Death Uninvited

This is just some of the partially translated works of the Anuk. They are an extinct group of ancient peaceful peoples.

They sang this song slowly as their deceased passed slowly down river over the many falls to the great ocean "Tu-Anuk-Mea", meaning, the Great Loving God.

The song is slow and mournful and if heard and felt, would make the most hardened heart weep for their loss but rejoice with their faith that they would meet up again. The Anuk, believe that death has no bonds on the heart, love of their God, or their family.

This is a replica. All the orginal works are highly classified due to their prophetic statements and predictions

Time Passes

Why can I remember yesterday so clearly. The sun was shining early in the morning. The air was heavy with dew. I can remember the sounds of the birds chirping. I can remember it all. But I can’t understand why today the snow is high and the air is chilled. The sky is overcast and the sun is dim. What happened?

Today, my children came by for a visit. They’ve grown up so fast. The time between the first steps and their first dates is blurred. For a moment, I saw them as they were. I even lost for a moment, a memory. We talked and we laughed. They told me about their adventures. They said the winter has a way of sneaking up on you. I asked about Emily. That got a strange smile from Sandra. Emily was gone away for a time. I didn’t know that. I thought she would have sent a letter or something. She never missed one as far as I could remember.

They asked how I was doing. Of course I miss the house, those four walls that contained such laughter and tears. I wondered why we were not there but I remembered something and then it was gone. Emily’s daughter Sandra was older than I thought. She said she was in college now. When did that happen? Lunch was wonderful though.

There were many tables all around and I said it must be seniors discount day ‘cause there were so many of them! The kids and I sat and had a wonderfully presented meal. I commented on the poor slop that the table next to us had. It was some kind of gross meal and the poor person had their children helping them.


Wasn’t there supposed to be flowers out in the garden? I always loved the flowers in the garden at home. But then, it was the snow. I stared out into the garden. I missed the flowers. Maybe there were flowers under the snow. I asked if we could go home and they said that it was like a hotel for the night. Emily always brought some flowers for my room.

My children are wonderful. But sometimes, they get pushy and I let it go. Where is the sunshine and why can’t I see Emily? I told the desk clerk that, Emily may call and if she did, I wanted to talk her right away. There was something important I needed to talk to her about. Her husband, I never liked him very much. What was his name?

Emily’s daughter, what is her name? I never seem to be able to remember her name. She helped me into my chair. The snow was coming down fast now. I like the snow. It reminds me of things and of times. She said she brought flowers. And they were lovely flowers. I asked her who these other people were. Where they friends of hers? She smiled and told me yes. They were very good friends. They were my friends too, but I didn’t remember where we met. But, they seemed nice.

I asked where her mother was. Emily was always my favorite. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites but when you get to be my age, some things come and go. And I’m allowed to have favorites. I like the snow. The flowers smelled wonderful.

The wall had pictures hanging on them. One looked exactly like Uncle Charles. The nice young lady said it was and she listed off all the people’s names. They seemed familiar but I when I asked her who she was, she smiled and said a friend.

A nice young lady knocked and came into the room. She said that I had missed dessert and if I’d like I could have it now with, of course, my vitamin pills. I ate them, but the pills didn’t taste very good.

The lady said it was close to bed time now and that these people should head out soon as the snow was coming down harder. They all kissed me on the cheek. Sandra was the last to go and I said I miss her mother and she said she did too. She almost looked like she had tears in her eyes. Why was that?

I remembered a time when things were different. But, now that I’m older, I don’t remember as much as I used to. I like the spring. It brings back fond memories.

The Angels Are Weeping

I welcome you my friend. It has been a long time has it not been indeed? Oh, your look of confusion is understandable. You wonder what is true and what is not.

Look! Do you see there, on the horizon, the sun as it is setting? Look overhead, do you not see the twilight stars approaching?

You have questions. I understand. First let me tell you my friend, I have been around for quite some time. I was there when your Christ was slain. I am not one of your Gods. I am not one of the immortals. I too, one day will reach the setting sun. I too have seen the twilight stars gleaming through the clouds. But, for my purpose at this time, I have been sent to relay a message to you.

I once stood on the street as your country, became leaderless with the pull of a trigger.
I was there in the school when they came and killed and they hurt and they maimed.
I held the hands of many a soldier, who died in vain, in the mud, in the rain.
I watched the fires rage and the fury flourish with lust of hate reign upon the land.
The oceans and the seas have been crossed and the lands have been broken, and yet you have learned nothing.

The angels are weeping, and you mock them with your laughter and ridicule. The angels are weeping, and you deny and lie at every moment. The angels are weeping, and you celebrate in a carnival of your pride and glory.

What hope have you left? What love have you? You love yourself but only in your vanity, you destroy all that is beautiful. You hate the weak. You scourge the righteous. You condemn the innocent. What love have you but for yourself?

Does a child’s cry go unanswered in the night? Does your patriotism and democracy birth bigotry and slavery? Why, now my friend, in the setting sun and the twilight stars, have you not spoken? Why, now my friend do you offer up no defense?

Prepare yourself my friend. The angels are weeping, and they are waiting. The righteous that have fallen even before your savior, they have come into the glory and they know no darkness.

Prepare yourself my friend. The angels are weeping, and they are waiting. The innocent have fallen under sword and stone by your hand, and by your deed. They have found solitude and solace from persecution and hate.

Prepare yourself my friend. The sun is setting. The twilight of the stars approaches. The angels await. What forgiveness have your for your enemy? What love? Are you your own worst enemy?

This is the message I have been sent to tell you my friend. I am not your Christ. I am not your God. The sun has almost set. The stars brighten in the approaching night sky. The darkness looms, and you have a choice.

