stories sung in starstuff vol. 1

By Cody W Higgins

stories sung in starstuff vol. 1 is a collection of beautiful short stories about love, loss, adventure and learning through life's darker moments. With a poetic flair, Cody Higgins spins tales both challenging and innately human.The writing is carried by its creator's explosively original and deeply heartfelt narrative voice. A

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zen Mob Publishing
• Release date: Mar 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948848015

Cody W Higgins

Cody was born and lives in Mid-Michigan with his Devil and their gaggle of 3 children (combined). He has a Bachelors of Arts in Creative Writing from Saginaw Valley State University, as well as a Masters of Arts in English and Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. Cody is the founder of Zen Mob Publishing.

Book preview

stories sung in starstuff

vol. 1

Cody Higgins

Copyright Zen Mob Publishing, 2018

Tumbling

100 acres

learning to die

life imitates

Hero/s journey

ticket to see the queen

Hunter over 80

 the last of the cotton-tails

air: a speech on the imperfection of- -the human will

the old man in the sea

my dear Antichist

it/s like water

Monrovia

Flux Theorem

Tumbling

The dirt is cool underneath my paws. A sweet, no, a... honey smell soaks the air, like the sound of beezz buzzing into the particles. Probably because there's honey in the dirt. Sticky steps here, and there, and, well it drips you know? Rabbit says I should write about, er... talk about, Rabbit says I shouldn't talk about honey so much. But Rabbit's not a bear. And if he was, I shouldn't think he would be a Pooh Bear. Because that's me. He'd be a Rabbit Bear, I suppose. And all this supposing has made me hungry. Brushing sticky dirt off. I had tumbled out of my cozy bed this morning. The covers had slipped off and onto the floor. So naturally I did too. They couldn't cover much from down there. Unfortunately I do not slip, so much as, tumble and crash. The tree stump bed I had Gopher help make, let's see, that was... hmm, three yesterdays, and a Tuesday, morning-after-noon... 3 years ago, is high up and makes for a very loud crash when I tumble out of it.

Dirt brushed off and back with its family, I saunter over to the cupboard. Though it should really be called a honeyboard. Or more accurately a honeypotboard. It has never had any cups in it. It's old and blue, with more wood showing through worn and chipped paint than I'd like. But it was a honeypotboard that had seen life. That's worth the decay. The doors hang on it in a crooked smile, taunting to be opened. Duct taped X's in each corner hold it snugly against the dirt wall. Though I'm not sure how. Christopher Robin said it would work. And it does. Oh hello Christopher Robin. How are you today?

A picture of Christopher Robin hangs on the wall adjacent (Owl told me to add that word) to the honeypotboard. It's crooked. Even more so than the smiling honeypotboard doors. I like to say hello to him. And to Piglet below. Also crooked. Though not in the same degree as Christopher Robin... or the honeypotboard. Crooked all the same. Or maybe, it's the walls that are crooked. Being a round den it's hard to tell if they might be crooked. Doesn't bother me much though. I sort of like things being crooked.

Doors creek open as I reach in for a pot of honey, see, no cups, and then set it down on the table, just as worn, just as faded, just as alive as the honeypotboard. Though not so much blue as much as a... more, sort of red colour. And reach insi... oh bother... there's no honey in it at all. And that horribly delightful buzzing smell is in the air. And my tumbly is most certainly rumbling. I can't eat the dirt, that won't do.

I'll just pop into Rabbit's and see what he is thinking about for lunch. You won't... um... you wouldn't mind waiting here for me to come back, would you? I won't be long, and there's a small box at the foot of my bed with a chess set that Eeyore made. If you play against yourself, you can't lose. And so I'll be right back.

And Pooh Bear went out to see what Rabbit had going for lunch. The big oak door, though twice Bear's size, posed no problem for him as he casually opened it, and stepped into the world. He called his room, (which really was his whole home, he's a bear after all,) a space inside the universe. Pooh Bear left the door open. And it was hard to tell if he didn't bother, or remember, it being open. Either way he would be back soon, happy, and full, the door waiting open to welcome him home.

100 acres

The skies over head change colour as we twist the pieces together. Each falls into place behind the first, but wants to claim it's, it's somehow special, somehow its, own, thing. And sometime we notice, sometime we don't, but it's always there, changin'.

