Here's to you, coconut man.We found the coconut man on Seven Mile Beach. His bag held dozens of coconuts, a machete and a bottle of rum. For five dollars each we drank island-made dark liquor and scraped our teeth against the flesh of our cups. Buzzed in the blazing mid-day sun, we sank into the sand and let the gentle swell wash over our toes.The water was aquamarine and warm; the Caribbean Sea breathing a calm wind over the shore. For a while we just lay there breathing in the salty air, luxuriating in the heat, our bodies unceremoniously slack against the beach.It was the changing tide that sobered us; sneaky little waves crawled up the shore tickling my skin in its wake. Our feet carried us up and down the coast, seashells finding their way into our pockets and the coconut man was never too far away for a refill.We were hammock bound as the sun dipped low, our eyes hopelessly glued to a sunset that turned both sea and sky into fire. We slept well that night, our limbs heavy, our skin tan and our minds awa
The Gatherer of TwigsThe flames don’t burn. They itch... as week old tattoos often do. A wildfire of orange and gold crawls from my ankle to my knee, my left leg engulfed forever. I’ve been branded by a demon, its soul sinking into my skin like enchanted ink.This happens every time, I carry one mark for each soul I have reaped. My right forearm bears a feather from a Phoenix, there is a lone wing in blinding white that takes up half my back from the only Angel I've ever taken. Vibrant cerulean and jade scales swirl around my neck like a collar- those appeared after a pair of Selkies. A tangle of hissing snakes wrap around my left thigh thanks to a nasty, ancient Gorgon. I also have waves on my ass cheeks from a snarky Leviathan and a zombie Chihuahua dressed in pink on my left bicep from an even snarkier Hellhound. I am a reaper, guiding the souls of only supernatural beings to the afterlife. I am not Death. I do not wear a hooded cloak or carry a scythe. Death is a cranky bastard and ri
spitting seedsI spit a watermelon seed in your eyeand you laughed.Silly boy. You eclipsed the brazen midday sunand were surroundedby a halo of light.I was chilled in your shadowand you screamed of heat.My moth to your flame.You chased me round the yardand spit an army of seeds right back at me...in rapid fire.
Halos are overratedFreedom rings. Freedom waves like a banner in the wind. It's old and tattered. So very frayed at the edges but all anyone can see is the big red letters, so bold they're on the verge of blinding. A mess of scarlet ink is all I could make out, the words blurred from a rush of adrenaline. Some make out a blessing, a soft flowing font spelling out a prayer, but me…I was a bull charging, daring those words to come into focus- challenging my conformity.I was whiskey brave or was it wine? Oh yes, it was a nice Cabernet left to breathe between my lips then a Moscato so sweet I couldn't see past the taste. A glass half full of defiance that left me drunk and enraged, thrilled and almost out of my mind, but it's not what you think. You see, I used to be a coward. I was a being whose self-worth didn't exist and whose voice was never more than a whisper.I was told I was loved but never felt like I was. I wanted to be beautiful but my flaws made mirrors run screaming