Flight of Fancy

01-27-20

Reckless Rambles

Draft 1

By: Chase L. Currie

 

(This is from my private journal)

(It is raw and unedited)

 

 

“Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

 

I tried not to wake up this morning with the haze of yesterday on me, but I’m not sure how well it worked. It still feels as of I’m cloaked in the past, chained to the rusty metal of the emotions. They are still lingering in the back of my skull - I can feel them back there. They are creeping towards me like the shadows of the grave, bony hands in all.

                You know, I’m thirty-one at this moment, soon to be thirty-two in a couple of months, little I can do about the march of time. I say all of this because there is a good chance this person - who I am right now - is who I’ll be for the rest of my life.

                There is a comfort in the thought 

                There is a ghostly horror in the thought as well.

                I fear - know - this longing I have for a better tomorrow will always be with me. I could sell a million books, find a good college to teach at, and I’ll still long for a better tomorrow. I’ll forever be trying -

chasing the stars -

of a better dream …

                I don’t like it.

                I almost hear a whisper in the depth of this longing - a ring in the fog -

                A voice from the Lord. I can hear Him saying, “You have me now, there is no better tomorrow.”

                He is right.

                Tomorrow never comes- it truly doesn’t, so it is forever a dream I’m chasing. The fairy dust of the stars I so wish to have, I want to fly, but God has said, “That is not the Law.”

                                We only get to fly in our dreams.

                Unfair?

                                I think so.

                But it is the way of the world, but God is fair -

                                Tomorrow, I’ll get to fly …

                And yet, the Lord knows what I know. If I get to fly. I’ll simply ask for more.

                                “Faster.”

                                “Higher.”

                With the Lord asking me,” Am I not enough? Do you truly need wings?”

                But Lord -

                                I want tomorrow and then the day if it as well.

                I’ll always want the next dream because I don’t feel as if I’m enough. Tomorrow, I’ll be the better me. Tomorrow -

                I’ll be happy and still -

                No longer will the cloak of this melancholy be the blanket of my days, tomorrow. But the Lord doesn’t leave me to the horrors of my thoughts or the dreams of tomorrow. He sits across from in an empty chair, smiling, drinking coffee, and says,” I have tomorrow, what I want from you is the now. Talk to me, son, tell me about the fairy dust and the bony skeleton hands.”

                It is the now -

                                Me sitting here in a coffee shop -

                Is all I have, and it is good. I started to tell the Lord about the fairies dancing in my dreams. I let the smooth jazz wash over me, and He sits back listening to it. All the while, as I speak, I can see how much I have changed from the age of thirty to thirty-one. I start to smile not because the longing flight has faded -

                                No, it will never fade -

                But because I like the man in this chair, who I am now is better than the man I was two years ago. The battle scars of my soul are the medals of my victory. The graveyard I’ve climbed out of -

                                Coming home to You -

                Has no power over me anymore. And I’m better than before, the shadows still come haunting my mind. The trolls still linger the back of my ideas begging me to play with pills and bottles. They are still there but -

                The Lord sits with me. He smiled at me, taking off the cloak and the now - with Him - is all I want. He whispered to me a purpose. He hands me a gift and I know His tomorrow is on the way. It will become here, I’ll follow His path, but right now, all I want to do is sit with the Lord and drinking my coffee.   

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.