She stands at the precipice.

The dark blue of the ocean stretches out before her, so calm and deep.  The first whispers of the breaking dawn, in the far off horizon. Even the Baracelanra wind, usually brisk this early in the season of Karisnaan, is gentle.

Far off sounds, hidden in the early morning mists of the Asiv forest, loomed nearer.

She couldn’t decide which was worse.  The nightly terrors of the forest, of which she had never encountered before this waning night, the known dangers of the same untamed, dense forest in the daylight, or the far off sounds which she knew better than her own heartbeat.

She breaths deeply of the air, heavily scented of the marlesh blooms native to the nearby mountains.  Even in the near dark the presence of the Mount Lanig could be felt.

For centuries, her people attempt to cross over the near razor sharp edges of the mountain; many die in the attempt. For centuries, her people attempt to pass through the mountain; many die in the attempt. For centuries, her people attempt to till the land at the foot of the mountain; all flora and vegetation except the marlesh died in the attempt. Her people have learned that the Lanig will not be easily crossed over, passed through or tilled on.  Yet, the marlesh thrives.

She listens again to the sounds breaking the quiet of the dawn.  She has time yet to enjoy this view, and sits on the still dew damp grass of the precipice.  Her feet mere inches from the sheer drop to the ocean below.

She had been born on this precipice.  She had frightened her family to no end during her early youth, with her constant wandering to this place; at least until she grew older were certain she would not go over its steep edge.    Here in the Second Coming of her Etol N’gavet she still cannot fathom her attraction to this place.  Like the Lanig – it just is so.

The once far off terrors of sound are now fully upon her and she slowly rises to face its source.

No words are spoken between them.  The time for words had long since passed, when she tore through the horrors of the Asiv itself in her attempt to escape the inevitable.  The expressions exchanged between them however spoke volumes.



What choice have you?

She glanced at her surrounds.  The ocean, an unnaturally brilliant blue in the rising sun of this new day, is to the right of her.  The Lanig, to her left with it beautiful flowers and jagged edges, glinted in the sunlight. The Asiv behind her? She had barley survived her flight through as is trying to reach this precipice.  She knew she would not make it to the terrors of the forest this time, let alone through it again.  And finally, that which she could not escape, unabashedly enjoying this moment of triumph, waited patiently to claim her.

What choice did she have? The alternative was equally final and eternal as far as she was concerned.

Sighing deeply, resignedly, she feels her soul depart from her body as she takes the final step towards her fate…

And leaps…

She relishes in the screams of frustration coming from above her as she sails through the air to the rocks and ocean below, she couldn’t help but smile.

It was a beautiful place to be born, and a beautiful place to die.


The Daily Post
The Daily Post | Daily Prompt – Precipice


On her knees, she reflects on her days up to these moments of her life. Say what they may now – she has earned this. The slurs of her heritage were a weight heavily carried on her back.  The vitriol flung her way because of the lower caste into which she was born, a constant susurrus in the back of her mind, no more. The drive to disprove the mocking stereotypes subjected to her kind a crown of thorns that gave cold comfort. Some let the burden of them wear them down. Today she would show a different way to wear those labels – with pride.

She bows her head one last time, as the mantle of the choices that brought her here become a different kind of weight. Lifting her head, she rises from her knees before the vicar with grace, as he proclaims her to all. She begins her life anew with the only appellation that mattered now, Queen.

To what you answer
Will always outweigh the things
To what you are called


The Daily Post : Label
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt

dVerse ~ Poets Pub: Open Link Night #192

Photo Challenge #145: Just A Little Tighter

– Painful by Natalia Drepina

– Painful by Natalia Drepina

Holding onto hope
What it once felt like
I wrap it just a little tighter
But it’s a slippery rope
Trying to cope

With so many sins acquired
Every time I remember
I wrap it just a little tighter
Around the sorrows in which I’m mired
But my hands are getting tired

My soul the garrote
Sometimes untangling
I wrap it just a little tighter
Around my throat
In desire of Charon’s boat


Today at  MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge #145 we are prompted to use above image as inspiration for a poem or short story. This is what came to me.


Nine and seven years
You abandon us here
In this world
Mad with anguish

Skipped to the words
Take them
Spoken in hate
Go away and die
Because of him

The need to spite
Mattering more
Than to live for us
Your own daughters


A week before Mother’s Day. Trying to make sense of the senseless. She had been saying for months that if he kept pushing her she’d leave him permanently. We were all praying she would. None of us thought it would be like this. Leaving a note and two daughters.

From some of the comments below I see I need to clarify something. The above poem is from my muse, taking the view point of the two daughters. The pain feels real to you, because it is real to me. This past Monday night/Tuesday morning,  I lost a friend, the girls lost a mother to suicide.


dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 8: Skip


The Daily Post | Abandoned


Real Toads : The Tuesday Platform


Slice of Life Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers


WordPress recently reminded me that I have passed the five-year benchmark. Sometimes I think I feel every single day of it, but most times it still feels as though I’m just getting starting. It’s also March, time for renewal and re-awakenings as well. I figure it’s a good as time as any to participate in  the 8th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge which is to post everyday for the month of March. Along with other writing challenges of which I am a part of I think I can finally ace this thing. (I failed miserably my last couple of attempts at this.) It’s day five and so far so good – yay! And sometimes, when blogging, you have to take things easy and back to basics…

So let’s start with whyRaivenne-lations”?

