Sunday, July 19, 2015

The Last Post For The Blog Page

“Here, let me help you dear,” said Daisy, “You’re so pale. Lay down.”

I didn’t feel colorless but my world turned a nightmarish grayscale. Nothing remained of resolve, fight, gumption, or will. Lifting my casted leg to the bed with her one hand, Daisy (I hoped it was Daisy) helped me lay back while she still held the crystal on her finger.

“Migizi, seven days have passed since you left. Seven, it’s the number of completeness, of fullness. Seven sevens of years have taken place since you and Jay died, you of spirit, and him of body. It’s time,” said Daisy.

Suddenly and utterly exhausted, I fought to keep my eyes open while seeing Daisy’s extended right arm, finger pointing, coming at my face slowly. A spent, red, shotgun shell rested in the palm of her left hand.

“See ya soon honey,” Daisy said, “when you return that is.”

Pressing her finger tip against the center of my forehead, the itty-bitty grain of crystallized life embedded itself into grisly old skin. I fell asleep to the sound of Daisy’s angelic chanting and prepared to take flight.

We Meet Again
Opening my eyes, Daisy was gone, my cast was gone, and pain was gone. As if never injured, I walked to the front door and was greeted with cedar-generated fresh air. Instinctively, I raised and lowered outstretched arms a few times and they changed to wings of Eagle.

Behind me, the cuckoo bird popped out of its clock and said farewell with four cuckoos. 

Ironic, a nutty little wooden bird telling a big nutty bird goodbye,” I thought.

Four, it’s the earth and humankind’s number, the number representing reality, origins, direction. 

Fanning my wings a half dozen times, I transformed fully into my namesake, Migizi, and flew south- southeast. Afternoon’s sunlight glistened on the leading edges of my beating wings and danced men’s traditional in my peripheral vision.

It seemed that each flap of my wings carried me fifty miles, and in minutes, I flew across the straights of Mackinaw. Looking down at the mocked-up fort there, I smiled at the thought of the Ojibwe still existing after so many efforts to end them.

No thoughts of Big Nob or hell ever came to mind. I was purposed, intent, and questing for something awaiting me. 

“Here, I’m here Migizi,” a boyish voice said from far away.

Looking down, I saw a native boy standing by a  train bridge and soared down to him. As I landed on the ground before him I changed back to a man.

“Hi, Migizi, we meet again,” said Jay. “Your clothes look pretty funny.”

I was still in hospital pajama bottoms, footies, and stinky v-neck tee shirt.

“Jay. Jay something or other,” I said. “You about got me killed kid, running in front of me like you did.”

“Still Water, my last name that is,” Jay said, “yah, and I also helped save you by calling for help on your phone so that makes us even on that one.”

“That one?” I asked, rubbing my forehead with my right hand. “You make it sound like we’ve shared other situations between us.”

“Yup, Migizi, and that’s why you are here, right?”

“Gosh kid, I don’t know exactly. If you only knew all the craziness I’ve been through in a week you might understand my confusion. That said, I think I’m having a very lucid dream that feels real as all get out. Anyhoo, I admit, I flew here thinking I needed to come to this place…. hey, I know this place.”

“Sure you do. You know me, too. But anyway, you aren’t dreaming. This is real, kinda.”

Jay, with a smiling smirk and twinkling eyes, contagiously produced the same expression in me.

“Okay kid, I mean, Jay Still Water, I’ve finally learned to go with this deal. You know what’s going on don’t you? So tell me, what’s next?”

“I’m your spirit guide and got stuff to show you, yah, like this bridge behind us. We used to come here and go fishin’ together. But heck, I’m getting ahead of things. Come on follow me, Migizi.”

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.


Depression coddled me as my seeing-eye walker assisted. Slow as I moved, my humiliated spirit dragged behind like a long banner of toilet paper clinging to a shoe sole. I was torn between feeling comforted by the familiar yet mournful mood, one shared by so many of my displaced ancestors, and wanting to lash out at helplessness.

Looking at the bed, I wanted to smash at it with the trusty and mobile saw horse known as a walker, in my case a hobbler. The prostrate mattress only added to the evidence mounting against me which confidently stated I was nothing more than a skin-wrapped burden.

How will poor Daisy sleep while I grump and grumble, moan, groan, and sigh all night?” I wondered.

The air, warm and stuffy from closed windows, suggested I lay on the covers. I wanted the ceiling fan on but was already sitting on the edge of the bed. As if reading my mind, I heard Daisy walking toward the bedroom. I thought it was Daisy.

