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| Welcome to PenDraggin'... Aside from AlterEgo ImageWorks, I enjoy writing... poetry, prose, short stories, and what I call MindFlights... Welcome to my inner realm... the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind... |
| SHORT STORIES |
Our Garden Co-written by Lance and Susan Trottier
There is a garden… peaceful, tranquil, very serene… beautiful in all its colours of the
rainbow… the birds sing gaily from their perch… the butterflies, how they dance upon the
breeze… the air fragrant with blossoms of rose, honeysuckle and lilac… where the sky is lit
bright by a noontime sun… in the evening, the heavens are tinted by many hues from the
receding light, only to be replaced in the night by a moondisc and stars aplenty.
In this wondrous garden, I approach a pond, fed by a gentle brook, surrounded by weeping
willows, and nestled at the base of a green hillock… I bend at its side, drink just a sip from its
waters being careful not to greatly disturb its glassine surface and cast my gaze across its
breadth.
My innermost thoughts are wandering... wondering…
I turn and look upon the grassy knoll, mind floating adrift… I ascend the knoll as if on air and
upon reaching its crest, topped only by a sole willow tree, king of all those below, I sit and wait,
thoughts still wandering and wondering… for it is here, in this our garden, that she will grace
me, becoming one with me, and I, her.
Silently as a whisper, my Love approaches me from behind, and I feel the warmth of her lips
upon my head, her soft hands upon my shoulders, tingling at her gentle touch… I turn on one
knee to face her, taking her hand in mine and, ever so gently, kiss that loving hand, a tender,
romantic kiss… I rise to meet her, our eyes affixed into the depths of each others… We kiss, a
long, passionate, yet gentle kiss, her lips sweet and moist… We hold each other for a bit, her
head pressed gently upon my chest… We are safe here… Our Love is safe here in our garden.
We lay upon the hillside, holding each other close and stare into a colourful evening sky as the
sun wanes, and watch as the darkness envelops us and the stars come out to fill the void… My
Love sighs at the beauty, peace and at our fortune to have found each other and this place…
Her warm breath tickles my neck, pleasantly sending goose bumps over me… She moves
slightly and kisses my neck and lets me know she is really here.
We turn to each other, our Love evident and beyond question… We are eager to please each
other, and to be pleased by the other… We are on the same plane… We make sweet,
passionate Love in this our garden, our private realm… for it was created for us, by us and by
our Love… We then fall asleep in each others loving arms as we whisper this our vow:
There is a garden… peaceful, tranquil, very serene… beautiful in all its colours of the
rainbow… the birds sing gaily from their perch… the butterflies, how they dance upon the
breeze… the air fragrant with blossoms of rose, honeysuckle and lilac… where the sky is lit
bright by a noontime sun… in the evening, the heavens are tinted by many hues from the
receding light, only to be replaced in the night by a moondisc and stars aplenty.
In this wondrous garden, I approach a pond, fed by a gentle brook, surrounded by weeping
willows, and nestled at the base of a green hillock… I bend at its side, drink just a sip from its
waters being careful not to greatly disturb its glassine surface and cast my gaze across its
breadth.
My innermost thoughts are wandering... wondering…
I turn and look upon the grassy knoll, mind floating adrift… I ascend the knoll as if on air and
upon reaching its crest, topped only by a sole willow tree, king of all those below, I sit and wait,
thoughts still wandering and wondering… for it is here, in this our garden, that she will grace
me, becoming one with me, and I, her.
Silently as a whisper, my Love approaches me from behind, and I feel the warmth of her lips
upon my head, her soft hands upon my shoulders, tingling at her gentle touch… I turn on one
knee to face her, taking her hand in mine and, ever so gently, kiss that loving hand, a tender,
romantic kiss… I rise to meet her, our eyes affixed into the depths of each others… We kiss, a
long, passionate, yet gentle kiss, her lips sweet and moist… We hold each other for a bit, her
head pressed gently upon my chest… We are safe here… Our Love is safe here in our garden.
We lay upon the hillside, holding each other close and stare into a colourful evening sky as the
sun wanes, and watch as the darkness envelops us and the stars come out to fill the void… My
Love sighs at the beauty, peace and at our fortune to have found each other and this place…
Her warm breath tickles my neck, pleasantly sending goose bumps over me… She moves
slightly and kisses my neck and lets me know she is really here.
We turn to each other, our Love evident and beyond question… We are eager to please each
other, and to be pleased by the other… We are on the same plane… We make sweet,
passionate Love in this our garden, our private realm… for it was created for us, by us and by
our Love… We then fall asleep in each others loving arms as we whisper this our vow:
| ‘Hand in Hand Mind to Mind Heart to Heart Forever entwined.’ Copyright © 2003 by Lance and Susan Trottier |
The Cavern LJT '98
I look about me in this tremendous cavern that I find myself in, eyes
adjusting to the limited light. All about me are countless nooks, and
crevices. Everywhere I look, there are darkened corners, eerie chambers
off the main, and passages of unknown destination [or origin?].