The name is just me being cute, a portmanteau of Raivenne and revelations, from back when I thought this blog would be less about me revealing things in my life and more about how the things in life reveal themselves to me. It has instead morphed into something part semi-stream of conscious and part the abject randomness of my mind as I relate to things within my oh so small microcosm of this world-at-large.

And the tag line? “Doing what you like is freedom; liking what you do is happiness.” That is there to remind me that one -doing what I like- is just as important the other -liking what I do- and to constantly strive for a balance of both within my life.

See? No lofty goals here.

I post – some of you read, some of you comment, every now and then I strike a nerve or a smile, and hopefully all of you enjoy.  I, the Gods, and likely a handful or so of you must be crazy, to paraphrase the classic line. Thus, I am very appreciative of those of you who arrived, read and have chosen to follow along this ever winding trail with me.

Thank  you!


Also, see how others are slicing it up this month:


The Daily Post: Secret Santa

Today’s The Daily Post is a good one:

You get to choose one gift — no price restrictions — for any person you want. The caveat? You have to give it anonymously. What gift would you give, and to whom?

No price restrictions? For me, this prompt is such an easy one as I literally had this conversation with another friend just yesterday.

My best-friend lives in a one-hundred plus year old, five-story walk-up that is owned by her and her family. Its age has caught up with it and the building has been in some date of construction/renovation for the past three years or so. Every apartment unit in the building is in or needing some state of repair. Not to mention maintaining the building structure itself.  It’s all necessary work, but lack of funds and family like her 90-year-old mother still living in the building during it all it has been a really stressful few years for the entire family trying to get anything done piecemeal.

In an ideal magical world, everyone would move out en masse, she would gut the building, have it renovated bottom to top and then everyone could move back in to an issue free residence. The major problem being where would everyone live during it all. Without the magic of  one hell of a mega/power ball type lotto where she could afford to arrange temporary housing for all the tenants and the rebuild itself, the ideal magical world is never going to happen.

Essentially, the gift would be move-in ready, elevated apartment building. Every one in the current building would simply move in to the new one.  It has been a dream of mine to do exactly this for her if I ever hit that mega/power ball type lotto any way, so it is absolutely perfect. Yes, I know this benefits more than just her, but family is everything to her. The ability for her to be able to provide a stable, issue free building that she would not the daily worry of Oh God what now? for her and her family would be such a tremendous gift. Even though she would never know I had anything to do with it, the ability to remove that worry from her would mean so much to me.

The Daily Post: Secret Santa

Come see how others are slicing it up for the week at Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life – Two Writing Teachers


The Daily Post: Ready, Set, Done!

<trigger warnings – bodily fluids>

I am going mad.

A feeling not entirely out of the realm of possibility given the circumstances, truth be told. Surely if any place could inspire the fragmenting of one’s mind, this dark abyss would be so.  The ongoing series of low moans seeminly reverberate about the cramped space further emphasizing the horrendous state.

When was the last time we had fresh air? Saw sunshine?

Normally a gentle roll, the summer storm turned the normally gentle rocking of the ship into anything but a comforting lull. Several found their insides unceremoniously gushing out as a result of the lurching.  I tried not to think about it, but it was more near silent susurrus, a subliminal messaging of sorts to which I would not pay heed because this sin’t happening to me… This isn’t happening to me… This isn’t happening to me…This isn’t…

The man directly behind me starts speak when I feel hi body convulse and warm liquid strike my head and trails down my neck and back. I realize the first words were the beginnings of an apology he now completed, his stomach empty, butI ould not offer him the comforting words of understanding asthe stench and sheer repulsionstarts to overwhelm. Feeling itI reflectively try to back away from the warm body in front of me.  But like the man behind is bound to me and the stranger in front of me is chained to the man before him, I am just as shackled and cannot move when the ship lurches.

“I am sorry my brother”

And release…

Cross section of a slave ship 1828-1829.

Click for full size


Ready, Set, Done! is a ten-minute free-write where you tap away on whatever comes to mind, no filters attached. You are free to edit later, or do as I have and just publish as-is. I have NO idea where this came from. I typed the first sentence, kept going and this was the result. The image was found after the fact.

Weekly Prompt – Share Your World – Week 45

Over at Cee’s Photography I’ve discovered a weekly challenge to “Share Your World” via random questions. While photos are not required, I agree they do enhance things. Here are my responses:

What is your favorite color? 


Black. I know part of my love for the color is because of my aversion to all things pastel as a child. As a teen and adult, the appeal for me is the mystery attached to it. The color of darkness; the touch of badness; the hint of the illicit and the simple perversion of liking something girls are not supposed to like. I was Goth and Metal and Leather, a good decade before those terms existed in my lexicon. Back when it meant something rebel, mysterious, dark not to be the near casually tossed out adjectives as used today.

In what do you find the simplest of joys?