Reckon you wanna be my girlfriend?

The wind had rushed the words away into the colours of the sky as she danced into the trees ahead of him, doan you know how ta walk? Always saunterin' evryware, like ya some kind a animal.

I walk fine. Who taught you ta walk? Dancin' unicorns?

Unicorns don't dance.

How you know what unicorns do?

What?

Said how you know what unicorns do?

Before that. She stopped. Feet coulda been roots stuck deep in the ground. Feedin' into the earth's soul, or out of. Reckon we all was. Roots of the earth. She stopped and turned to look at me. Only me. Was a easy space ta be in. Felt like home.

What you mean?

You know what I mean. That kind a smile that ain' really a smile, but the whole damned world smilin' round lips, and cheeks.

Said... said reckon you wanna be my girlfriend? It's those spaces inbetween that count. Those spaces between those heavy moments where all the things settle down. Where we decide what it all meant, what it all means, mend wounds, and get back up on that horse. Like them midnight hours all those writing fools likes ta talk about. Cept wasn't no midnight hours. Was evry damn hour.

You sounded much more confident the first time.

He hated when she'd do that. Use words he didn't know. But wasn't that he didn't know em'. Was she knew he didn't know em', used em' any-damn-way, and acted like he'd know just fine. How you know how I sounded? Thought ya din'nt hear me?

Yes.

What?

Yes. I reckon I wanna be yer girlfriend.

And that was it. Simple as that. But, remember, those inbetween spaces, cause they both knew was so much more than just a simple space. Wan't never somthin' so simple. Well, simple, aye, but never just simple. Whole truth and nothin' but the truth. Thing was, tellin' the whole truth meant you had to learn how to lie real good. And they were young enough to lie and get away with it. We give that up as we age. As we decay through space. Leavin' bits and pieces of the things we once believed scattered along, like a path through our lives. As children we lie and create worlds. We live mini fantasies of unicorns and spaceships, pirates and princesses, and pirate princesses. As grown folks we lie and destroy worlds. Our lies seep through our skin, tearing bits free as we go, leaving pieces of the things we once were, like a path of our life. We tear off the unicorn's horn, so we can write messages to ourselves from the future in the blood.

The sun had started going down. Not quite that point, moments before it has fully fallen, disappeared as night takes over, but only moments before before. She smiled at it, thinkin' of how often she had to remind him that aye, the night ran the sun off with each falling darkness, but the sun would soon enough burn the darkness away with each morning. Was why they calls it good morning, she winked at him.

They headed through the trees. Into the clearing. And toward her house. Hurrying before full sun set. Both tired from attempting to keep track of a single bee in a swarm. Was hard work. And made her nervous. Being round all them bees of course. But he told her to stay calm. They wouldn't bother with her. And so she did. And so they didn't.

Reckon we really is made out a star stuff? All them science folks say everything made, is made out a star stuff, or, I mean everything is made a the same stuff, and they call it star stuff cause, it's like romantic or somethin' I guess.

Reckon we are star stuff.

How come?

What else would we be? Stars is the light in the darkness, aye? You look like a light in the dark to me.

He grimaced at her. Feeling the sky turn pink above them. Knowing she smirked as she looked up at it.

Goodbye's made quick as she reached her porch, and he turned ta run off home. Always did. She'd tease him bout it later. You always runnin' way from me.

No, I... I jus... It's jus... she knew what it was. Goodbye's was hardest for him. Had too many goodbye's which turned to forevers ta ever be comfortable with it. And she'd only smile that smile, one that told him it was hard for her too, but she learnt it in different ways.

At home he rushed up the stairs and scurried inta his room. Door closed hard, maybe it made a thump, maybe it din't. Was a different thump he heard though. Came in a triplet, near as planned.

Thump

thump thump

Is like yer callin' card, he said as his fluffy friend came saunterin' out from round the side of the bed.

Oh bother, it's such a, think think, fluffy hands tapping side of head, the thinkin' side, such a... delicate, procedure, getting down off that bed.

Oh Pooh Bear, the boy both sighed and exclaimed as he stepped in quickly and grabbed the bear up, she said YES Pooh, reckon she said YES and she's my girlfriend now! Bodies swirled in celebration.

What's, Pooh began, wasn't she yer girl friend before?

