?"
The gentleman who I immediately knew to be the captain glanced down at me from the loading bay. "T'weren't planning on it. You have a pressing need to be somewhere?"
"Anywhere but here."
"I have some cashy money. Also fairly fresh foodstuffs."
"Shiny. Welcome aboard the Serenity." He offered me a hand and I took it politely. "Let's take you to the guest bunks--"
"I know where they are. You don't need to escort me, and I'll certainly stay out of your way and mind my own business."
"I recognize you, sir, and for me, you are a sight for sore eyes."
"If you say so. Go on then."
"Aye, aye, Captain." Demonstrating my knowledge, I wheeled my bicycle carefully through the cramped loading bay, toward the medical office, and which preceeded the guest quarters. On the way, I passed the mechanic, and passed her the small bag of fruit, and kind smile on my face.
She stared at me as I passed, and then jumped ahead, presumably to speak with the captain.
The guest room was cramped but homely, and I locked up my bicycle against one wall, on the far side of the bed from the door. I set my bag down, and my head soon followed it to the pillow.
I woke to the sound of engines ramping up, and the grav drive kicked in with a small lurch. I smiled to myself. The ride was a bit rocky, but I had little fear that I would soon find myself anywhere but where I left off. I let myself drift back into a restful sleep, feeling safe for the first time since I left my apartment.
I joined them in the kitchen for dinner, bringing my bag with me and sharing freely. The crew chattered and laughed through inside jokes, and I felt myself joining in, telling a bit of my own story, which seemed to sound pretty incredulous to them.
"You're not a witch, are you?"
"Jayne, be nice."
I laughed, failing to take any insult. "Not unless I became one without noticing."
The pilot, the same tiny slip of a girl who spotted me first, laughed with me, shaking her head. "Was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music..."
"Do I wake or sleep?" She and I finished the final line together. "Keats. Yeah, I've had some pretty realistic dreams, but I've become rather adept at discerning them from wakefulness. I'm awake."
"Maybe we're the ones that are dreaming," the engineer offered, savoring a bite into a particularly large strawberry.
"Nothing would surprise me anymore."
At that, a deep whirring sound overrode any further conversation, and half the crew stood suddenly, drawing their pistols. It faded at the sound of a gong, and my jaw dropped, recognizing the source.
"No freaking way."
All parts of Only Sweeter.
Monday, March 17, 2014
I woke to a loud roar, one that twisted up my insides and made me want to flee in all directions at once. I peeked carefully out of my very not-protective, flimsy tent, and searched carefully for the source before haring off in a random direction, lest it be towards the danger.
A dark shadow circled above me, filling its chest and winding up for another great scream, but before it could release it, a glowing shout came up across the valley tha I hadn't seen below me last night and pinioned it against the nearest cliff-face. Unfortunately, that cliff-face was right above my campsite ledge.
I reached out to my bicycle and, as quietly as I could, unlocked it and prepped it for further riding. I fully intended to run, as even if I had brought any weapons with me, I was most definitely out of my league.
I gulped, trying not to swallow too loudly and draw attention to myself.
"Dragon. Dra. Gon. Not lizard. I wonder if it does the tongue thing," I thought to myself, and kept my thoughts on that so I didn't have the opportunity to think of something worse that could come along, like a bigger fish.
The beast shook off the magical casting and leapt back into the air; as it circled away from me again, I pulled my pack back on, eased onto my bicycle, found a path, and started down it.
This morning, it was harder to cause change to the landscape, but before my legs were burning too terribly, I had myself back on a familiar road, asphalt, potholes and all. Unfortunately, that road wasn't anywhere near my apartment complex, and I would have a long ride ahead of me if I couldn't manage any shortcuts.
I pulled to the side of the road, and rested for a few minutes, changing out the empty waterbottle on my frame to a fresh one from the pack. As I started to climb back on my bike, a sonic boom hit the air, and I looked up.
Of all things, a space-ship was entering the atmosphere above me, and looked like it would be landing well ahead of me. For all the other crazy things I'd run from in recent hours, I wasn't dissuaded from following this. I knew that ship, and felt no cause to fear it.
The ship dropped below the tree-line around me, but I could still hear the familar roar of the engines as it descended carefully to the earth. It wasn't a particularly magestic descent, but it may as well have been a graceful dance to my own weary eyes.