I step closer to this orifice, or that one, and the next. At each, I cautiously
peer inside, unsure of what I will gaze upon, what creature may lurk
within, what will stare back at me.
In some, I see nothing, sheer emptiness. In another, I see scenes of
happiness and joy, bringing a smile to my own face. In the next, I see
visions of horror and despair. In yet another, warmth, love and caring
abound. And, in that one, sadness, loneliness.
In some, I encounter skeletons, cobwebs, and confusion, while in
others, a certain clarity, answers, peace, and tranquility.
With hope that I am not alone in this vast space, I call out. All that returns
to my waiting ears is my own voice, rebounding, echoing off the cavern
walls.
With this, the startling reality invades me. I am not in some far away
place, but rather, deep within my own being.
Copyright © 1998 by Lance Trottier
I look about me in this tremendous cavern that I find myself in, eyes
adjusting to the limited light. All about me are countless nooks, and
crevices. Everywhere I look, there are darkened corners, eerie chambers
off the main, and passages of unknown destination [or origin?].
I step closer to this orifice, or that one, and the next. At each, I cautiously
peer inside, unsure of what I will gaze upon, what creature may lurk
within, what will stare back at me.
In some, I see nothing, sheer emptiness. In another, I see scenes of
happiness and joy, bringing a smile to my own face. In the next, I see
visions of horror and despair. In yet another, warmth, love and caring
abound. And, in that one, sadness, loneliness.
In some, I encounter skeletons, cobwebs, and confusion, while in
others, a certain clarity, answers, peace, and tranquility.
With hope that I am not alone in this vast space, I call out. All that returns
to my waiting ears is my own voice, rebounding, echoing off the cavern
walls.
With this, the startling reality invades me. I am not in some far away
place, but rather, deep within my own being.
Copyright © 1998 by Lance Trottier
Spiral Descent LJT '01
Life is waging an unrelenting, full scale war on me, attacking each and every part of my being... Heart,
Mind, Body, and Soul... rendering its damages to all my senses, to everything that is me. I cascade,
spiraling ever downward at dizzying, and ever increasing speed to whatever awaits me in this seemingly
endless, bottomless pit called Life...
I try to no avail, to reach out and grasp onto something, anything that will stop, or even slow this warped
travesty... Anything which will help me make sense of it all... Anything, even within myself, or anyone, that
might provide a secure handhold, a firm footing... From there, I would then be able to begin the climb,
hard as it may be, upward and outward, back toward the surface where I may, once again, breathe in a
clean, crisp, breath of air.
As it is, I am drowning in the stale, bitter atmosphere of loneliness, desperation, solitude,
unhappiness... Each time I feel I have found that handhold, it snaps, shatters even, into a million
minuscule particles before it even has a chance to end, or slow my downward descent...
Thus, it only serves to speed it up all the faster...
Love... I, at times, begin to feel a flame flaring up deep within me... It feels so wonderful... for a short
time... But, as I try to nurture it, to fan it, that flame winds up burning a larger hole in my heart;
Trust... ahhh, that ever elusive thing called Trust... I start to trust, but only to have it broken, to be
rendered more difficult to achieve with each time;
Caring... with each momentary glimpse of light, and its seemingly inevitable dousing, I feel a shudder of
coldness deep inside myself, colder with each time, which I try to fight off, but, in itself, is growing much
more difficult a battle to take on;
Patience... As I spiral downward rapidly, ever faster, patience grows thinner, thinner, so much thinner;
Kindness... My words, my attitudes become sharper, less sensitive with each hold on this life that fails;
Faith... Faith in Life? Faith in Love? In Trust?
Hope... wanes with the passing of each of the others...
There are but a handful of those that are, though they may not feel it, not subject to this trend I find
myself in: The two main ones are the two that I brought Life to... They are what keep me alive, keep me
grasping for those handholds in my existence, keep me gasping for that Life sustaining air, keep me
longing for the light at the end of this vertical tunnel I have found myself in, that I am, as yet, still
plummeting deeper, ever downward into... Is it enough? I wonder at times... Am I strong enough? I have
not the answers to these... as I continue to spiral downward... deeper, deeper, ever deeper... Faster,
faster, and faster, yet... handhold to save me? Or, will it break, as all else has to this point?
Copyright © 2oo1 by Lance Trottier
Life is waging an unrelenting, full scale war on me, attacking each and every part of my being... Heart,
Mind, Body, and Soul... rendering its damages to all my senses, to everything that is me. I cascade,
spiraling ever downward at dizzying, and ever increasing speed to whatever awaits me in this seemingly
endless, bottomless pit called Life...
I try to no avail, to reach out and grasp onto something, anything that will stop, or even slow this warped
travesty... Anything which will help me make sense of it all... Anything, even within myself, or anyone, that
might provide a secure handhold, a firm footing... From there, I would then be able to begin the climb,
hard as it may be, upward and outward, back toward the surface where I may, once again, breathe in a
clean, crisp, breath of air.