From my side of the bed I could see part of the living room and the dresser mirror at the same time. His Favorite Gal’s image quickly passed the doorway. It sure looked like Gal only her hair was styled like Daisy’s. I held a breath in reserve just in case.

In my peripheral vision I saw the reflection of Clay in the mirror. Still holding my breath, I looked directly at it and focused hard until it morphed into me. Relieved, I exhaled a gush of sweaty air. At the same time, the sore beneath my tongue sizzled and hissed as if a cherry-red branding iron had been inserted.

“YeeOwie!” I shouted. 

Reviled, my tongue tried escaping and grabbed at the uvula for support. Failing, it settled back into place and the burning was gone. I felt a particle of something pinched against my gum. Cooperative, my tongue took action and rolled the tiny object upward where I managed to retrieve it with my finger and thumb. Jovee’s act of putting it in my mouth stayed hidden from me.

“What’s wrong?” asked Daisy, rushing into the room at the sound of my quirky siren.

Jerking free of dreariness I said, “Looky here babe. What the hell is this? I don’t have my reading glasses and you have good sight. Can you see what this is?” I asked, holding the tip of my finger up for her.

Daisy, looking intently at the glassy spec on my fingertip, changed her expression from puzzled to ecstatic. 

“By golly, she came through for us,” said Daisy.

“Who did what now?” I asked. “Anyway, that little bastard of a thing felt like it caught fire under my tongue then went out, or came out rather. Remember me pointing out the sore to Dr. Jumpy? That is what was causing it. So, who came through for who and what connection has that to this?”

 “Gimme!” said Daisy.

She took the grain of crystal from the pool of spit on my finger and a slimy thread fought to keep the treasure for itself. With it on her finger tip, Daisy held it high, gave four victory whoops, bowed her head and prayed.

Incredulous, I demanded, “Who are you?! 

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.

Thank You Reader!

Dear Reader and Blog Follower
The next two posts will be the last ones added to this blog and mark the break-off point in the story before the ending scenes, scenes that will only be available in a different format. I can hear you moaning. I would. Let me explain.

Though only a rough draft, I want to deter copyright violation of my work. Preferring safe over sorry and desiring to begin work on what is called an author platform, I’ve decided to offer the story’s ending to those who are willing to be included on an email list.

If you would like to read the rough-draft ending, please send your request to and include the email address you desire the file sent to. I will send you an email with attached file of the text. Your email address will be kept private.

Reading and following a rough-draft story in blog format is difficult to do. I took several risks in attempting it but I believe it was worth it. Without you, the project would be a bust. Your interest and support are immeasurably valuable to an upstart writer and author. Again, thank you for your interest.

Chi Megwetch! (Many Thanks!)

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Hell Bent

Coming toward me, Daisy, concern and sympathy sculpting her lovely face, stopped in the doorway and crossed her arms in a self hug rather than defensively. She respectfully remained silent and waited me out. Defiant tears, more from anger than grief, clawed at my cheeks in a tantrum while resisting their plummet to my chest.

“Pack us up Daisy. I’m going back down to hell and you’re takin’ me dammit. Gal needs us. Shit, it’s already been nearly two days since Clay died. And here I am, F-ed up to no end, near useless, and some friend I was when it mattered most.”

Forgetting the obedient walker still sitting beside my chair, I tried getting up. Pinned-up bones in my lower leg, armed with old styled Ojibweh knives of flint, stabbed at ganged–up muscles surrounding them. I fell back into my seat and pounded myself in the head with the fist of my right hand.

“Look at me! I’m a worthless blob of wrinkles, broken bones, and a wretched soul.”

Sweaty rain, making every effort to quench and sooth the heat of rage, poured from my scalp. Daisy dashed for the bathroom and came back with a wash cloth soaked with cold water.

“Don’t fight me Hon,” she said, handing me the rag and taking a step back. “I know you feel terrible right now but will you please settle down and think for a moment? You’re right; it has been over a day since the message. It’s already 3:45 in the afternoon and really, you know His favorite Gal. She wouldn’t hesitate to ask anything of us and yet she didn’t. Give her some credit. She’s a very strong woman.”

Holding the cool cloth to my forehead, I wished it would quell not only the physical heat of passion but that which continued intensifying within my spirit. I had been in a state of near-constant friction for a week. Perceived changes in my wife were doing the same and I addressed it.

“Daisy dear, I know what you’re saying, know you are right, and know I can’t possibly get down there in my condition. So, okay, I won’t fight you on that but…”

“But what? What are you going to fight me on instead?”