I reached the clearing shortly, wheezing as I tried to catch my breath. It wasn't that I was in a rush to catch up with her, but I couldn't help myself from hurrying all the same.
The loading bay was still closed, but I could see movement up in the cockpit above it. Somebody was having an argument, it seemed, but whoever won didn't seem to think I was anything to fear.
The bay door lowered, and I climbed down from my bike seat, walking it forward across the warmed grass. Only beneath the two massive wing engines was it actually smoking, and then only just a little. Enough dew still soaked the ground that it soon put itself out.
A young girl sprinted down into the clearing, threw herself into a spin as soon as her feet touched green that was clear of the shadow of the ship, and then smiled precociously at me.
I pinched my riding helmet like it was a formal hat, and tilted it toward her graciously. She curtsied back, grinning, and then turned back toward the ship at the sound of her name.
"River! Don't be bothering the locals now, you hear?"
"Aye, aye, captain." She turned again to me, winked, and then sprinted back onto the ship.
I unslung my bag from one shoulder, spun it around on the other so I could rifle through it without setting it down, and pulled out a small bag of strawberries, before zipping it up again, swinging it back, and continuing my approach.
All parts of Only Sweeter.
The boxy skeleton and green monsters were still there, waiting for me, on the other side of the local highway. I crossed back a few blocks further down, where there was a little bit less traffic, a shorter timer on the traffic light, and fewer street lamps. My bicycle glowed softly in the darkness, and my pack weighed heavily on my back.
Still, there were no regular cars (not counting the living ones on the highway) and no other people as much as I could tell.
The darkness of the night was heavier over here, though my headlight cut cleanly through it. I rose mostly quietly, my heartbeat pounding lightly in my ears, my breath giving me a beat to set the songs in my head against.
There was always something in my head, but when I rode, it was usually music. Random songs that I found approprate for the setting, or inappropriate ones that just meandered into my head.
Then, ahead of me, in the brush at the side of the road, I thought I caught the shape of a white canine head. I breezed past it more quickly than I could double-take, but now that the image was in my head, the shadows more and more seemed to take that same shape. The darkness writhed as they moved, and the road started to evolve.
It was a slow process, but as details came into my head, I found them slowly becoming imprinted on the world around me. I pulled out into the center of the road, lest the undergrowth start to encroach on it, and at the moment of admitting such reasoning to myself, it did exactly that.
Before I could stop myself, I mumbled, "Don't think about elephants."
To my left came a great rumbling, and the earth started to shake once more. This time, however, it was less like a giant running and more like a...
I pedalled faster, grabbing the horns of my my bicycle so I could hold myself higher off the seat more easily and put all my weight into downward pressure, and thereby into forward momentum.
The bushes started swaying, and then fading behind flying dust clouds as the herd drew closer to me, and finally came astride. They were not quite bearing down on me, but it was near enough that I didn't stop pounding at the pedals until there was a good margin between the stampede and I. At last, I let my body sag back into the seat, my legs now only spinning reflexively as my muscles finished their adrenaline-fueled fervor. My bicycle slowed to something more reasonable, and I turned to look toward the source of their spook.
A curtain hung in the air, still now, and behind it, a swath of a world that didn't belong here. The elephants had run though that, and I shivered. I would have stampeded too.
I pushed my bike along a little further, exhaustion creeping up on me now that the adrenaline had drained. The world looked like nothing I'd seen before, so I suspected my apartment no longer lay down this route; I would need to find somewhere to stop soon before I fell off altogether.
This time, I pulled at the scenery with my mind, doing it intentionally now, slowly drawing in parts of world that I knew until it was changed into somewhere I could rest.
"Around the next bend," and there was a bend in the road just coming into the beam of my headlight; "there will be a small campsite, just a simple cloth tent and a sleeping pad," and I rounded the corner and it was there.
I didn't doubt then, when I peered into the the wooden barrels that I hadn't called for, that they would contain some fresh vegetables. Low and behold, they did. I chained up my bike to the tent stakes (more out of habit than actual security), made up a small and simple snack to quell the aching in my stomach, laid down on the pad, and closed my eyes. I was asleep in moments.
Next - All parts of Only Sweeter.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
This commentary contains many links to other places, most of them my own writings, both on here and DreamClassier.com. Reading all of these links is not necessary for understanding, but if you liked an aspect of Only Sweeter, Part 1, and would like to read more of my writing that references that aspect, the link is a good place to start.