Broken Mirror

When the shadows of winter grow long, the heart yearns for rebirth and companionship. That feeling was filtering through the whole of Sonya as she trudged through the new fallen snow.

A deepening sense of trepidation filled her as she lifted each foot past the previous. The snow made sounds of crushing agony under each step. Yet that was the only sound her ears could hear. The night air was crisp and silent. The lights of the houses mostly remain dark and mostly uninterested in the life on the streets.

That’s what it is to be alone. A world free to explore but without a home or a hand to hold what hope has one have? Sonya’s youth never was. She grew up and understood a world she was not supposed to. Her mother was the bottle teaching her how to slumber in the sun and her father was the pill who taught her how to become someone she wasn’t.

The house wasn’t a home. Her home was the streets. The streets were part friend part enemy but you could always depend on them for their moods rarely changed and never failed you. A friend was someone you knew for a time. And time was often too short.

You never trusted. Luxuries were few and far in between with hope not even existing. God had stopped listening to her but when she couldn’t remember. Days lay unnumbered behind her and the future was as far as the next corner, next car, next guy. One never risked more than that.

At 13 she was too experienced to know. At 15 she was a woman she didn’t know. At 17, she was mother of one. One she knew she couldn’t share her life with. The mother bottle, father pill make for parents that Sonya wouldn’t offer.

So, with a prayer to anyone who would listen, she laid the tightly wrapped girl with the remains of her only blanket. And with the only name she liked, Sara, she left her at the doors of the emergency room at 4:30 in the morning. With Sara she left her only childhood possession, a small doll, barely recognizable, but it was all she had. With that, she left a note. She had no time or words to say what she meant. All it said, “You are a child of God, and I leave you in his hands. Sonya Grace.”

That was over a decade ago. When you’re in a pit, the walls too steep to climb out, and the light dim at the best, you cannot last for long regardless of your will. Sonya turned to her mother, and Sonya talked with her father. They lied and they cheated her of life. You could always trust them for that.

One day, when the snow was falling quietly late in the evening, Sonya stared at the worn paper taped securely on the pole. The streetlights amber light lighting her, the paper and the snow. The words written in crayon and the picture overexposed but unmistakable.
“Have you seen my mommy, Sonya Grace?”, with a picture of a little girl with shoulder length blonde curls in a red dress with white frills holding with both hands to her chest a small doll, barely recognizable.

With her last bit of change Sonya couldn’t understand why she would, but she dialled the number. In the remains of the broken mirror, in the only restroom that didn’t care who she was, she cleaned herself as best she could. Tears flowed without understanding down her cheeks. She cried even harder as she looked with embarrassment at her attire. Determined to fail and wither into the darkness she left and yet found herself walking down an unfamiliar street.

The lights of the houses remain mostly dark and mostly uninterested in the life on the streets or the woman walking step by step with trepidation. A door opened shining a warm light onto the streets. A little girl with blonde curls rushes out to the sidewalk and stands smiling. With one hand she holds a doll barely recognizable and with the other she holds her mothers hand. Sonya is not alone.

Closing Time

Beer stains and years of foot treads marked the floors and the tables and the chairs of the "Traveler's" bar. The piano man plays "The Piano man" while the crowd slowly gathers in.

Karen, the wife of many and now of none stood at the bar in her usual skin tight dress. Desperate that in the gloom it will hide the marks of the years and the less happier times. Karen sings across her drink and raises her glass when the piano man played "Fairytale of New York". Memories have a way of killing you and tonight Karen was not alone anymore, for this drink was her last drink, for tomorrow she would be gone.

John slowly danced with his daughter Ashton. He smiled and tears welled in his eyes as they twirled and whirled slowly through the space of the dance floor. Ashton was leaving him for another. Though happy he was, sadness was the greater and harder not to feel. The piano man played "I'm Already There" and sang while John stared into his daughters eyes knowing tomorrow would come but tomorrow she would be gone.

Katie and Collin had been working their bar for nearly 30 years. For years they worked together, for years they loved together, and for years they listened as the piano man played. Time after time they served every drink that was asked. Time and time again, they cleared and they poured, and they listened as the piano man played. He played, "Putting on the Ritz" for a lark, and "Keep your hands to yourself" for their anniversary. Age and time had caught up with them, but tonight they lived for each other for tomorrow they would be gone.

Marty, sat in silence every night and stared into his glass. Every hard working day he ended up spent. Every drop of blood, sweat, and tear had dried him of glory and of hope. Marty could fake a smile and laugh as good as any broken wife. Here was the only place that was honest. Here the piano man would play and bare his soul for free. The time ran long and so did the songs and the gin wiped away any fear, while the whiskey whipped away the years. The piano man played "American Pie" as he nodded in understanding, for tomorrow Marty would be gone.

The hours have grown late, and the piano man plays, "Sweet Caroline", and the whole crowd gathers and sings and cheers. The piano man sings melodies and harmonies. He plays with all of his heart and of all of his soul. The piano man plays, "Walking in Memphis" and the stains and the worries of the world are gone. The piano man plays, "Isn't she lovely" and they dance. The drinks are flowing. The clocks are broken. The world is over. Yet, one by one the travelers move on.

Marty works at 7 and John has to give his heart away. And the piano man plays. Karen leaves alone as she wants it to be. And piano man plays. Katie and Collin dance their last dance and leave their bar as it is. It is just the piano man. He lights his last cigarette, drinks the last of his last drink. Then he plays, "The Piano man", for tomorrow he will be gone. As he taps the last piano key, he moves over to stand at the door, flips the sign and walks out whistling.

A young couple appear and look at the sign and then at the piano man. He points to the sign, "Sorry we're closed" and under it it says, "Here today, for tomorrow we are gone."