alone in the dark
fiction
edward w pritchard
Our cave is empty now.
Fill our cave with candles,
light a bonfire outside the entrance, to guide you home.
I don't want to be alone in the dark.
I'll sit quietly on our cave's floor,
among the stalagmites and listen for the echo of your voice
bouncing off the moon if you call to me.
Let the moon reflect in small puddles of water
formed drop by drop from the stalactites
weeping and hoping for your return.
I'll lay quietly here in the dark alone
until the stalagmites and stalactites meet again.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
love the second time around; a waste of laundry detergent
a waste of laundry detergent
fiction
edward w pritchard
It would be a waste of laundry detergent, she thought but didn't say, but this time I could see that along with the sexual excitement, that she was clearly agitated. And somehow, I could tell this the second time around what she was thinking, as we trotted to her bed. Now she was worrying about the silk sheets, her eyes broadcast that fact to me. Would we ruin the new sheets and would it be worth the few hours of pleasure to have the expensive color coordinated sheets ruined.
Then she thought of so and so twenty minutes into our session together. Later, I could feel the stranger she had become emerge again. How to escape, how to escape? Toil on soldier I thought as her motivations jumped at me. This the second time around; me wiser, but sadder, now understanding my once blushing partner; who before scoured the apartment to find me chocolate and sing me my favorite songs.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It would be a waste of laundry detergent, she thought but didn't say, but this time I could see that along with the sexual excitement, that she was clearly agitated. And somehow, I could tell this the second time around what she was thinking, as we trotted to her bed. Now she was worrying about the silk sheets, her eyes broadcast that fact to me. Would we ruin the new sheets and would it be worth the few hours of pleasure to have the expensive color coordinated sheets ruined.
Then she thought of so and so twenty minutes into our session together. Later, I could feel the stranger she had become emerge again. How to escape, how to escape? Toil on soldier I thought as her motivations jumped at me. This the second time around; me wiser, but sadder, now understanding my once blushing partner; who before scoured the apartment to find me chocolate and sing me my favorite songs.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
hitler's mother, the mystery of pregnancy
hitler's mother
fiction
edward w pritchard
I, Klara Hitler, once a mere maid, now pregnant for the fourth time, with three children now dead, have terrible premonitions of future hallocaustations that I am afraid to express to anyone lest of all my husband Alois; a man of violent temper. Alois Hitler , my husband, a man twenty three years my senior who has already struck me more than once. I fear that I am bringing evil onto the world myself partly to blame for I entered into this wretched union voluntarily, being sixteen, poor plain and having no options other than to work as a domestic in the home of my husband and his first sickly wife, here in Austria, in the poorest part of our Country. Now older, and pregnant for the fourth time, I see my situation more clearly, an abortion impossible because of my religion and my countries laws. I have no choice but to bring this child into the world but in my mind because of my trepidations and my willfulness I fear I will cause this child to be something unwonted.
Seven months pregnant now and often alone I have terrible forebodings that seem viscerally real. Other woman here tell me that such is a woman's lot in our time and place to be beaten, to be without hope and to fear to bear and deliver children into a hostile world. But in secret my fears are different for I feel a dread that my offspring will cause terrible destruction of a scale unknown in human history. I know I sound crazy to say this, my fears perhaps being merely the ravings of a depressed lonely pregnant woman whose husband has already began to eye another younger woman; me fearful now that I have already lost the little youth and beauty I once had.
The Doctor in the village has previously warned me that a Mother's unusual moods may be transmitted across the uterus to the child into fetal depressive tendencies that may affect a child forever. I tremble over what monster I may bring into the world. The baby's Father, my husband Alois, himself already stigmatized at birth as a bastard, which is one cause of my hardships, may pass his sour nature of an inability to convey love and kindness onto our new baby. Now I compound my poor unborn child 's problems by my will full stubbornness to accept this fourth pregnancy and my role as a wife and Mother. I fear I shall be the cause of unknown problems for this child I carry. My fears cause me to have imaginary grandoise beliefs that my unborn child will shape and change the world, perhaps in an evil way.