This was originally going to be an interpretation, like I do periodically for my poetry, but for a story, that hardly seems appropriate, so instead, I'm going to call it an "author commentary," which essentially means exactly the same thing, but is going to be exclusively for prose and fiction pieces.
Only Sweeter, Part 1, grew out of a stream-of-consciousness session. Sometimes I do those because I haven't written in a while and feel it's due time but find myself disastrously uninspired; sometimes I do them because I'm itching to write something, but have no desire to make progress on any of the many other projects I have.
I should note here that most of my poetry (probably close to 95 percent) counts as the product of a stream-of-consciousness session. That's just how I write.
This piece was originally going to be called "Butterfly Kisses," in reference to the first two paragraphs, which speaks of someone I've lost. If you've read any of my older writing, starting in late 2005 and well into 2007 (an occasionally later, as I still write of her), you probably know her name: Kit Becker. However, as I was in the process of researching connotations that might be drawn from that title (namely, a song written by Bob Carlisle), a random line from a Fall Out Boy song I was listening to earlier today (and several times in the past week) popped into my head.
I feel that titles and title ideas that just pop into my head are generally more appropriate for my pieces, especially when those are products of s-o-c, than planned titles.
After the first few paragraphs, the story starts diving into a directed setting change, something I've played with a lot when working on different versions of Descent Into Oblivion, my CYO (another project that deserves more work). I didn't plan on going into the same setting as D.I.O, but I wanted to go somewhere, and just telling a story about riding my bicycle isn't terribly interesting.
Being the s-o-c that this is, it came to me my love of storms, my crazy list of things that I want to try, and another, much older project that I once tried to bring together in my late-high-school and early-college days, where (through a somewhat obscure American Gods reference) worlds of fiction are capable of becoming just as real (or more real) than the world we live in (that I am fond of calling the "consensual reality").
This apocalyptic story (which will probably never see the light of day) was based on the idea that an army of super-gods or beings from a higher plane of existence were coming to destroy the earth, but had no way of manifesting on their own. Instead, they were limited to worlds of ideas that were brought onto the war-plain by the people who were going to fight it (namely, my closest friends at the time). We, ourselves, would be limited by the same guidelines: allowed any weapons from the same worlds of ideas.
At the time, those worlds would have been predominantly .hack and NGE (anime), German war fiction, and Ragnarok Online (video game).
Only Sweeter is (hopefully) going to be a lot simpler. First off, it's just me. Secondly, the super-gods will be taking ideas from my head (Ghostbusters reference). Thirdly, the writing style is conversational, which makes it easier to write without a full "battle plan" so to speak. Fourthly, it all may change in Part 2 (if I ever write part 2), and this may become some other kind of story that I can't even think of right now.
That's the wonderful thing about stream-of-consciousness sessions: even I, as the writer, have no idea what's going to happen next, and I'm okay with that. I'm just happy to be along for the journey, and I hope you'll join me.
Friday, March 14, 2014
The parking lots ahead of me too were empty, just as the high school's several blocks behind me, but the strip malls were still there, and lights still glowed inside.
I pulled up to the bicycle rack in front of the first grocery store, and debated locking up my bicycle. With the traffic well and faded behind me, the boxy monsters were starting to creep in again, though they were much more hesitant after my show with the traffic. I smiled pleasantly to myself, though didn't let it show outside, lest someone take it as a sign of weakness.
With the lack of traffic and any sign of real human beings, I decided to bring it in with me. If there was anyone within, the least they could do is get upset and make me take it back outside, and if there were monsters inside too... well, all the more reason.
The doors opened obediently ahead of me, but absent from their usual squealing was a pleasant sighing. I lifted my eyebrow (just the right) dubiously, and shook my head, continuing within.
It looked empty. The shelves were stocked, so I grabbed a basket, wheeling my bicycle along one-handed. I took a moment to turn off most of my lights, conserving the batteries, before heading straight for the aisles that held my food. A few lights flickered above me, their glowing incandescence drably reassuring.
I approached the cereal-and-snack bar department without any new encounters, but that didn't keep me from checking each and every aisle as I came to it, just in case. I can't always expect there to always be a lily-livered monster or a bigger fish out there to save my vanilla skin.
