Adopted Stars

Featured

September 23, 2018 by Patrick Starks ADOPTED-STARS

On the nights where you could see only the stars, down below many things were revealed, but nothing like a rainbow to a pot of gold, but something more magical than the rainbow myth itself that of which many told. It was a beautiful night as always—the owls hooted, the wolves howled, and many other species as well did as they would normally do whenever the sun came down. Nevertheless, I was completely lifeless in bed—I was deep in fantasy—I had a red hat, blue suspenders, and mustache to match, along with brown shoes and a few cabbages to patch. Continue reading

Forgotten Twinkles

Featured

June 17th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

TWINKLED LIFE MAIN

For hours on end, we waited. It had only been in fairytales that we heard of the great Tinkerbelle, yet, there we stood. It was dark, but one would argue that it wasn’t, for her radiant glow was as bright as morning lights. Her wings sparkled like glitter, and it was no secret to any man, not to any at all, that the taste of whiskey could never have been more bitter. I must have been drunk, but I assure you that that wasn’t the case. And out of all the places in the world, who would have thought we would have found her here, in the graveyard.

Me and the little ones, Sailor and Oceana, had traveled far and wide to see such a fairy tale exist. And it was this final piece within the bucket their mother had never gotten the chance to pull out. However, I never believed in such, but what man would any know to turn away from the innocents of their children’s candy eyes—not I.

It hadn’t been long since their mother had passed, a year to be exact. For us, the misses had done her best to fight with every inch of her life—to stay with us was all she wished. She was everything—beautiful, strong, and perfect in every way. But sooner or later that strength would come to past. If any psychic were to tell me that I would never see my wife again, I would never have believed it. But I know she is in a better place now. Yet, still, I cannot help but miss her.

Flowers as orange as Fall rested against her stone. Two pairs of almond eyes twinkled up at me as the one that not stood but sat before us did.

“Momma,” said Oceana. “Mum Momma.”

The fairy of all tales gazed over towards our direction. And from the distance she appeared no larger than a bumble bee, yet, when she made her way over all of that would change.

She was life size. And her warmth became present as incandescent glow bounced off like a muffin upon our skin. Nothing but silence stood between. Without hesitation, Sailor had run over to the mysterious woman wrapping around her legs like the vines that coiled around the setting we became characters for. And not even seconds later, Oceana would do the same. Moonlight beamed down on all three like breaking sun, but much luminescent and gray.

“Momma, mum momma!” Yelled Sailor and Oceana.

But how. How could my once deceased wife be such? She had always been an angel, this I could never deny. But now she wielded the wings to prove it, yet, no halo hovered from above.

“Emery, my love?” said I.

A smile of heaven then opened and with it, a beauty of untold stories. The spotlight that once was, had now spread throughout the whole environment. Wings took flight, leaves blew and flew, and the children clung even tighter to the legs of which I had only dreamt in faint memory or ever knew.

“Hi, FIngo,” said the woman. “How are you love?”

Goosebumps formed upon my skin. And the woman’s soft hands would rub against it like a blind man does braille—it was if she could read my thoughts, more so my body language.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” said the woman. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Wet lips then rubbed against my own. The smell of sweetness became apparent, yet, unfamiliar. The children still hung on, and she did not mind it for she was intertwined with thee—love and family were in the air.

From our past, Emery and I were stars, literally. And it was so that stars could not die, yet, it seemed taking on the life of a mortal was inevitable. The children knew not of what we used to be, and it was probably better that it stayed that way.

The children ran back to the car as what was told for them to do. and Emery and I would have our talk for I was not sold on the idea of who or what she was.

“What’s wrong love?” said the woman.

“Who are you?” said I. “You are not might wife, not in the slightest. And even though you are beautiful and bright, thy will not become one of the blindest.”

Silence stood between once again.

“Oh? And How so?” said the woman.

“You don’t smell like her?” said I. “You don’t even feel like her. And do not be fooled to think my memories to be a blur.”

“And how is a dead woman supposed to smell?” said the woman. “How is a dead woman supposed to feel? Hm… Well, then dig if you feel that way.”

The woman then pointed to the same stone we had not even hours before rested flowers next to. From her wings, she pulled a shovel, and from there I would begin.