As it is, I am drowning in the stale, bitter atmosphere of loneliness, desperation, solitude,
unhappiness... Each time I feel I have found that handhold, it snaps, shatters even, into a million
minuscule particles before it even has a chance to end, or slow my downward descent...
Thus, it only serves to speed it up all the faster...
Love... I, at times, begin to feel a flame flaring up deep within me... It feels so wonderful... for a short
time... But, as I try to nurture it, to fan it, that flame winds up burning a larger hole in my heart;
Trust... ahhh, that ever elusive thing called Trust... I start to trust, but only to have it broken, to be
rendered more difficult to achieve with each time;
Caring... with each momentary glimpse of light, and its seemingly inevitable dousing, I feel a shudder of
coldness deep inside myself, colder with each time, which I try to fight off, but, in itself, is growing much
more difficult a battle to take on;
Patience... As I spiral downward rapidly, ever faster, patience grows thinner, thinner, so much thinner;
Kindness... My words, my attitudes become sharper, less sensitive with each hold on this life that fails;
Faith... Faith in Life? Faith in Love? In Trust?
Hope... wanes with the passing of each of the others...
There are but a handful of those that are, though they may not feel it, not subject to this trend I find
myself in: The two main ones are the two that I brought Life to... They are what keep me alive, keep me
grasping for those handholds in my existence, keep me gasping for that Life sustaining air, keep me
longing for the light at the end of this vertical tunnel I have found myself in, that I am, as yet, still
plummeting deeper, ever downward into... Is it enough? I wonder at times... Am I strong enough? I have
not the answers to these... as I continue to spiral downward... deeper, deeper, ever deeper... Faster,
faster, and faster, yet... handhold to save me? Or, will it break, as all else has to this point?
Copyright © 2oo1 by Lance Trottier
Life's Meaning LJT '99
At times, when I consider the so-called meaning of life, more specifically, that of my own, I am but a fraction of a
second, a blink of an eye, a mere moment in the overall span of time. I am a minuscule speck of dust in the endless
universe... one singular, minute snowflake amongst the billions, which, in itself, means nothing, yet, combined with
all those other billions, must account for something.
I look at the trees towering high above me, the mountains in their stature and majesty, incredible, the sky looming in
its vastness over me. And, what beyond?
At other times, I've been alive seemingly forever, no end to my time in sight. I am an eternity. I am enormous, a
tremendous entity, that no matter what I do in this life, no matter how minor, or major, has some effect to someone,
maybe even many, to a person, or persons I may know, or possibly to someone I have never met, nor will I ever meet.
I look at the insect at my feet, journeying to who knows where, the pebble I kick thoughtlessly, effortlessly in front of
me, the blade of grass, or the flower, that may be the very goal of that tiny insect.
On the other hand, I have yet, like so many others before me, to determine the meaning of life, especially that of my
own. But, I have realized that life, existence, is relative, a perspective that changes with the view taken at a given
instance.
I know not why I am here, where I am headed, nor what awaits me at the end of my life's journey. I will continue to
ponder this question, until that time when all will become clear. Until then, I will try to make the best of it.
Copyright © 1999 by Lance Trottier
At times, when I consider the so-called meaning of life, more specifically, that of my own, I am but a fraction of a
second, a blink of an eye, a mere moment in the overall span of time. I am a minuscule speck of dust in the endless
universe... one singular, minute snowflake amongst the billions, which, in itself, means nothing, yet, combined with
all those other billions, must account for something.
I look at the trees towering high above me, the mountains in their stature and majesty, incredible, the sky looming in
its vastness over me. And, what beyond?
At other times, I've been alive seemingly forever, no end to my time in sight. I am an eternity. I am enormous, a
tremendous entity, that no matter what I do in this life, no matter how minor, or major, has some effect to someone,
maybe even many, to a person, or persons I may know, or possibly to someone I have never met, nor will I ever meet.
I look at the insect at my feet, journeying to who knows where, the pebble I kick thoughtlessly, effortlessly in front of
me, the blade of grass, or the flower, that may be the very goal of that tiny insect.
On the other hand, I have yet, like so many others before me, to determine the meaning of life, especially that of my
own. But, I have realized that life, existence, is relative, a perspective that changes with the view taken at a given
instance.
I know not why I am here, where I am headed, nor what awaits me at the end of my life's journey. I will continue to
ponder this question, until that time when all will become clear. Until then, I will try to make the best of it.
Copyright © 1999 by Lance Trottier
EDNA
At times I figger that I long ago became a meaningless ol’ lady in the lives o' them’s who once cared for me. It seems to
‘em, I no longer exist, ‘cuz they don’ come to visit no more. I can’t recall the last time anyone has bothered to knock at my
door, or call me on the telephone... or even send me a post. Gracious me, I’d even welcome a bill delivered by the postman,
but alas, even he no longer comes by. An’, anyways, the bills have stopped coming ‘cuz the utilities have been cut off for
some time now. The milkman don’ come at my doorstep no more what with that smile of his, an’ his warm ‘Halloo, Edna! H’
w’are ya this fine mornin’?’