The boy set Pooh back down on the bed, and plopped down beside him, silly ol' bear, you gotta take the space out of it.

Well that makes a lot more sense. It didn't actually make any more sense to Pooh that way than the other way. As far as he was concerned, a girlfriend was a girl friend. But the boy was happy, so it didn't seem to much matter. I believe this calls for an, fumbling paws as he again tried to getting down off that bed,

Thump

thump thump, an cebreation, brushing his bear self off and collectin' his thoughts. Now where did I put... oh yes that's it.

Celebration Pooh.

Ce, cele, cebre... in any case it calls for honey. Pooh produced a jar of honey from a bottom drawer, the only drawer he could reach without havin' to do much climbing, which meant he didn't have to do much stretching, which meant he was a happy bear. And the two sat on the bed, the boy having lifted his fluffy friend back up once again, and they ate honey and discussed just what it meant to have a girlfriend.

The next day the boy lie in the grass out behind the house watchin' clouds hover in the sky between tree branches. The clouds were a fire pink, getting ready to burst inta flames, and he looked away for just long enough to miss it. For when he looked back they had changed to ash. A deep, dark blue, left behind as the sun continued to rise up higher into the sky, leaving only charred remains of the dreams they once pretended to be. Life can be that way, he thought, and then wondered at what dreams pretended to be. Maybe a dream pretends to be reality, he said aloud, to no one in particular, which was good, seeing as how there was no one around to listen in particular. There's never anyone around to listen, he murmured, when Ocean's busy, and when Pooh's sleeping. Bears do sleep so awfully a lot, especially when they're Pooh Bears, and especially when they are lazy from honey. And Pooh was both of these things most of the time. Maybe I aught go see what Ocean's doin' right now, the boy thought, quietly, blades of grass prickling up towards his ear as he listened to what his thoughts would say next.

It's hard, at times, to find the quiet enough spaces for us to hear our thoughts. Hear em' clear, clear enough to make a decision what's based on that and that alone. Hard to know one's self, when one can't even hear their thoughts over all the chatter of the world. Was constant, seemed, the chatter of the world. And it made him appreciate these quiet moments. When, if only the grass would quiet down, he could maybe make out just what it was he was supposed to do. But his thoughts were still busy with the dreams left over after the burning. He was excited to tell Ocean about it later, whenever later was. And he imagined how it'd go:

The cabin sat along the ridge of the cliff. It dropped in through the earth to other dimensions. A mile across to the other side, they called it the crack in the earth.

She giggled.

Oceannnn....

Ok ok go on.

They called it the crack in the earth. The cabin was one open room. And it felt that's all they'd ever need. Here, now, with the men on horses quickly approaching, it felt contained, safe, familiar, like they'd been in this same spot before. He could hear the hoofprints outside. She lie anxiously on the bed. Bullets slammed through the door. He dodged and fired back. Pooh Bear ran interference.

Wait! Pooh Bear is in the gunfight?

Well he wasn't in the dream but I told him about it and he insisted I put him in. He said, and I quote, 'please won't you let me be in it. I've never been in someone's dream, or a rumfight... silly ol' bear, but I couldn't say no.

Ok go on.

He fired back, but then, as though some great moment of self awareness, he realized he controlled everything. This was their world. He looked at her. And it was simple. She was everything. And with a gust in the wind, they, those bandits in case yer not following, were heaved into the crack in the earth, deep down into an existence we can't define. And then he kissed her and...

She raised an eyebrow, he kissed her?

Ok Pooh told me to add that part too.

Mmm hmm.

And then like that dreams are over and the boy's still laying there, in grass that won't quiet down, all by himself. I start to say, he began, to no one in particular, she's the words in my story, that honey bit that makes me alive, that burning fire in my eyes. But... aye, she's a lass of so much more. She's the page the words are written on. The glue of the pages, sweet.. like honey. She's the cover, the ink soaked in. She's the beating heart of the spine dancing against wood, the ship floating in the sea. My Ocean is the waves rocking the stories to sleep, only to toss them awake in the darkness of night, to say... Hi... with that look in her eyes. The sun and the moon glowing. She's the water in my ocean, the ground of my ocean floor. She's the quiet darkness of space that holds my world, my... me, my...