Bacon Mac and Cheese

Macaroni and cheese – with bacon!

 music-is-what-feelings-sound-likeMusic! Music! Music!

Food and music. A bowl of mac & cheese in general, but especially with bacon can bring out of just about any foul mood and put a smile on my face. It makes a good mood feel even better. In either case at least until the bowl is finished. * Big Grin *  Such simple ingredients at its base – yet so complex in how it just works. There is a reason it is high up in the list of Comfort Food for so many.

And as much as I am a logophile and bibliophile and appreciate the ability of words to reach and touch me to the core, music gets me there deeper and infinitely faster. I can hear the opening of certain songs and/or music pieces and feel my mood shifts on the first note of recognition. At least in my head I have to do the call backs of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” (bom-bom-bom <– see?! I just had to, had to include it!), and unless I am carrying a very heavy load, I still cannot resist the urge to drop everything in order to “air drum”, the drum solo in Phil Collins “In The Air Tonight”. I have clutched my heart and been brought to tears over a piece of music as book has ever done so – yet. I am not always eating, but there is always music -or easy access to it- around me.

Would you prefer a reading nook or an art, craft, photography studio?


Oh, the art studio hands down.  I can make a reading nook out of just about any where I choose to sit and read. I do not work on a lot of the art things I would like to simply because I do not have the space to pursue such within the limited confines off my apartment. I am pretty sure my landlord would very much object to a kiln for glass blowing or a pottery wheel in my living room, not to mention the mess acrylic and oil paints can make. I already know should I hit the big lottery; whatever home I build will have a studio nearby where I can work on any of my various artistic pursuits at will as well as a library.

What is at least one of your favorite quotes?


Everyone is born an original; sadly most die as copies.


Doing what you like is freedom; liking what you do is happiness.”

Bonus question:
What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

Last week was seeing the first New York Festival of Light and getting to spend some time with my eldest son in the process. The Festival was in its inaugural run and it was sweet being at the very first of something new. Years down the road from now, there’s going to be a certain cachet in being able to brag, I was at the first one. I took pictures, unfortunately not a single one with me and my son in them as proof we were there – d’oh! I am already looking forward to next year’s Festival – I know it will be even bigger and better! As for this week that is already more than halfway over, I am looking forward to the “Color Play” opening reception at La Maison d’Art in Harlem. Like the Festival I rarely get to many such events on their opening day, not to mention hardly attend any events in Harlem any more – to which hang my head in shame. That is a slight I plan to rectify starting with this exhibit.

Come Share Your World at Cee’s Photography.


DP Challenge| Something Good

It was weird sense of something in the air. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was certainly there. I knew to just go with it; it usually leads me to something good. And that something good walked out the door behind me not even two minutes later. Tall, lanky just enough body to look like he takes care of himself, but not so much that he looks like he lives in a gym. The cut of his pastel dress shirt and dark slacks told me he spent a decent penny for them. Yes, he waited before he followed me out, but I could see him relax on spotting me. That he followed me out of the club proved he liked what he saw.

Horny, just like me, just the way I like them. My inner devil thinks to myself.
You know you’re wrong. My inner angel wags the internal Mom finger at me.
What? I’m grown. The derisive snort is audible as the devil wins this round.

Something Good and I lock eyes as I smile shyly at him. That was all the opening he needed as he walks over.

It’s a shame sometimes, how easy it is.

The perfect mix of honey and harlot I lean against the dark tinted windows of a car at the curb, casually tapping my fingers against the glass as we converse. His voice is deep, rich. He’s charming, witty, a little self-effacing and an actual nice guy. In spite of it all I find myself liking him.

He really could be The Something Good you know

The damned inner angel, sensing a possible opening, tries to reassert itself, but I’m not having. The perfect mix of harlot and Honey, I outright tell Something Good that I should walk away, that I do not want this to be a one-time thing, heading for the inevitable. And being the type of man I am slowly perceiving him to be, he starts to back away. Still, I can’t seem to stop touching him, the back of his hand, his sleeve, his collar. I make a point of glancing between his eyes and gorgeous lips.

Look at me looking at your lips. Take the hint. Take it!

He pulls a card from his wallet, making me promise to call him. He puts the card in my hand and then quickly pins me to the car kissing me, kisses me like he means it. I cannot help but put my arms around him in response.


I watch him walk away, enjoying the callipygian view of his strong swagger, watching his shoulders tremble from laughing at my I pantomime of smoking a cigarette after the kiss.

What he don’t know

My eyes drop to the ground for the briefest moment before looking up again. Sure enough, he looks behind him one last time and grins, pantomiming call me before turning the corner. My hand gently strokes my cheek, the feel of his five o’clock shadow leaving a slight, but pleasant burn.

And he was such a good kisser too. Shame.

As soon as he is out of view, I tap the window once. The car engine comes alive and I quickly get in the passenger side, scooping up his pilfered wallet along the way.


My fourth lift of the night and by the quick scan of the multiple benjamins inside the wallet, also my best one.

Something Good indeed.


This week’s  Weekly Writing Challenge at The Daily Posts asks us to use a classic storytelling device, the unreliable narrator, in a story story or flash fiction.