My Doctor now reassures me that my fears and forebodings are normal and are typical for a Mother who has previously lost a child, and I have recently lost three babies. Furthermore my Doctor tells me that my mental state alone will not cause harm to my baby. Any fetal depression causing temporary failure to thrive issues quickly disappears in a few weeks in otherwise healthy babies. My doctor adds that how a baby is born and develops is ultimately God's will. Feeling better I now look forward to having a strong healthy baby and being a loving Mother.
Historical note:
Adolf Hitler was born on April 20, 1889, the fourth child of Alois Schickelgruber AKA Hiedler, AKA Hitler and Klara Hitler in the Austrian town of Braunau. Two of Adolph's siblings died from diphtheria when they were children, and one died shortly after birth. A brother, Edmond, was born two years later. Another sister, Paula, was born in 1896, the sixth of the union. Klara Hitler dotted on her son Adolph and Mother and son were unusually close throughout the rest of Klara's life. Klara Hitler died in 1907. Adolph kept his Mother, Klara's picture in his room until his death in April 1945.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
I, Klara Hitler, once a mere maid, now pregnant for the fourth time, with three children now dead, have terrible premonitions of future hallocaustations that I am afraid to express to anyone lest of all my husband Alois; a man of violent temper. Alois Hitler , my husband, a man twenty three years my senior who has already struck me more than once. I fear that I am bringing evil onto the world myself partly to blame for I entered into this wretched union voluntarily, being sixteen, poor plain and having no options other than to work as a domestic in the home of my husband and his first sickly wife, here in Austria, in the poorest part of our Country. Now older, and pregnant for the fourth time, I see my situation more clearly, an abortion impossible because of my religion and my countries laws. I have no choice but to bring this child into the world but in my mind because of my trepidations and my willfulness I fear I will cause this child to be something unwonted.
Seven months pregnant now and often alone I have terrible forebodings that seem viscerally real. Other woman here tell me that such is a woman's lot in our time and place to be beaten, to be without hope and to fear to bear and deliver children into a hostile world. But in secret my fears are different for I feel a dread that my offspring will cause terrible destruction of a scale unknown in human history. I know I sound crazy to say this, my fears perhaps being merely the ravings of a depressed lonely pregnant woman whose husband has already began to eye another younger woman; me fearful now that I have already lost the little youth and beauty I once had.
The Doctor in the village has previously warned me that a Mother's unusual moods may be transmitted across the uterus to the child into fetal depressive tendencies that may affect a child forever. I tremble over what monster I may bring into the world. The baby's Father, my husband Alois, himself already stigmatized at birth as a bastard, which is one cause of my hardships, may pass his sour nature of an inability to convey love and kindness onto our new baby. Now I compound my poor unborn child 's problems by my will full stubbornness to accept this fourth pregnancy and my role as a wife and Mother. I fear I shall be the cause of unknown problems for this child I carry. My fears cause me to have imaginary grandoise beliefs that my unborn child will shape and change the world, perhaps in an evil way.
My Doctor now reassures me that my fears and forebodings are normal and are typical for a Mother who has previously lost a child, and I have recently lost three babies. Furthermore my Doctor tells me that my mental state alone will not cause harm to my baby. Any fetal depression causing temporary failure to thrive issues quickly disappears in a few weeks in otherwise healthy babies. My doctor adds that how a baby is born and develops is ultimately God's will. Feeling better I now look forward to having a strong healthy baby and being a loving Mother.
Historical note:
Adolf Hitler was born on April 20, 1889, the fourth child of Alois Schickelgruber AKA Hiedler, AKA Hitler and Klara Hitler in the Austrian town of Braunau. Two of Adolph's siblings died from diphtheria when they were children, and one died shortly after birth. A brother, Edmond, was born two years later. Another sister, Paula, was born in 1896, the sixth of the union. Klara Hitler dotted on her son Adolph and Mother and son were unusually close throughout the rest of Klara's life. Klara Hitler died in 1907. Adolph kept his Mother, Klara's picture in his room until his death in April 1945.