My husband, James, why, he’s long since left me to go to the Lord, gosh, I can’t remember how long ago it was (an’ I truly
believe he went to the Lord, ‘cuz a good man he was!). My children, they gotten all growed an’ have their own to raise up, just
like I once did all them years ago. Those wee grandchildren o' mine, how big they must be by now! The recollection o' their
last visit fails me! Glory be! I can’t even remember their names. Oh, this life o' mine...
I can’t barely get up outta this chair (an’ at that, not very often), an’ by the time I do get myself up, I sits right back down again
out of breath. An’ can’t get outside to feel the warm breeze on my face. (Anyhow, such a sight I’d be... I can’t think o' the last
time I had a bath, or the last time a brush got pulled through this wad o' hair on my head!) I ain’t been able to open the
drapes to let the warm sunshine an’ light into the room, such a chill as there is in’ere. I can’t get hold o' anyone to complain
about my lights an’ such being turned off.
So, I sits here in this dark, chill room, mind a-wanderin’ into an’ out o' varied daydreams of what once was, but what ain't no
longer, an’ the reality of ‘em bein’ unclear to me. I seem to sleep for countless hours... oh, how many, I don’ know, as the ol’
grandfather by the hall has stopped keepin’ time, ended its life of hourly an’ twice-hourly chimin’. I used to curse that blasted
thing for its incessant tick-tockin’ in my ears all the time, but now how I long to hear it once again, for it to keep me comp'ny,
to remind me that time ain't stood still for me. But, hell, it prob'ly wouldn’t do me a damned bit o' good, anyhow, what with my
seein’ and hearin’ gone bad.
At times, it even seems to me that the Lord A’mighty, Hisself, has stopped talkin’ an’ listenin’ to me. He probably got good
an’ tired of my whinin’ an’ complainin’. Ah, this life of mine... it’s a lonely one, that it be. I come to welcome the times when
one of them rats skitters across my lap, or one of them spiders crawls on me. A long time ago, I stopped havin’ the strength
to swat at ‘em. An’ since then, come to see ‘em as my only comp'ny. Nothin’ to do to pass the time, ‘cept my mind wanderin’,
an’ sleepin’ the hours away.
My ears, they playin’ tricks on me now and again. Like this minute... I think I hear a knockin’ at my door. But, there ain’t no
way, ‘cuz it hasn’t happened in such a long time, now. I think I hear it again, a bit louder this time. Hee hee hee... Damned
hearin’! But, hold on... It seems I’s hearin’ a fumblin’ with the front door lock! Has someone honest an’ truly come to pay a
visit to dear ol’ lonely Edna? If I could just get myself up an’ outta this chair, well I’d have to get to the kitchen an’ fix some
coffee an’ cookies for my comp'ny! I wonder who they may be!
The door swung open, an’ the light streamin’ in is blindin’ me... By the time my seein’ gets adjusted, there’s men (or maybe
some of ‘em’s women) are standin’ all ‘round me, an’ others are walkin’ ‘round the house just a-lookin’ at me an’ my
belongins. Some’s complainin’ about the stench. How dare they come in’ere, and talk such! They’s wearin’ these funny
lookin’ blue gowns an’ masks over their faces, an’ their hands has got gloves on ‘em... are they stealin’ my stuff? One
comes to me an’ takes my hand... maybe he’s a nice young man an’ wants me to know it. He feels my wrist, an’ then, puts
his fingers on my neck (Lordy, ain’t been touched by human hands in such long time!). His eyes, they’s gentle eyes, with a
sadness in ‘em. After feelin’ my neck, he closes them eyes, an’ slowly shakes his head. He mumbles somethin’ to another,
then turns away. Hey, Boy! What be happenin’? Who are ya? How very disrespectful to mumble right in front o’ me as if I ain’t
here. An’ then, to turn your back to me!
A few o’ them come to me pullin’ along a bed on wheels, an’ bring it right up alongside o' me an’ my chair. They, with them
gloved hands an’ all, lift me up outta the chair easy like, an’ lay me down on that bed what they brought in. How good of ‘em...
they’s coverin’ me with a sheet, an’ prob'ly a blanket’ll come, too. Hey, don’ be coverin’ my head like that! You actin’ like I’m
dead or...
As they’s wheelin’ me on out the door, I gets to thinkin’... ‘You actin’ like I’m dead or...’ Mebbe... mebbe, that be what this is
all ‘bout, now... I’m passed on! No wonderin’ thing’s been so quiet for such a long time now! All’s clear an’ comin’ t’me, yes,
it is...
James! Oh, James! I see’s ya comin’ for me, m’dear sweet man! It be good t’see ya, again! Yep, James, I’m a-comin’!