I picked up my almond-flavored snack bars and almond-flavored cereal, and then meandered around the back on my way to the vegetables, taking in a solid whiff of bread en route.
As I passed the bakery, I was not disappointed, and much to my surprise, there was activity behind the counter. I eased up slowly, only the basket creaking softly.
Suddenly, a puppet popped up behind the glass. I don't think I jumped, but it didn't matter, because it seemed more startled than I was. It-- he wore a white uniform fronted by a garish apron, and at his neck sat a matching bow tie. He adjusted it nervously as I approached, felt hands shaking.
"Hey, hey, relax. Bow ties are cool."
He calmed somewhat, and I started to feel like we'd met before. I eased closer slowly, putting as much effort into looking non-threatening as I had doing the reverse outside. I leaned in and peered at his name tag, which read "Angelo."
I shook my head, no recognition stirring, and backed off, leaving him to his work, which, whatever it was, smelled delicious.
The heads of lettuce, on the other hand, did not. They looked morose, and before I could get too close, the cabbages started singing horrendously; I eased away before they could work up into a higher register.
At the check-out, I approached my usual self-service station (especially as all the employee-run ones were employeeless). The computer ran typically, neither trying to infect me with a silicon-based virus nor trying to eat my card, both or which I was somewhat expecting.
I paid, which is more than I think I would expect from any rioting members of the public, who hardly seem to contain themselves from breaking any windows just for the sake of it, let alone pay for anything they took, bagged my goods, and approached the doors, which still sighed pleasantly.
No boxy creatures were waiting for me outside, as I hauled my now full backpack back onto my shoulders and adjusted the straps. I unsteadily mounted my bicycle, careful with the extra weight, and started to ride thorough the parking lot.
The ground started rumbling first, and then seriously shaking. I pulled up next to a sign and stopped myself, propping myself upright, ready to flee in whatever direction necessary at a moment's notice.
A beast with no skin, its muscles and sinews pulsing and straining in the few flickering streetlights wobbled over the traffic, heading for the next strip mall over. It was distressingly obvious that it was male, and the mall roof barely clipped his thighs. The outlet's face fell in a crumbling ruin, and as I pedaled cautiously closer, realized it was the local Jimmy Johns. The titan peeled away the roof like a sheet of aluminum foil, scooped up the kitchen's contents and stuffed them into its mouth with complete disdain for cleanliness or furnishing.
I shook my head, turned back around, and decided to take a different route back to my apartment.
Next - All parts of Only Sweeter.
Watch this Part get written.
I continued on, not looking back, my bicycle glowing orange and red in the moonlight. I didn't peek back, didn't want to know how close anything was coming up on me.
I still wasn't really worried. A little disturbed, sure, maybe a tad frightened even, but worried? No, not yet. I worried about my lack of worried for a few more strokes of my pedals, then shrugged and continued on, dwelling on more important things.
What could possibly be more important than my lack of worry? Well, for one, how likely that the grocery store would be there when I got there, how safe it would be, and whether or not they might have any food. That was, after all, the whole reason I set out on this trip in the first place: to go grocery shopping.
But that was going to have to wait a little longer, because I'd just reached the local highway that held the local shopping center, and the cross traffic was anything but typical.
I don't know any way to describe how the cars looked aside from "carnivorous." They looked and sounded hungry. I stopped at the intersection to wait for the light to change (because it was red, after all), and examined the passing vehicles with considerable interest, not unlike a birdwatcher examines predatory birds that might come eat him if he encroached on their territory.
Planes, trains, and automobiles, oh my!
Wheels, it seemed, were largely optional; some of them hovered, some of them flew, some of them just seemed to teleport from place to place, phasing in and out of this phase of existence like a zoetrope that's missing more than a few panels.
One fuchsia-ish thing that looked almost like a Cadillac that swallowed a classic McLaren, started slowing and pulling to the side toward me, a tongue miraculously hungrily licking the front grill. Before it could get to close, however, something that could have been the child of a monster truck and a street-cleaner rolled over the top of it and gobbled it right up.
"There's always a bigger fish," I mumbled to myself, though not too loudly out of concern of drawing too much attention to myself.
I turned and looked carefully behind me, keeping my peripheral vision focused on the traffic, just in case something else decided I looked too tempting. The monsters that had been following me were still there, but holding back; as eager as the were to approach me, their fear of passing traffic held them off. The boxy skeleton was still firing reflexively, but its shots fell woefully short of me.