“Not fight, challenge is the better word. It was tough enough enduring continuously unpredictable behavior with Clay but no, then I get in a wreck I couldn’t avoid. I was out of my body not once but, a few times I believe, because my heart stopped. My memory and brain are a mess. Yet, I know this. You are not the Daisy I left when I went down to Clay’s.”

Getting a kitchen chair, Daisy returned and sat before me focused and tuned in.

“In what way? Be specific,” she said.

The request and command made my mind’s hands drop the few points of evidence they clutched. Rolling under a figurative cabinet, my argument went with them.

“Oh never mind.” I sponged sweat from behind my neck. “I’m shit out of luck in every which way. I’m going to bed and everyone and everything can go to hell while I do.”

Disappointed and self betrayed, I angrily heaved the wash rag toward the kitchen, struggled to my feet, and hobbled toward the bedroom. My subconscious tried to speak to me through the din of my loud thoughts and emotions. 

The message on the machine said May 31st. You were with Clay, still fishing, at the time the message was recorded. Someone’s messing with your mind man.

“What’s new?!” I asked.

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.

Unfit Farewell

 “Migizi, you listen up,” said Daisy, sternness in her voice and expression. “You can’t trust your thoughts or feelings right now. Remember, trauma? Granted, you’re a bit of a restless soul. Your name lends to this trait don’t you think? Like the Eagle, you are most at home in the air of thoughts, concepts, and the big picture of existence. It helps your writing in fact.”

She sighed hard at realizing her last statement and while trying to be supportive, it would likely chafe my conscience.

“Forget that last part for now,” she said. “You gave it a good shot with Clay, not an easy task, and I’m sure you took plenty of notes, mental if not digital or written.”

She was right about one thing. I wanted to soar away as an Eagle and keep going.

“I know you are doing your best to care for and about me dear, and I am not nice when I suffer. I love you, dearly as can be you know, so thank you for being here with and for me.”

Daisy saw an upcoming pothole and swerved to miss it only to hit a second one soon after. My boogered-up body reacted instantly.

“Ow, ow, and ow!” Shoodest priest, they haven’t brought out the road patch yet I see.”

“SOooory, Hon,” said Daisy. “I’m going three mph over the speed limit to get us home quickly. I guess I better slow it down so I can dodge road hazards better.”

“No, I want to get home sooner so keep it going. Turn the radio on please. I’m so out of touch with reality and the rest of planet. Some news and music will distract my thoughts for the rest of the trip.”

My wife obliged and the 2 hour trip home went by much better. We stopped briefly only once so Daisy could use the restroom and get me a drink loaded with electrolytes. Rolling down the two- track back into our house, a big Doe and twin fawns slowly moved to the side and watched us go by. It helped my mood immensely.

“There it is sweety, the sign of new life,” I said, “It gives me hope somehow.”

After pulling into our attached garage, Daisy turned the vehicle off and instructed me.

“Just wait here. I know it seems like a short distance to your recliner but when you’re hurting it will feel like a mile. I’m getting the spare walker I keep for my clients.”

“Yah, yah, okay then Daisy,” I said, sneering at myself in the side mirror.

I’d never needed a walker in my 64 years. A symbol of geezerdom, I wasn’t ready to embrace the thing. Spiteful tolerance would be a stretch perhaps but falling and risking further injury was not an option either.
It was indeed more grueling than anticipated. I made it as far as the bathroom and stopped there first. That went better than earlier in the day, and territory marking, accidental as it was, remained reserved for hospitals.

“Going to your chair or to the bed?” asked Daisy, watchfully assisting me from the toilet. “Please say bed and spare me the need to nag and bitch at you.”

“What, Sweety?” I asked, concerned about her tone. “When did you take to swearing? You said bitch.”

“I did not. I said snitch on you, as in tell the doctor when she inquires about your progress. Are you having auditory hallucinations on top of everything else?”

“Forget it, chair for now,” I stated curtly. 

I half fell into the not-so-easy chair and pulled the walker beside me. “Be good, stay.” I commanded. Daisy shook her head while going to the kitchen. I heard the answering machine beeping and felt my face flush hot. I was in no mood for any messages. My wife tapped the play button.

“Monday, May 31st, 9:30 am,” said a computerized voice. “Hellooo, Migizi and Migizi’s wife, just lettin’ yas know that my Wheel Boy is walkin’ on. Yah, he’s all done…”

With a click, one sounding much like that preceding a shotgun blast, the call and Clay’s life ended.

Eyes filling with vengeful tears, I shouted at myself, “Curses on you Migizi!”

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.