Copyright ©2005 Lance Trottier
At times I figger that I long ago became a meaningless ol’ lady in the lives o' them’s who once cared for me. It seems to
‘em, I no longer exist, ‘cuz they don’ come to visit no more. I can’t recall the last time anyone has bothered to knock at my
door, or call me on the telephone... or even send me a post. Gracious me, I’d even welcome a bill delivered by the postman,
but alas, even he no longer comes by. An’, anyways, the bills have stopped coming ‘cuz the utilities have been cut off for
some time now. The milkman don’ come at my doorstep no more what with that smile of his, an’ his warm ‘Halloo, Edna! H’
w’are ya this fine mornin’?’
My husband, James, why, he’s long since left me to go to the Lord, gosh, I can’t remember how long ago it was (an’ I truly
believe he went to the Lord, ‘cuz a good man he was!). My children, they gotten all growed an’ have their own to raise up, just
like I once did all them years ago. Those wee grandchildren o' mine, how big they must be by now! The recollection o' their
last visit fails me! Glory be! I can’t even remember their names. Oh, this life o' mine...
I can’t barely get up outta this chair (an’ at that, not very often), an’ by the time I do get myself up, I sits right back down again
out of breath. An’ can’t get outside to feel the warm breeze on my face. (Anyhow, such a sight I’d be... I can’t think o' the last
time I had a bath, or the last time a brush got pulled through this wad o' hair on my head!) I ain’t been able to open the
drapes to let the warm sunshine an’ light into the room, such a chill as there is in’ere. I can’t get hold o' anyone to complain
about my lights an’ such being turned off.
So, I sits here in this dark, chill room, mind a-wanderin’ into an’ out o' varied daydreams of what once was, but what ain't no
longer, an’ the reality of ‘em bein’ unclear to me. I seem to sleep for countless hours... oh, how many, I don’ know, as the ol’
grandfather by the hall has stopped keepin’ time, ended its life of hourly an’ twice-hourly chimin’. I used to curse that blasted
thing for its incessant tick-tockin’ in my ears all the time, but now how I long to hear it once again, for it to keep me comp'ny,
to remind me that time ain't stood still for me. But, hell, it prob'ly wouldn’t do me a damned bit o' good, anyhow, what with my
seein’ and hearin’ gone bad.
At times, it even seems to me that the Lord A’mighty, Hisself, has stopped talkin’ an’ listenin’ to me. He probably got good
an’ tired of my whinin’ an’ complainin’. Ah, this life of mine... it’s a lonely one, that it be. I come to welcome the times when
one of them rats skitters across my lap, or one of them spiders crawls on me. A long time ago, I stopped havin’ the strength
to swat at ‘em. An’ since then, come to see ‘em as my only comp'ny. Nothin’ to do to pass the time, ‘cept my mind wanderin’,
an’ sleepin’ the hours away.
My ears, they playin’ tricks on me now and again. Like this minute... I think I hear a knockin’ at my door. But, there ain’t no
way, ‘cuz it hasn’t happened in such a long time, now. I think I hear it again, a bit louder this time. Hee hee hee... Damned
hearin’! But, hold on... It seems I’s hearin’ a fumblin’ with the front door lock! Has someone honest an’ truly come to pay a
visit to dear ol’ lonely Edna? If I could just get myself up an’ outta this chair, well I’d have to get to the kitchen an’ fix some
coffee an’ cookies for my comp'ny! I wonder who they may be!
The door swung open, an’ the light streamin’ in is blindin’ me... By the time my seein’ gets adjusted, there’s men (or maybe
some of ‘em’s women) are standin’ all ‘round me, an’ others are walkin’ ‘round the house just a-lookin’ at me an’ my
belongins. Some’s complainin’ about the stench. How dare they come in’ere, and talk such! They’s wearin’ these funny
lookin’ blue gowns an’ masks over their faces, an’ their hands has got gloves on ‘em... are they stealin’ my stuff? One
comes to me an’ takes my hand... maybe he’s a nice young man an’ wants me to know it. He feels my wrist, an’ then, puts
his fingers on my neck (Lordy, ain’t been touched by human hands in such long time!). His eyes, they’s gentle eyes, with a
sadness in ‘em. After feelin’ my neck, he closes them eyes, an’ slowly shakes his head. He mumbles somethin’ to another,
then turns away. Hey, Boy! What be happenin’? Who are ya? How very disrespectful to mumble right in front o’ me as if I ain’t
here. An’ then, to turn your back to me!
A few o’ them come to me pullin’ along a bed on wheels, an’ bring it right up alongside o' me an’ my chair. They, with them
gloved hands an’ all, lift me up outta the chair easy like, an’ lay me down on that bed what they brought in. How good of ‘em...
they’s coverin’ me with a sheet, an’ prob'ly a blanket’ll come, too. Hey, don’ be coverin’ my head like that! You actin’ like I’m
dead or...
As they’s wheelin’ me on out the door, I gets to thinkin’... ‘You actin’ like I’m dead or...’ Mebbe... mebbe, that be what this is
all ‘bout, now... I’m passed on! No wonderin’ thing’s been so quiet for such a long time now! All’s clear an’ comin’ t’me, yes,
it is...