The traffic started to grow more roiled, and I turned my full attention back on it. Ah, the light was finally changing; that's what had made them so upset. I shifted my hands on my brakes, strategically unclenching the muscles that I hadn't even noticed starting to cramp.
I had a feeling that I would need to stake my claim, claim my stake, my right to have a turn crossing, because these were predators, after all. The worst thing I could do was appear weak.
My light changed to green, and I released the brakes, pedaling into the intersection, staring dead ahead. I didn't hurry, accelerating slowly (as one can only do on a bicycle), and crossed. When I was just more than halfway, and the oncoming traffic was closer to me, one car in the front of the lane decided it was hungry enough to challenge me.
It was a beat-up pink Smart Fortwo, and it rolled forward into my lane, until I would have to pass within inches for the tiny front grill.
I turned my head and growled at it. The Fortwo's engine revved at me, trying to be threatening, but it was tragically pathetic. I didn't laugh, but stopped pedaling, letting my bicycle slow as I approached the interloper.
The front seat of the car was empty, which I rather expected: sentient cars probably don't like backseat drivers. I braked in front of the car, my right foot at the bottom of the stroke hardly an inch from the painfully pink bumper. The grill started to open to a sight of ferocious looking teeth, and I kicked it in the jaw.
To the car's plastic panels, it was probably more like a slap than a punch, but the car flinched.
I growled again, this time putting my foot on the ground and leaning towards the tiny smart, my leg threatening to brush against its exterior. The poor little thing scooted back a few inches, trying not to scuff up my leg any more than it already had dinged my shoe.
The other traffic had gone silent.
I smiled, my mouth full of not-so-sharp teeth, but teeth nonetheless, leaned over and patted the hood. The hydraulics nestled closer to the ground, and I could hear some oil pattering out onto the asphalt. I put my weight back on my left foot, took my fingers off the brakes, and finished crossing.
The light turned yellow, then red, and traffic resumed behind me.
Next - All parts of Only Sweeter.
Watch this Part get written.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
hear the sighing, the winds' blows,
hear the lights flickering low,
hear the what nobody knows,
hear the neighbors,
their step and their shoes,
hear their voices,
the shouting ensues,
hear the page turning,
every swallow I make,
hear my own heartbeat,
and every breath I take...
I hear all the noise,
none background to me,
it drives me mad sometimes...
but I can get free.
The high school was still there, as I rode down the block past it, though the parking lot was empty and barren. Of course, it had gone from bright day to storm in a few minutes and storm to full night in the blinking on an eye (though I confess I have no way to tell how precisely long that particular blink was, and the jolt fried my heart-rate monitor), so something as small as an empty parking lot was just a minor detail; I dismissed it for the moment,
Though there was no traffic, I still pulled my bike up on the curb to switch on my running lights, which is more of a laborious task than you might think unless you've seen my bike. (I told you I'd been t-boned by a car, and sincewhen I'd set every inch of my frame alight; no, that's not an exaggeration. Set them all to quick-twitch-flicker, and I'm a seizure waiting to happen.)
As I stood up on the grass above the curb turning on the spinning wheel lights, I started to hear noises approaching. Not that I hadn't heard noises after the transition (at least, once my ears had stopped ringing), but until now, I was riding away from them at least as quickly as they were approaching, if not faster. It was the click-click of bones on bones and the twanging of a bowstring, and I dove to the ground on the other side of my bicycle.
An arrow struck the ground where I'd been standing, and I looked up into the eyes of a boxy skeleton archer approaching from the other side of the road.
He was watching me curiously with no apparent hate, but still started drawing another arrow anyway, and I jumped on my bicycle before he could fire again, pressing myself away. In my haste, my kickstand hadn't fully retracted, and I could hear my left pedal chinking it on every revolution.
Once I built up some speed, I stopped pedaling long enough to kick it back up completely. As I did so, I took a look behind me, and immediately regretted it.
Two green monsters were following quietly, looking sad that I was outpacing them, as if they only wanted to be friends. I didn't slow, suspecting what would happen if or when they caught up.