Sweat and dirt mixed together, along with elbow grease if such existed, for I cannot recall a time when my elbow even sweated. Not long after, a thump of the shovel and I had found myself to the casket. Not many could say that they had dug up their wife from the ground but I sure as hell could, and don’t even bother asking me how it felt. That is another story to tell.

With hesitation and without, I opened it. It was empty. The car engine started. And the shine that once stood beside me was gone, the environment became dim. Wings rested not far from my feet, along with a jar of which appeared to be filled with sprinkles, glitter perceivably. I ran as hard as any man could when in desperate measures. But I was too late. The car was halfway down the road.

What the hell was going on? The casket of my wife was empty, and the woman that was once depicted as Tinkerbelle had vanished with my babies.

By the wings lied a letter:

Dear Fingo,

You might not remember who I am, but I remember you clear as unstained clothes. For years I have searched of your whereabouts, for a little birdie told me that you were still alive. If you are just now reading this then I assume you have met my assistant Pharra the terror. And it would be wise to do as she asks. for the safety of your family, of course. She will contact you within the next hour, but before then, a couple of things you should know. One, your wife is alive. Two, she and your children will be rejoined, when I feel the time. But three, you will be coming with me. You will be put on trial for the abandonment of your fellow soldiers, for that falling stars are supposed to die when clashing upon a planet, yet, it seems you did not, and quite frankly I find this hard to believe. To think you could just run off into the sunset baffles thee. And oh, happy fathers day, I will be seeing you soon brother.

Regards,

Starburst

 

Twinkled Stars

Featured

May 13th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

TWINKLED STAR MAIN 2

Emery was once one of the most beautiful stars of the night sky. She twinkle twinkled, yet she was not a little star, not in the slightest. She was much larger than all the rest, and for that, she was not hard to spot out. And she was only one hundred years old you see, which was much younger than the other the stars that soared around her and over the seven seas. And for these reasons, these so-called others would hate poor Emery more than anything. Indeed, she was, in fact, a star; however, others would argue that she hogged the spotlight a little too often if you catch thy drift.

And for many years of the light, Emery would twinkle twinkle on her own, as many did not want to do so with her, at least not on their own. It wouldn’t be long before sadness would dim the very light she held so dear. She couldn’t have felt anymore alone than what she was now. Only until there was Fingo, did the ropes of sadness unbind from her. Yet, Fingo wasn’t a star at all my friends, not anymore—this is where the harmony of our story begins.

Before his transformation into humanly figure, Fingo was known as Shujaa Nyota—meaning Warrior star. And like most whispered stories of the night, there is still not much said about these, audacious warriors. But, but over time others would create their own stories as many of us have seen throughout our ages. But do not be fooled for that this is no myth—this, you will one day realize in the day of your passing.

There was only one story in particular. A story that would not only be told to the baby stars in the skies but to the babies of the grounded. Heavens Cannons it was called. And the synopsis is that the warrior stars were designed to be weapons of the heavens—all of which was to fight the devil himself. Although, the Devil had stars of his own you see, stars of which we today call volcanoes. But, I am sorry to inform that this story will have to be for another time my friends, for that I fear even the most remote whisper could be the end of me.

Little did any human know, stars packed quite the punch if shot at the right speed—some say enough to destroy entire planets. Yet, it would seem that Fingo was just a dud. Not dying with your brothers was the worst fate for a warrior—it was not honorable. And it was this that gave Fingo no urge to come back to the night skies.  He like Emery would be burdened with a life of loneliness. But the two did not know that soon this burden would be voided.

It has been years now since Fingo was shot through the breeze of what we take in every day. He had blended in well. He now had hands and feet along with a scent of sweet.  And wielded hair so sparkly that made all the girls around stare, as their men all lied in defeat. It did not take long for Fingo to realize that humans sometimes fear what they do not understand. But let’s be honest with ourselves, these behaviors are usually jealously and envy at its finest.

As much as Fingo felt it be a curse, he was unique in his own way—he did not conform to what others felt he should be or felt that he was. He was no freeloader, no murder, no psychopath or pervert for that matter, so he had to be somewhat alright in the books, and it was this he ran over in his mind religiously.

It is still murmured throughout the stars that signs of Fingo can still be seen if one looks hard enough. However, most were only joking with this analogy. But Emery, no, Emery did not joke. She did not know FIngo, neither had she met him. But with the radiant glow from down below, she knew that at least one of them was the real deal. There became an immediate connection, as well as reflection between the two if you still follow me. But let me stop this foolishness of mine and get on with the crescendo shall we.

