Loss of hope

Christmas day

Christmas day.  The sky is very very black.  It is raining very very hard.  I do not have raincoat.  So am very very wet.  Mind lingering on saturated condition.  Redirect mind.  Ponder what Mission in Life is. 

Walk and run and walk.  Me, two parrots, and a wolf.  An insane Noah’s ark. 

Cars are driving very slowly.  Cars are stopping.  Dry people in cars are staring at me as though I am Soaking-Wet-Crazy-Person.  Windows wind down.  People lean out.  Dry people are calling.  “Jesus Christ!”  they scream.  They point.  I frown.

Hairy tattooed man stands on pavement.  Shouting at me.  Hairy tattoo man is calling me crazy idiot.  Hairy tattoo man spits.  At me.  And walks away.

There is loud ripping sound

There is loud ripping sound.  Blackness.  Crashing lines of light.  The ground shakes.   And suddenly I am not Noah’s ark.  Just sad wet crazy person.  On Titanic.  With pink hair.  And aching shoulders.  From use as avian transportation system.  Body sags.  Drips.  I look up.  Search empty sky.  Thunder phone has stopped ringing.  Now making engaged tone. 

Paging God…  Paging God… 

God?  Shake fist.  For emphasis.  Wash me away.  Start again.  Make another me.   A non-abused, non-mentally ill model.  Something special.  Something at least okay.  But He is not available for comment.  Might be in shower.  Decide to write protest letter. Will write in big letters.  In case God blind as well as deaf. 

Rain stops.  Clouds chained by rainbow.  I shiver.  Wrap Wolf around me.  Hell is very cold. 

Hand finds pocket.  Locates small red bottle.  With pink cork.  Remove cork.  Dab essence of Who I Could Have Been.  Behind right ear (risking loss of fingers to feral bird).  Take deep breath.

And glide onward.  What else can I do?

Slink into house.  Trip over large bucket.  Step on bunch of carrots.  Knock over nativity set.  Sodding reindeer still haven’t turned up.  I rearrange nativity.  Remove pink tinsel from Wolf jaws.  Body indicates hunger.  I set table.  There is a place for Suspicion.  A place for Fear.   A place for me.  Wolf eats on floor.  My life seems isolated and strange. 

Sit and look at food

Sit and look at food.  No longer hungry.  By my age most humans have a thing.  Some-thing that can be held.  Marriage.  Family.  Career.  Direction.  

I have all-weather wardrobe. 

Of madness. 

Suddenly I hear his voice.  My father.  (Not the Heaven one).  My father’s voice tells me I am lazy pink haired trash.  And yet I sit.  Wasting time.  Like lazy pink haired trash.  I don’t know what stupid Life Mission is.  I scowl.  I don’t want to be me.  I don’t want to be here.  

The Spirit of Loss of Hope has visited.  And she has been generous. 

The Spirit of Loss of Hope has visited. And she has been generous.

For more information about Wolf click here

Original version written 2008; edited Aug, 2019