Ya evva...., he didn't tell her about the dream, or did but couldn't remember, cause something else was botherin’ him when he finally got outa that grassy spot and inta her company..., ya evva wake up in the middle a the night lookin’ for someone you know ain't there? Like a compulsion. Night so dark, for all intents and purposes nights dark as it gonn get once them last shadows is burned away, but, but... but they's they spaces you know that's darker than others. And before you'd know it you searchin’ round for someone ain't never even been there.

Ocean watched him as he talked. Listened too. She never did think it was any good use ta use just one sense on a thing, missed out that way, bits and pieces what fall through the cracks. What you mean? She drawled out enough, but not enough.

I don't know. Ain' nothin’ I spose.

Neptune, what you mean?

Just searchin's all, you know?

Searchin’ for anyone, or someone?

Don't mind I said nothin’ bout it.

Who you searchin’ for? She wouldn't drop his sight, knew he couldn't look way on his own, couldn't look on his own.

Not sure I, his gaze deep in hers, least when his eyes fell on her. Was like he was searchin’ even now. Maybe for somewhere to run. For a way through the meadow we plant every time a bit a honesty sneaks out, I... tears wellin’ up somewheres far behind little boy’s eyes, I feel so lonely all the time.

Right then, in that moment, he looked so grown up to her. Made him seem magical. A sad sort of magic that was tired, prolly from all that searchin’. Is alright my little tune, she smirked as a bit a that age washed away, he havin’ always hated when she'd call him little, I'll always be here to be lonely with you, her words continued into the breeze. Such a blustery day today Neptune... what you wanna do?

Stop searchin’, he finally mumbled out.

Tune...

It was him what smirked this time, let's go get Pooh Bear, he's always got good ideas on blustery days. And so they sauntered off, together, towards his house.

The wood of the stairs prickled her feet, as the wind howled beyond the windows, the walls. Always that, calling, knowing that there's little to nothing that keeps us separated from the danger beyond, that unknown constant. Comes on like a storm cloud, she thought, changes the story. I should pry git. She mumbled halfway up, banister held tight in her hand, I should pry git.

But we just got here. Pooh will, he could feel her tension but thought they could pretend it away, Pooh will have ideas for what we can do.

My dad's gonna be angry if I'm out in the storm.

We can play inside, plenty of things.

No. I gotta git. Her voice had changed. More serious. Less playful. Realer. Not in that sense of real. Real was how he felt, how she felt, beating of the worlds heart, stories and fairy-tales, but realer how they thought it aughta. I don't wanna pretend right now Neptune. I gotta go.

Always go runnin' cause a that piece of shit dad a yers.

Least he's my real dad, you don't even have a real dad.

Maybe not, but still treats me a damn sight better than yer own kin. The air hung. Coulda hung both of em if they only let it. Pooh Bear stood on the other side a the door, listenin' though not wantin' to. Sticky paws. Sticky heart breakin'.

There you go, pretendin' again. And she turned to head back down the stairs. She knew he was right. Wasn't mad at him for sayin'. Wasn't mad at all, cept for maybe at herself for turnin' round. But he didn't know. Was all just stories to him. Nobody can see anything bout this world that ain't in their eyes. Was a sad thing, the confines of our perspective, but maybe beautiful too. We are all only stories for those willing to listen. And stories only go so far. So she sauntered down the stairs, like Neptune, without even knowin’ it, like Pooh Bear, without even knowin’ it, and whispered under her breath, I love you Tune, I'm sorry, but he didn't hear, was too worried bout the sound of the door closin'.

Pooh Bear knew the rest of the story. He'd seen em playin it out all through history. Thinkin' about time like it's a straight line, but it ain't. It bursts out in every direction. So they been burstin' forever. He remembered once, when she was sittin' next to him waitin' for Neptune to get back from wherever he was, and she said, remember, Pooh Bear, that time you were too scared to hold my hand? He did remember, but wouldn't say.

Must have, Pooh carried on, had too much honey on my paws. He liked Ocean. She was sweet, not so much as honey but... he heard Neptune say she was once, and wondered if he'd risk the bees for her. Reckoned maybe he would, so maybe she was. But even so. And now he sat alone imaginin' the rest of the story, cause that's what we get left with so often, imaginin' the rest.

