I sprawl out across my book-strewn bed. The window is shut tight, the words on the page are swimming, and the beat of the neighborhood "get together" pounds at my scull. "William Shakespeare is by far the world's most widely known and appreciated playwright..." The textbook sits next to me, seeming to take up my entire bedroom. I can't focus on anything with all this stupid music. I reach for the mug of cold coffee sitting on my bedside table and pound it back. I grimace at the cold bitterness as it slides down my tongue. The clock reads 3:17am....
"Dammit it's cold today." Bard pulled his hat further down over his forehead and huddled into his fur. "This shit just ain't worth it, Jake." The mule nudged his shoulder and tugged on the lead. He knew where warmth was, as well as his grain.
Man and beast drudged along the logging trail beneath the cold, thin light of the winter sun. Behind them clouds piled up over the horizon, snow dark and ominous. Bard could hear the wind starting, a distant rush of sound bending tree branches and pushing the storm closer.
"Two more miles and we're home," he...
Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. That is all she knows now.
"You'll become dizzy soon," he whispers in her ear. She smiles deliriously as he turns her around, spins her again. His hands, big and strong, fit around her waist perfectly.
"Spin," she tells him. "Spin." Again he twirls her. She is tiny in front of him. She smiles again.
The world has become a colorful blur around her. In this spinning she can forget everything. Maybe her past blurs behind her now, and all the lies blur into something deeper, into truth. Maybe this way everything can blur and blur till...
The general stood in the grand ballroom, waiting for everyone to clear out. Yes, the guests had a great time at the victory party; the rebels had been routed, and victory for his king had been ensured. But no one knew the price better than him. As the upper class cheered him, shook his hand, and touted him as the grandest of the grand, he mourned for those on the side of so-called evil. He knew many of them, if not personally, then through family. He hadn't grown up in this environment, but in that of the rebellion. Sure, his...
Our city used to have one psychic, an old blonde woman who read palms and tarot out of her ground floor apartment. Her name was Liza and she spoke with a rolling California speech, peppering every other sentence with "fer sures" and "gnarlies".
Since the housing crisis, the population of palmists has grown. There is a stretch of road on Congress Street where seven women ply their trade, each operating from their own storefront. They are the only profession that seems to be growing, buying up empty retail locations.
It's worth noting that the women are just mere footsteps from...
"That's it. You've gone and gotten us lost!"
"Now, I haven't done any such thing. I simply need to reorient myself." He adjusted his thick spectacles and scanned the wide expanse of the coast before him.
"We've been wandering around this city for three hours and haven't seen another living soul. Now, that'd be what I'd call lost, huh?" The second man slung one hand into his pockets and took a long drag on a cigarette with the other. He exhaled a stream of smoke, in his anger reminding the glasses man of a fire breathing dragon. He relaxed a...
She could feel the terror drenching and cloaking itself around her. Don't be afraid, it whispered. You've known for years, it whispered. But still she did not know what do to.
Her name was Emma Fairfax, and she was dying.
It approached, back bent and hooded cloak hiding its face. It was terrifying and calming all at once, a simple presence in a simple place.
She was afraid.
A single bony finger reached out from under the sleeve and cricked forward, beckoning her towards the form. "Come to me," it whispered.
And she did.
The disco ball was turning, just as it had the very first time I had walked in, ten months and five days ago.
Back then, I had only been a visitor, an anomaly in the lives of those who were gathered around me this night. Somewhere along the way, I had become a recurring cast member: life went on without me, but no one objected when I made my impromptu appearances.
Tonight would be the last night I could stay before my whole world changed. Because of that, I kept my eyes open, nostalgia clouding my vision more than the...
Inner core
Outer core
Mantle
Upper mantle
Crust
Susan.
Flora between her fingers,
Seeds between her toes.
Like Cinderella, I thought,
recalling an old "Wizard of Id" panel.
I stroll above the layers of the earth,
sing-songing under the tarp of heaven,
bulging with the weight of infinity.
Susan springs to her feet.
"Jesus Christ, a spider! Kill it!"
tangling her hair with
typewriter fingers.
I catch it on a leaf and
move it across the field.
I guess that makes me Mantle.
You can count me out. My arms are too sore to continue. It's almost dawn and how I long to lie with my love. This meager pittance of a nights work might afford a cup of coffee and bus fare. Hopefully the driver will allow me on tonight with the tools of my trade.
Such is life for a man of little talent. I read once that in order to be truly happy your name must match your occupation. Sort of like, George would be a Geologist. Or a Dennis is destined to become a Dentist. So what was Mom...