James! Oh, James! I see’s ya comin’ for me, m’dear sweet man! It be good t’see ya, again! Yep, James, I’m a-comin’!
Copyright ©2005 Lance Trottier
Infernal
That infernal buzzing... that incessant noise in my head... clattering, rapping to and fro in
the caverns of my very mind. Will it not stop? It is driving me to utter madness! Hostilities
are arising deep, imbedding themselves into my soul.
It continues... I will stop it... I must end it. Yes! I will end it! BANG! It is stopped, and a quiet
calm sets in... golden silence at last!
Mere moments elapse, and that wondrous peace is once again shattered! I cup my
hands over my ears, but it does not quell the droning sound as it pierces my brain... Oh!
The pain it brings!
I cannot bear it any longer... I cannot tolerate that evil din as it reverberates in my head,
driving me nearer to sheer desperation!
I will stop it once more, oh yes, I will! This time once and for all! This time permanently!
Ha! I reach for a weapon with which to end it all... I take careful aim as I do not wish to
simply injure... With deadly precision, I dispatch this instrument of destruction and put an
end to that which has caused continual ache and misery with its resounding echo...
I soon begin my daily affairs with the dreaded knowledge that I will later have to obtain yet
another of those accursed creations, for tomorrow, I will require its aid in the beginning of
yet another day.
Copyright ©2003 Lance Trottier All rights reserved
That infernal buzzing... that incessant noise in my head... clattering, rapping to and fro in
the caverns of my very mind. Will it not stop? It is driving me to utter madness! Hostilities
are arising deep, imbedding themselves into my soul.
It continues... I will stop it... I must end it. Yes! I will end it! BANG! It is stopped, and a quiet
calm sets in... golden silence at last!
Mere moments elapse, and that wondrous peace is once again shattered! I cup my
hands over my ears, but it does not quell the droning sound as it pierces my brain... Oh!
The pain it brings!
I cannot bear it any longer... I cannot tolerate that evil din as it reverberates in my head,
driving me nearer to sheer desperation!
I will stop it once more, oh yes, I will! This time once and for all! This time permanently!
Ha! I reach for a weapon with which to end it all... I take careful aim as I do not wish to
simply injure... With deadly precision, I dispatch this instrument of destruction and put an
end to that which has caused continual ache and misery with its resounding echo...
I soon begin my daily affairs with the dreaded knowledge that I will later have to obtain yet
another of those accursed creations, for tomorrow, I will require its aid in the beginning of
yet another day.
Copyright ©2003 Lance Trottier All rights reserved
MY EASY CHAIR LJT ‘98
I sit in my easy chair, kicking back from a long, trying day, listening to the
music on the stereo with its upbeat tempo, yet the volume at a soothing level.
Without so much as a hint by which to realize what is taking place, the lights
dim gradually, unnoticeably, the tune fading imperceptibly.
I am standing in total bleakness, absence of light, not an audible sound to
reach my ears, no sense of warmth or chill, no time or distance.
Eyes adjusting minimally to the utter blackness of my surroundings, I
perceive the bare outline of the vast mound before me, the height and breadth
of which I cannot fathom.
Drawn as if my body has decided, entirely of its own volition, without aid of
mind, I begin the ascent.
My eyes are routed to the earth directly at my feet, watching carefully the non-
path I am treading, barely visible in the dimness, each step methodical and
deliberate, so as not to stumble, to fall tossing and turning, tumbling backward
and downward toward my point of origin.
At some point, time inconceivable, I stop to rest, as my body and mind are
weary and aching. I long to sit on this moundside, yet thankful that my eyes
cannot pick out any object, stone or stump, on which to do so. I cannot sit on
the earth facing the direction of my destiny due to the steepness of the incline. I
cannot turn my back to it and face where I came from. I cannot sit aiming to one
side or the other, as this could alter my direction, the easier, less tiresome
route, only to return to this very same spot, having gained nothing. To sit facing
any direction might permit roots to form, anchoring me in this very place in
which I merely intended to take a moments hiatus from my strenuous journey.
With tired, aching body, I move on trudging wearily, desperately longing to
reach the summit, yet possessing no concept of what to expect, what I would
encounter upon reaching my destination.
Seemingly hours later, I pause once again not so much to rest, but to draw
my gaze from the earth before me to view upward and onward toward the crest
of this mound in an attempt to take in how much further I must travel to attain
its pinnacle.
The darkness before me is incredible, seemingly endless. The feeling that I
have gained no distance in this journey is overwhelming.
Yet, I begin my ascent again, stubbornly, painfully. I cannot take rest here, in
this place. I must keep moving.
Strangely, oddly, after what seems like an eternity, I sense the summit
drawing nearer with each step feeling that, at long last, I will reach that crest
only an arms length away, where I can finally sit, relax, breathe a sigh of relief,
rest the weary bones of this traveler. From this vantage point, I will be able to
look around me, view the direction in which I am heading, take in the view from
one side, then the other. Even to look back from where I came, measure the
distance that I have journeyed, possibly even conceive the time that has lapsed
from embarking, to this stage.
