There was only a sliver of space between the floorboards and the door under the stairs. It wasn't even really a door. To the naked eye, it appeared to only be another wall, another wasted space in the sprawling mansion. They crushed their faces to the hardwood floor, straining to see beyond the door, but they couldn't. It was just to thin.
"Let's pry it open," Jason said, pointing to one of the banister arms. It hung onto the rest of its siblings by a sliver of fragmented wood, conveniently shaped similar to a crowbar. "I'll even do it myself....
"Mary?" a middle aged, crows footed woman queried as she stepped over the threshold.
"Mistress…" the young maid gestured her in, both blushing. Somewhat flustered the farmer's wife surveyed the room.
"Tom!" she blushed on blushes. Something the old woman had not thought possible. Interest upon Interest. Clearly no Pythagorean shape would ever do this web justice.
"I haven't said naught, Po… I mean, Mistress." the plough boy blurted. He was good at blurting, the witch noticed. It was good he had found what he was good at, at such a young age.
"Meg, I need your help again…" the...
All Sam had wanted was a ride.
He's grown up in the Mid West, eaten his breakfast from cereal cartons plastered with the faces of lost children, so he knew the dangers. Still, it was raining. The weather was crap, and out of the falling rain the white ambulance had come like an angel of mercy. It's flashing lights were off; only the fog lights cut through the gloom, shining on him like a halo.
"Want a ride?" called the driver over the water's roar.
Indeed, he did. His goal, simply to get from point A to B in relative...
I will put my fingers together and pull the grass up from the roots. I will do it before my mother comes outside. If I don't she'll ask "what have you been doing out here all this time?" But if I do, I'll have something to show for myself. I'll give her the stalks of grass as if they are flowers. She may thank me, but she more likely will wonder why I bothered to dig up the good grass.
I will move away from home one day soon. I will plant a garden where I live. I will make...
He told me to sit here.
So I wait. Waiting for what? I don't know.
The suspense is killing me. Wait. No it's not. That Mountain Dew I drank is killing me...and all the other GMOs that I consume because my brain tells me I need them. That's not important right now...why am I rambling? I'm in the middle of nature, waiting for him. I should be calm and peaceful. Solitude does that to people. Most people. But not me. I can't sit still. And. Do. Nothing. Maybe that's why he told me to wait here?
He told me to...
He saw everything for the first time. Spread out before him, yes, the world was his oyster. He reached forth his hand, but unseen, as he should have known, was the wall. He could touch it, if he could just touch it. Everything he needed, the love, the comfort, the possessions, the knowledge.
The frustration didn't set in until later, but not much later. He took the time to soak it up, to breathe it in, to become accustomed to his surroundings. It was a relief. He would do things the way he remembered. He wouldn't be concerned.
There was...
She'd been a good wife. Comely and passionate, even through bearing 6 children (4 of whom survived) and I'd only strayed but once.
Of course she had known straight away, but had nodded; she wasn't perfect either. But while I loved her, and she me, we'd understood. No one can bear everything alone. And some loads were the cause of each other.
I'd known she had gazed upon others with a lusty eye. To be honest, I wasn't as philosophical as she; fierce jealous rage had filled me with hypocrisy. I learned a valuable lesson in self-delusion, but maybe not...
Portraits of this generation stand on the top of the grand piano, making it impossible to open the thing and get a good quality of sound out of it, not that anyone dare play in the sanctuary. Portraits of the previous generation hang on the wall in the family room. Portraits of the generation before that hang in the dining room, while portraits, just four of them, all that they had, hung in the living room, huge ovals of ancestry cluttering up what might have been a nice space. The house would have to be remodeled before another generation came,...
The record was broken. That was not a cliché or a euphemism, it really was completely and utterly broken. Snapped in two due to a bit too much rough and a lot of tumble. And it was all Johnny’s fault anyway. Our dad had told us not to touch the old LPs stacked neatly at the bottom of Mum’s bookshelf, but he just had to try it. Just had to see if he could work out the record player – the HiFi as Dad called it. He almost had it too, only he couldn’t find the play button, and when...
The time it will take is an enormous thought. Just to really accurately describe the amount of time it would take would in and of itself take a mind boggingly large amount of time. Big project. Big, big project. But if you start at one end and finish at what I assure you is the other end even though you can't see it now and likely won't for several months. If you bring enough soup and a change of underwear and mittens for the winter months then I can guarantee you and I mean rock solid guarantee you that at...