Bee Hive

“Captain! We haven’t enough steam to cook these vegetables!”  Worried and oh-so-troubled Troy Becker voiced to his superior, who at the moment looked confused and puzzled, “confuzzled”? “Wha-wha? What does that have to do with what I just told you to do?!  Becker if you don’t man the front desk I’m going to steam more than those vegetables!”

Yes it was another crazy, fun filled day down at the recruiting office.  Only plus side to it all, at least for Troy, was the kitchen.  Now recruitment can have many connotations.  For Troy Becker it meant the new and improved Man Division of the Boy Scouts.  Not quite the action he was seeking when he joined up; however, up at the front, at least he was away from the “Captain”, Rodney Perillo.  That’s “illo” as in “pillow”.  He always emphasized to the newcomers.  “Captain Perillo”.

He was a big man, not stoutly or old looking though he was up there, but big, buff, and really like a captain or more like a drill sergeant.   “Troy Becker I better be hearing some typing or that’s the last time I want to hear you again!” He boomed so forcefully it rattled the front windows like gale force winds.

“Yes sir-ee bob!”  Troy giggled with strange and not necessary delight.  He sat there hitting the keys and typing absolutely nothing.  He found his inner child laughing maniacally.

A, B, C, D, F2, F3, 1, 2, 3… he then found himself looking at the computer screen with a sudden rush to look away.  Somehow he opened up a folder.  It was the Captain’s personal documents, “Why are these on here?  Thought we weren’t allowed to do personal business on the computer?”  A little bewildered and with childish anger, Troy made a decision to open the folder.  “Guess its mine to look at now.”  And with one click it was open.  Military Documents. “Project Bee Hive”. Confidential.

“Oh my God! Man Division my ass.”

Then with on quick thump he felt something on his back, “I knew you would find out eventually.”

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Tangled Love

It never seemed enough

All those whispering sorrows

Vanishing into the deep mist of tomorrows.

Clasped together your hands never let go

Your hands holding only yours

Filling your red wine into sores.

I am a constituent to your love

Begging for it pleading for it

But the irony is beside it.

The more I want the less you give

The less I want the more is there

What a pain if not want, then what hope to bare?

We are a tangled love affair

So complicated and everywhere.

But it is you I long to share

Shaving my head just to give you locks of hair.

You are a stable independent man

who jousts his compassion with others to share

But I give myself with none left to bare.

For it is you, my tangled sweet love

That I am yours and yours alone.

Till none of my heart is left and

To you this wretched but beautiful pain I will only condone.

For only a moment in your eyes

That glisten of pure love

is worth every set of lies.

The Fallen Forest

Fallen through the cracks, I clutch my dagger that had fallen free from the saddle bag.  “That damn horse is at it again!” I yelled trying to unwedge myself.  The large maple tree that was once a towering giant, now lay petrified and dethroned.  Its trunk had enormous cracks which served as excellent traps for humans it would seem, and ironic seeing as how we were the ones who caused its untimely demise.  We humans were not necessarily as nice to each other either.

“Servanna!” I called for my steed, that mare was more trouble than she was worth.  This was the seventh time she stopped mid run to buck me off, and it seems she picked the prime spot; about 21 minutes off the trail in the center of new forest.

After the battle of Turndred, the king had ordered the entire forest torn to shred.  Every 400 year old maple was uprooted.  Every willow, every oak, every single plant wasn’t just cut, but burned and taken completely out of the ground so it would never have a chance to regrow itself.  Every tree was at least 500 feet tall.

Many of the trees were burned except it would seem the maple tree I got stuck in.

The harder I tried to brace myself out, the more it seemed to grab at my waist.  I pondered to myself if I only had my horse I could wrap the rope around my upper body and she could somehow just yank me out.  However, she seemed preoccupied with playing with a whirling cloud of leaves, which seemed mighty peculiar in a dense, windless, birch forest; but then I remembered the stories, the trees, even the one I was trapped in, the reason the king killed the forest.  It was then I calmed myself, a hum in the air, I felt what I had to say in my bones, “Dear tree, please forgive me.”, and it was then I was freed.

Ancient forest