I momentarily close my eyes, a millisecond, that fraction of time it takes only
to divert my gaze from my steps toward my destination. Upon reopening them, I
am sitting in my easy chair, listening to the music on the stereo with its upbeat
tempo, yet the volume at a soothing level.
I am more tired now than before, mentally, physically, head and limbs aching,
a cool bead of sweat making its way from my forehead to my cheek.
I have moved not a muscle in this time, yet all the while, I have experienced a
strange journey, a trek that I cannot begin to comprehend.
Copyright © 1998 by Lance Trottier
I sit in my easy chair, kicking back from a long, trying day, listening to the
music on the stereo with its upbeat tempo, yet the volume at a soothing level.
Without so much as a hint by which to realize what is taking place, the lights
dim gradually, unnoticeably, the tune fading imperceptibly.
I am standing in total bleakness, absence of light, not an audible sound to
reach my ears, no sense of warmth or chill, no time or distance.
Eyes adjusting minimally to the utter blackness of my surroundings, I
perceive the bare outline of the vast mound before me, the height and breadth
of which I cannot fathom.
Drawn as if my body has decided, entirely of its own volition, without aid of
mind, I begin the ascent.
My eyes are routed to the earth directly at my feet, watching carefully the non-
path I am treading, barely visible in the dimness, each step methodical and
deliberate, so as not to stumble, to fall tossing and turning, tumbling backward
and downward toward my point of origin.
At some point, time inconceivable, I stop to rest, as my body and mind are
weary and aching. I long to sit on this moundside, yet thankful that my eyes
cannot pick out any object, stone or stump, on which to do so. I cannot sit on
the earth facing the direction of my destiny due to the steepness of the incline. I
cannot turn my back to it and face where I came from. I cannot sit aiming to one
side or the other, as this could alter my direction, the easier, less tiresome
route, only to return to this very same spot, having gained nothing. To sit facing
any direction might permit roots to form, anchoring me in this very place in
which I merely intended to take a moments hiatus from my strenuous journey.
With tired, aching body, I move on trudging wearily, desperately longing to
reach the summit, yet possessing no concept of what to expect, what I would
encounter upon reaching my destination.
Seemingly hours later, I pause once again not so much to rest, but to draw
my gaze from the earth before me to view upward and onward toward the crest
of this mound in an attempt to take in how much further I must travel to attain
its pinnacle.
The darkness before me is incredible, seemingly endless. The feeling that I
have gained no distance in this journey is overwhelming.
Yet, I begin my ascent again, stubbornly, painfully. I cannot take rest here, in
this place. I must keep moving.
Strangely, oddly, after what seems like an eternity, I sense the summit
drawing nearer with each step feeling that, at long last, I will reach that crest
only an arms length away, where I can finally sit, relax, breathe a sigh of relief,
rest the weary bones of this traveler. From this vantage point, I will be able to
look around me, view the direction in which I am heading, take in the view from
one side, then the other. Even to look back from where I came, measure the
distance that I have journeyed, possibly even conceive the time that has lapsed
from embarking, to this stage.
I momentarily close my eyes, a millisecond, that fraction of time it takes only
to divert my gaze from my steps toward my destination. Upon reopening them, I
am sitting in my easy chair, listening to the music on the stereo with its upbeat
tempo, yet the volume at a soothing level.
I am more tired now than before, mentally, physically, head and limbs aching,
a cool bead of sweat making its way from my forehead to my cheek.
I have moved not a muscle in this time, yet all the while, I have experienced a
strange journey, a trek that I cannot begin to comprehend.
Copyright © 1998 by Lance Trottier
Who the Hell Does He Think He Is? LJT ‘o7
He is delving deeper and deeper into the recesses of my mind,
into areas in which no other being belongs, that realm which I claim
as my own... He is exploring my most private sensations, emotions,
and thoughts... He is dissecting the state of my mind, maddeningly,
painstakingly tearing into my own psyche...
At times he is nodding as if in approval of what he has heard or
seen... or is he simply acknowledging? Now, he is shaking his
head, indicative of utter disgust... He pens feverishly, as if in his own
madness, pausing only to dip his quill into that well of blackened
blood, scrawling my thoughts, my dreams, my very fears in a
language only he can decipher...
I try to throw him a curve, a false innuendo... Each time I try to do
so, he stops his chicken-scratching and peers at me over his
bespeckled magnifying-glass eyes, burning a hole into my soul... I
cannot deceive him... He foils my every attempt...
The incessant scritching and scratching of his ink pen upon that
infernal tablet of his is burrowing its way deep into my mind,
causing interference with my own thoughts... Ha! Maybe that will
screw his inquisition [his demeaning imposition] into the depths of
my being all to hell! Ha! I say again! Yet, he continues as if he does
not notice what pains it is causing me...
Damn this man! Who does he perceive himself to be? How dare
he appoint himself judge of one’s own inner core, my inner core?