Next - All Parts of Only Sweeter
Friday, March 7, 2014
No really, I did. I blew a kiss at the sky, at someone who I knew had left me, gone before me, moved on, headed for the omega point, died, whatever you want to call it. I'd been riding my bicycle down a road like I had a thousand times before, and suddenly felt the need. I don't know why.
But then, everything changed. It was that I-don't-know-how-I-know sensations, I don't know if you know what I mean, but I have them sometimes. And afterward, something is always different. It's usually something small, but this one, let me tell you, it was a doozy.
I damn near fell off my bike, and that's saying something. The last time I fell off my bike, it was because a car t-boned me. But I digress.
Thunder rumbled from somewhere, and I swear, when I blew that kiss, the sky was blue and empty. Clouds didn't just broil up like they do in the movies, but they came up steadily from the horizon, and with them, a wind.
It wasn't a cold wind, which I would have expected from this foreboding turn of events; no, it was a warm, humid wind, bringing with it a hot summer storm. You know, those ones with clouds so heavy they blot out the sun, but they don't actually make it cold, so you're less annoyed when you end up getting wet, because you're not wet and cold. We used to get storms like that all the time around here when I was a kid, but I haven't seen one in ages.
I kept biking because, well, that's what I do. When it's summer and the weather is decent and I need groceries, I hop on my bicycle. Besides, the wind was behind me, so it wasn't actually hindering me, so I wouldn't have to worry about it until I was on the way back with a load of food on my back, but these storms never last too long, so I could always wait it out.
Yeah, but I should have been paying more attention to that feeling.
Thunder rumbled again. I'd gone a few blocks further by now, and the clouds were well on top of me. I pedalled harder. It's not that I mind getting wet, but biking in the rain is a whole different matter, especially when you wear prescription eyeglasses like I do. Sure, I may not be blind without them; sure, I may be comfortable walking without wearing them; but when I'm going ten, fifteen miles an hour, I kind of need to see, regardless how familiar I am with the route.
Then lightning struck.
Seriously, I'm essentially riding a metal stick. It was only a matter of time, and honestly, it's on my bucket list, right under sleep paralysis. Yes, really.
My hair went crazy staticy, and I think my ponytail turned into a puff ball. I know my goatee poofed up because I could see and feel it, all the follicles pulling away from each other. Wow.
I think I blacked out for a second, I sort of hope I suffered some sort of trauma, and I'm really glad I started carrying notebooks and writing utensils in my bag, because this sure as hell isn't the world that I left. If I'm not dreaming or hallucinating or missing some time or something like that, then I would be really worried. Or I should be really worried.
What really worries me is that I'm not really worried, at least, not about what's happened, what I'm seeing, what's changed about this world. Because that feeling, the doozy one, it was right. This world is mental.
Every fictional book I've ever wondered or hoped or worried if it might be real somewhere... it's real here.
Next or All parts of Only Sweeter
added to the mix,
they look real small
but give a good kick.
playing across the room,
queue up some music
to hear the boom.
shake the walls,
shake the floor,
rattle the windows
and the neighbors.
one set left to go...
when I drop the beat
you won't even know.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
go deep in the cold
lest I want to turn back,
'til I'm shaking,
can't retrace my tracks.
go deep into the cold,
now I'll never make it back;
might as well
head to hell,
'cause there's no warming shack.
go deep into the woods,
go long, go at night,
far from home,
flee strangers' sight;
go deep into the forest,
hide in the shadows of the light.
hang up high,
time to die--
at least I'll do this part right.
Monday, March 3, 2014
for reasons I don't get;
you're trying to send me out,
I'm trying not to let.
I'm the hardest worker here,
and you don't seem to give a damn;
I give everything, all day,
but you think I'm a sham.
I've given no reason to doubt,
I've given no resistance or threat,
I've given no outward objection,
yet you act like my hands are red.
you've disliked me from day one,
is it just something in my face?
I've never done good enough,
no matter where my place.
some people just don't like me...
maybe it's fear
of something I could do,
the faces that I wear.
some people just can't stand me...
it's nothing that I do,
they just get these feelings
(damn you all your feelings)
like I'm some kind of grue.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
come find your pan where you left it,
and find some more besides,
no need to hold it hostage
since you'll come willingly inside.
the brownies were delicious,
but I hunger for much more:
can't wait to harvest those rows
in the garden behind the door;
can't wait to grow more cane,
build a library deep inside,
cast a few spells of my own...
you never know what you'll find.