Neptune could hear Ocean's dad screamin' at her as he slipped in the front door. Words didn't matter. Always makin' her feel like it was her fault, like she done somethin' wrong just tryin' to be alive. This and that. Same old things they been sayin' all along, lookin' for reasons why the world don't love em, not being able to see it was cause they were rotten. Glass broke as he threw things against the wall. Smashin' that callin' darkness that lingered on the other side. Was like Medusa, only grew more, darker.

He didn't want to. But he swore he wouldn't let him hurt her again, no matter what she said. And as he inched closer he could see it in his eyes. Those cold dead eyes. Sad. Not bein' dead. Not that they was always dead. But that she thought they may have had some life in em at some point. Eyes like that, born dead. Hands raised, and the rest... well the rest gets a bit sticky.

The glass in Neptunes’ hands pierced his skin as he dragged it across the man's throat. He fell, limp, to the ground as Tune dropped blood. He can't hurt you any more Ocean. And that was that. It was simple. He was dead. For real dead. Not some metaphorical, he ain't never really lived dead, but a... vultures gonna pick his bones clean... dead.

Pooh imagined after. Neptune and Ocean both reaching up to their chests. An itchin'. A buzzin'. Fingers sunk in, to split open breast bone. Wings wakin' up. Till bees swarmed out. Then, in an instant, as though turned inside out and never been whole, they both burst into swarms a millions and billions a bees. Clusters, coulda filled all the darkness a space. And Pooh could remember Neptune tellin' Ocean to stay calm, they wouldn't bother her, searchin' for one bee in a swarm. And the two of them searched and searched, and searched some more, till they found each other, buzzin' round the swarm.

No tellin' how long that'll take, said Pooh Bear, maybe I'll find a little something to tide me over, just until my friends come back. And so he did, thump

thump thump,

rolling off the bed to find his honey jar. For honey made him feel better, least a little, when lonely, and Pooh Bears liked honey, and not feeling lonely, but so did bees, so.... so maybe this time it wouldn't take them so long to get back, smellin' that sweet smell, and findin' that one bee, inside a swarm. Oh Pooh Bear, he thought they'd say when they got back, where have you been?

I've been here, Pooh thought, I've been right here waiting.

Learning to die

'It started the same way as every story ever told, with a lad and a lassie.

And it ended in much the same fashion.' the Ghost in the grave

Shunt

She came on like a seizure. Hard to remember in the after, what happened. Same as the crash. Tires skidded but for wet roads, otherwise marks to prove, and slammed into a silent eternity torn apart and forced to scream. The fire illuminated the scene like a highway camping trip. And that's what caught me, the fire, always a catch.

Of course I didn't remember any of it. Took me a while to even mumble my own name when I woke up. Pry wouldn't have gotten that far if it weren't for the shadowy figure in the hospital room corner who was cautiously winking the answer my way. Maybe he was a family member. He drifted out into the hall while I was distracted with explanations of pain. And so I found myself in a space where I no longer lived life, but only heard about it in the storied analysis of experts who seemed to know even though they weren't there when I caught fire.

'Was anyone,' words spilled out of mouth like ash, 'anyone else hurt?' The word hurt stuck to the bloody bandages that covered nearly all of my head. Peeling away from me, as I'd quickly learn would be my norm from then on. It all peels away, life sticky, but not sticky enough, or just enough, depending on your intentions. And they stared at me. Difficult to tell, in this light, if it was because I was a monster pretending at life, or some other reason all together.

'Don't worry about that right now Cotton, all I want on your mind right now is recovery, is getting better.' She was a young woman, the lassie who spoke up. Everyone else looked as though their words had long long ago been peeled away. Was a fake sense of humanity that rolled out of their eyes and slammed onto the self cleaning floor. Important to have such things in parts of the world so accustomed to meeting hunks of burnt meat and skin. Often times the world recovers so much quicker than we like. Mourn for me, just a bit longer please. Never so easy. And would you want it any other way?

I imagined getting down on the floor, scooping up their burst apart humanity, mushing it back together in my hands, bits clinging to bandages, and handing it back to them from bended knees. But it was only a twisted imagination in the head of a burn victim who still couldn't quite grasp what had happened to him. There is no greater infection than jealousy. Come, drink of my blood, eat of my flesh, what's mine is also yours.