Copyright ©2007 Lance Trottier All rights reserved
He is delving deeper and deeper into the recesses of my mind,
into areas in which no other being belongs, that realm which I claim
as my own... He is exploring my most private sensations, emotions,
and thoughts... He is dissecting the state of my mind, maddeningly,
painstakingly tearing into my own psyche...
At times he is nodding as if in approval of what he has heard or
seen... or is he simply acknowledging? Now, he is shaking his
head, indicative of utter disgust... He pens feverishly, as if in his own
madness, pausing only to dip his quill into that well of blackened
blood, scrawling my thoughts, my dreams, my very fears in a
language only he can decipher...
I try to throw him a curve, a false innuendo... Each time I try to do
so, he stops his chicken-scratching and peers at me over his
bespeckled magnifying-glass eyes, burning a hole into my soul... I
cannot deceive him... He foils my every attempt...
The incessant scritching and scratching of his ink pen upon that
infernal tablet of his is burrowing its way deep into my mind,
causing interference with my own thoughts... Ha! Maybe that will
screw his inquisition [his demeaning imposition] into the depths of
my being all to hell! Ha! I say again! Yet, he continues as if he does
not notice what pains it is causing me...
Damn this man! Who does he perceive himself to be? How dare
he appoint himself judge of one’s own inner core, my inner core?
Copyright ©2007 Lance Trottier All rights reserved
Final Journey LJT '99
I am being led away, shackles and chains clanging noisily as I walk, my steps spanning only a
foot, or so, due to this jewelry that I am forced to wear. They are quite cumbersome, their weight,
a ton. It seems I have been trudging for endless miles, for hours on end, time having slowed to a
mere crawl.
I keep my eyes closed tightly, as I do not care to see my surroundings, nor my destination.
My escorts, one to each side, several ahead and behind, just how many, I am unsure. These
two at my sides are leading me, holding me roughly, steering me by my arms, pulling me this
way and that at each turn in our route. They say not a word to me, though I hear those behind
talking, unable to understand their words, laughing, joking as if this were just another day for
them. Their voices, their laughter, our footfalls, and my own heartbeat echo in my head,
pounding away as a headache. They do not seem to understand, nor care, that this is not just
another day for me. There is no joke, no laughter, no simple conversation on this day.
For on this very day, I have been charged, stood trial before judge and jury, my so-called peers,
and found guilty of sins I did not, could not, have committed. They do not see the error they have
made. Only I know of my innocence in the crimes for which I have been convicted, though
incomplete in other areas, as I can hold no claim to being perfect.
I am certain that the individual that has made these allegations and those that have believed
and acted on them are destined to question their accusations, their determinations, and their
actions from time to time throughout the remainder of their existence, some with it weighing
heavily, a cross they must bear, a sentence and hell in its own right. I do not feel anger, nor hate
toward them.
I, on the other hand, go to my fate; though afraid, I am clear of mind, and of conscience. My hell
in this life is soon to be over, ended abruptly. I will stand before the one true judge, whom I am
confident knows of my innocence, and who will exonerate me for those sins I am truly not guilty
of, and will forgive me those that I am.
Copyright ©1999 Lance Trottier All rights reserved
I am being led away, shackles and chains clanging noisily as I walk, my steps spanning only a
foot, or so, due to this jewelry that I am forced to wear. They are quite cumbersome, their weight,
a ton. It seems I have been trudging for endless miles, for hours on end, time having slowed to a
mere crawl.
I keep my eyes closed tightly, as I do not care to see my surroundings, nor my destination.
My escorts, one to each side, several ahead and behind, just how many, I am unsure. These
two at my sides are leading me, holding me roughly, steering me by my arms, pulling me this
way and that at each turn in our route. They say not a word to me, though I hear those behind
talking, unable to understand their words, laughing, joking as if this were just another day for
them. Their voices, their laughter, our footfalls, and my own heartbeat echo in my head,
pounding away as a headache. They do not seem to understand, nor care, that this is not just
another day for me. There is no joke, no laughter, no simple conversation on this day.
For on this very day, I have been charged, stood trial before judge and jury, my so-called peers,
and found guilty of sins I did not, could not, have committed. They do not see the error they have
made. Only I know of my innocence in the crimes for which I have been convicted, though
incomplete in other areas, as I can hold no claim to being perfect.
I am certain that the individual that has made these allegations and those that have believed
and acted on them are destined to question their accusations, their determinations, and their
actions from time to time throughout the remainder of their existence, some with it weighing
heavily, a cross they must bear, a sentence and hell in its own right. I do not feel anger, nor hate
toward them.
I, on the other hand, go to my fate; though afraid, I am clear of mind, and of conscience. My hell
in this life is soon to be over, ended abruptly. I will stand before the one true judge, whom I am
confident knows of my innocence, and who will exonerate me for those sins I am truly not guilty
of, and will forgive me those that I am.
Copyright ©1999 Lance Trottier All rights reserved
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