New excerpt: This story is about hope and the power of dreams. It is also the story of a family who feels that they have no desire to hope or dream as a result of some harsh realities. It is, in my opinion, a simple and brief tale, with a lot to say.

Somewhere Behind God's Back
by M.James Cooper

Crafted, purely out of moods. She had diamonds in her heart and thorns beneath her feet. Velvet skin, a deep plum-like color and teeth as fresh as goats milk. She was new. She was fine. She opened her eyes to the morning and fell in love with everything under its blanket. Forgetting to cover her mouth to yawn, when she did, specs of gold fluttered out and she thought nothing of it. A common occurrence, she wiped some spit and the remaining particles from her lips. Sitting up she watched the large birds, the spread span of their wings waking the dried leaves, feathers fell with every flap and the mouths, resembling flowers, opened to give sound for they too rejoiced in the gloriousness of dawn. Up from her resting place, she stood, leaving behind some of the velvet. Leaving it so she could go and greet the day.
Cursed. She decided, good things only happened when she dreamed of a home she'd never been to, of some sort of living death she might never go to. The girl was willing. The only effort put forth, the need to rest, the want to close her eyes and escape what was hard living. Wake up, said the already burning sun; creeping up from its hiding place to pull her out of her dreams. Diamonds, replaced by cold little pieces of ice, shocking her to the reality, frozen edges poking at her blooming chest, frightened and gave way to the blessing of a Good morning.               Already melting under the warm of the climbing sun, the cold water slid across her consciousness, I don't need it, dreams required heat nor water. Then the velvet was ripped from her: Woman standing over her, hands pulling what use to be the smooth cotton coverlet. Get up! Tidy dis room and wash yuh'self. Cold water, a harsh block of Lifebuoy soap, salt against teeth, scrubbing the white fresh, minus goats milk; hot sugar-less tea, two day old bake with butter, pulling comb, threatening to rip the scalp from her young tender head, the deep plum-like color, now covered in coconut oil would soon be dry and hard by days end, its richness replaced with gray. Off again, and out into a world she'd rather not be in. No sky-bound bird, just clucking fowl low to the ground, silly flightless thing, and a long dirt road leading somewhere, but she was behind God's back and away from paradise...