“Momma,” said Emery. “Could you please tell me the story of the shooting stars again,”

Unlike all the other stars, Emery’s momma was no star at all. And no she was no Warrior star, however, there were such that existed. Emery’s mother was nothing like Fingo, but much bigger—Emery’s momma was the moon. And yes, this was another reason for others to hate her, another reason why she was the brightest of them all, yet she had vowed to never let even a cloud hear her whisper it. And she thanked the heavens that they had never done.

“My sweet Emery don’t you think you’re a little too old for those kinds of stories now,” said Momma moon. “I’ve told you that story a thousand times. Including the thousand times when you were just a freckle in the sky. It’s just a fairy tale, my dear.”

Emery puffed. “Yes. But, momma how could you have told me that story a thousand times if I am only one hundred years old? It’s not even possible. And it’s not a fairy tale.”

They say sometimes the moon smiles on the brightest of nights. Emery was a smart little star-child and Mother moon was proud of that. Everything Mother moon had said went one ear out of the other, which in star form was Emery’s second and third point—stars usually have five points so I would hope many followed this; nevertheless, I have explained it now.

And it would be decades since Emery had seen her father. She thought about what he would say or what he would do for that he was known to be the adventurous kind. But as much as she wanted an answer, to see him, she knew that it could never happen.  Emery’s mother and father only saw each other on the day of which we humans call the eclipse. Can you guess who her father is now? And as much as she hates it when her mother talks about it, this was the day she was conceived.

Emery had always wanted to see her father as most little girls do. However, there were rules. And with those rules there would be grave consequences if crossed. Stars could not come out during the day. Yet, Emery had still crossed them as rebellion was a thing for any child who did not get there way, especially girls. Sorry ladies, but you know it’s true.

Fingo, she’d whisper in her shiny and mighty center. Fingo would gaze up towards the skies, gazing at a particular star that shined brighter than the others, almost the moon in fact.

Overtime all the other stars would fade as they had gone restless of not being seen. Emery and her mother still shined bright as always. However, her mother had dozed off as she was known to do on occasion. It was evident that even the moon needed some sleep every now and then—one would be a fool to believe she slept during the day—oh, my friends, this as well would be another story to tell.

Now let us take it to the falsetto. One, two, three.

Emery had made a voluntary fall, plummeting straight into the Pacific. Because of this, she caused an aftershock that would cause Tsunamis all around the world, but thankfully they were not large enough to cause any tragedies, she hoped.

Stories of mermaids then would be birthed onto planet Earth. Little did anyone of you know that this was somewhat true for that there were signs of a woman in the ocean. But this was no mermaid, nor fish, this was in fact, Emery. And over the years of her disappearance, Fingo would grow into a fine young man, becoming one of the worlds greatest sailors. Some say that he has saved more than a dozens men’s life on the many travels he’s gone. He would eventually take on the nickname of Poseidon. But do not worry, where not going into mythologies. FIngo was no god unless you believe stars to be such.

To make a long story short, as you were all expecting such to be. Driven by un-fainted and un-honorable pain in his heart. Fingo promised that he would find the mermaid many have talked about for centuries before his coming to pass, as it seemed he was now a full human. Emery, on the other hand, waited, for that she still felt close to what she sought for so long. She was now a young woman. She as well wielded hands and feet, along with a scent not so sweet—she smelt of the sea—fishy but managed well.

The two would eventually meet, and this is where our story hits the peek.

Instantly the two became lovers. They lived a life together that was what most in this life still dream of, as well as I. They had two beautiful twins, boy, and girl, of whom they named Sailor and Oceana. For two people that used to be so alone in the world, it is truly magical how misery can easily become beauty. Patients is key my friends—this we must treasure.

The stars in the sky rejoiced for that they now were being seen. The moon sobbed, but eventually, Emery had brought comfort to her that she was ok. Mother moon became a proud grandmother, and Father sun, well let’s just say him and Fingo still had their words. One should know not to take another’s daughter without permission.

But let this beauty linger in your minds for that you and me are all one of a kind, you are not alone my friends. And if it is such you believe, then do no whisper to me.

Go to the ocean. And whisper to Emery and FIngo, the two twinkled stars of the sea.