But no one wanted that much pain. I just hadn't realized how bad it was yet. Life a phantasmagoria of high powered pharmaceuticals. I'd see. I'd feel soon enough.

The kaleidoscope of doctors shuffled out of the room. Dragging coat tails. And I was again left in a certain low illumination of dim light reflected off dirty tiles. Wondered how much blood had been mopped up off this floor over the years. It was an old hospital. Could feel it in its heavy, labored breathing. I felt like the tile. Wondering how much blood had been mopped up off of me in the.. in the... actually I didn't know how long I was unconscious after the crash. Our bodies so very much more susceptible to the indifference of heavy steel and glass. Maybe it was days. Maybe it was months. Maybe it had been years. Like the hospital I had quietly endured the passage of time, the horror in that space, with not even a single memory to show for it. Wasn't sure if that sounded like a gift or a curse, pulled along through this life with no memories of the events and circumstances that created us. A question better answered when the morphine wears off. Sitting, or laying in the darkness, dim light having turned on for the night, the first of the last drips snaking down through plastic tube and into veins. First of the last. I smiled at the thought preemptively. Maybe. Hard to feel underneath all these bandages.

A mischievously delicate clanging caught my attention from beyond the curtain pulled halfway closed next to my bed. I reached up a trembling hand, trembling from lack of use, and pulled the curtain further back. Its rings clattered against the metal rod it hung from. Sounded familiar, but, as with most things now, I couldn't quite place why. And then it hit.

Eyes strained out of skull. Feeling like existence was going to burst the fabric of my pupils and splatter out onto the floor so used to having fluids splattered on its surface. Fingers clenched so tightly I was certain I'd hear the sickening snap of bones breaking. Jaw tightened to the point I could feel teeth being pushed back up into gums. My head started violently shaking back and forth so I couldn't see them well when they rushed in. 'Code,' something or other, 'CODE,' something or other. And like that I blipped back into a comfortable terrifying emptiness that felt a little too much like home. Remembering only her eyes, cause the rest had been covered in bandages, red seeping in spots and tainting its purity. 'It's time to wake up Cotton. It's time.'

'Hi.' The voice had something on me. Some advantage in its vibrations.

I simply turned my head in its direction as reply.

'First time?' The lingering made me want to speak. But I could only feel some dampness leak out and collect in the bandages around my eye. No words leaked. 'I've been in the hospital a lot. Never,' stories told in the pauses between other things we are doing, 'never quite this bad.'

It was the first time I was fully conscious of her, or even that she was a her. The bandages, they matched mine, like dolls manufactured for burn victims. Somehow deciding we connect with things that look like ourselves, no matter how monstrous. Is why Barbie was responsible for so many suicides, sad little girls with nothing to connect to as they play with pieces of plastic. 'What's. Your. Name?' And I felt welcomed back into the world.

'Salem.' Her voice was actually quite beautiful.

'Salem,' I gurgled out, 'I like that.'

'Not as good as Cotton.'

'That's what they say.'

'That Salem is not as good a name as Cotton?'

'No. That my name is Cotton.'

'You don't know your own name?'

'What happened to you?'

'I was in a car crash.' And the air thickened with a heaviness.

'Oh. Yeah, or no, um... No I don't know my name.' Street lights hummed outside the window. I didn't know it at the time but we were high, floor 33, which meant maybe the constant comfortable murmur of traffic on the other side of our little world was all just imagined in my head. Felt like a theme. Imagined in my head. But of course themes were reflective actors, not creation, and so I wouldn't pay it much mind.

Fear crept up in me that this beautiful sounding lass had been in the same car accident as me. Mangled, same but different, like me and that it would be revealed somewhere in the meat that it was my fault. I didn't know my name. Where I came from. Which stars I prayed to on long lonely nights, echoes from all of us like a kaleidoscope of hopes and dreams. But I knew the idea of having caused harm to her, to Salem, made me feel bad. Didn't know what that meant. Seemed to mean something. And I couldn't think about it much more, as I briefly coughed up blood, enough to not all be soaked up by bandages, right before eyes turned violent and jaw tensed to its breaking point. I can remember thinking, she came on like a seizure, as Code Something Or Other was announced overhead and my cold dear friend darkness hugged me and held me tight.

In the grand scheme of things, we are but a fleck of a thought in the