end
when we slept together
when we slept together
fiction
edward w pritchard
Where we slept our bed was so big we never found our sides and the middle was so distant we ceased to commingle. Over our heads a canopy like the silk lined top of a silent double coffin kept our minds from abutting and under our backs a slab like plank of oak debarred us from rolling together. Although we were still yoked that last year we did not neighbor and although still incorporated we did not clasp or juxtapose.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Where we slept our bed was so big we never found our sides and the middle was so distant we ceased to commingle. Over our heads a canopy like the silk lined top of a silent double coffin kept our minds from abutting and under our backs a slab like plank of oak debarred us from rolling together. Although we were still yoked that last year we did not neighbor and although still incorporated we did not clasp or juxtapose.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
what if genetic engineering eliminated most differences between everyone/part 1
what if genetic engineering eliminated most differences between everyone/part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
One hundred years from now. What if genetic engineering had eliminated most differences between everyone. Would the Species as a whole without variation be better off. Would the elimination of most imperfections, handicaps and emotional aberrations lead to progress for mankind.
How might the adaptability of the species of man to unexpected challenges be changed if the race was more perfect and less differentiated. Is genetic perfection for everyone a worthy goal?
With such a premise, that one hundred years from now genetic engineering has eliminated most differences between individual people of all nations the story begins. The story begins with a challenge to the survival of everyone alive in the year 2115. It is a challenge the species of man may have passed successfully hundreds of times in the past. How would a genetically engineered stock of people fare in times of massive difficulty for the species. Would any of the perfect people survive for the human race to have a next crisis?
the story begins
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
One hundred years from now. What if genetic engineering had eliminated most differences between everyone. Would the Species as a whole without variation be better off. Would the elimination of most imperfections, handicaps and emotional aberrations lead to progress for mankind.
How might the adaptability of the species of man to unexpected challenges be changed if the race was more perfect and less differentiated. Is genetic perfection for everyone a worthy goal?
With such a premise, that one hundred years from now genetic engineering has eliminated most differences between individual people of all nations the story begins. The story begins with a challenge to the survival of everyone alive in the year 2115. It is a challenge the species of man may have passed successfully hundreds of times in the past. How would a genetically engineered stock of people fare in times of massive difficulty for the species. Would any of the perfect people survive for the human race to have a next crisis?
the story begins
end part 1
be yourself
be yourself
fiction
edward w pritchard
You don't need to climb Mount Everest to be successful.
Any five thousand foot summit will do.
The sky's the same.
Clouds and vistas, crisp clean air and a chance to think.
Want to try something higher? Go for it; now or latter.
Live in a lonesome valley in the meantime if there's where you are at.
Just be yourself; remember your first five thousand steps and rejoice for those who reach at Everest.
fiction
edward w pritchard
You don't need to climb Mount Everest to be successful.
Any five thousand foot summit will do.
The sky's the same.
Clouds and vistas, crisp clean air and a chance to think.
Want to try something higher? Go for it; now or latter.
Live in a lonesome valley in the meantime if there's where you are at.
Just be yourself; remember your first five thousand steps and rejoice for those who reach at Everest.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
John Lennon, I wanted you to be me
John Lennon, I wanted you to be me
fiction
edward w pritchard
John Lennon I wanted you to be me.
Where the swagger, where the pomp,
where the crowds of adoring fans,
where the newspaper men stirring up controversies,
where swooning girls, where that special one.
Where Mark David Chapman to end the travesty.
Where swaying candles to mourn you gone.
John Lennon you left me too soon.
John, I'll never make it alone.
John, life is so long,
it continues.
I peer forward.
John, light a candle in the dark for me,
lead me John, integrate my tired soul.
fiction
edward w pritchard
John Lennon I wanted you to be me.
Where the swagger, where the pomp,
where the crowds of adoring fans,
where the newspaper men stirring up controversies,
where swooning girls, where that special one.
Where Mark David Chapman to end the travesty.
Where swaying candles to mourn you gone.
John Lennon you left me too soon.
John, I'll never make it alone.
John, life is so long,
it continues.
I peer forward.
John, light a candle in the dark for me,
lead me John, integrate my tired soul.
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