It was the fall that surprised me most. I watched as the sofa slid down the stairs of the women's dorm, I rushed down when it stopped at the landing, i lift the couch up and could see Amber, her neck was in the shape of an 'L.' She didn't move, she wasn't breathing, i looked up and could see her ghost standing over me, looking down at her body.
"Wha... what happened?" she asked.
"You fell, you...you're dead." i said, she started to panic, i tried to calm her.
"So, if i'm dead, how are you talking to me?"...
He lept from the pavement like a, well like something that's not supposed to exist. Sparks of light crackled in the place where his sneakers just were. How is this possible? Is what he should have been asking. He really was thinking, Awesome!
He never really followed all that magician stuff. Not one to dress up like a wizard to see a kids movie at midnight. In fact he can remember the last time he voluntarily read or watched a fairy story of any kind.
It was undeniable. Flight. And not a super-powered leap in spandex flight but one that...
she tracked him to the cafe. it wasn't right that her past was in his mind, and not her own. she watched his every move. when he sat down, she entered. she sat across from him, acting as if this was perfectly normal. "I need to aquire the information you're carrying. that information doesn't belong in your hands, anyhow." she said. "I don't know what you're talking about." he said simply, taking a sip of the dark liquid swirling in his glass. "I'm talking about my past. my parents, the journal, the apprentice, everything." she said, softer with every word....
I jumped.
Then I found mysef flying.
Yellow street lamps weaved below me.
They said that yellow represented caalm and the ability to fly signified that I was rising above my problems.
But what do they know?
Their 'experience' came from reading books. Mine came from real life, from living with the monsters in my head. Dark, shapeless freaks clawing at the psyche, dripping poison into every cell and stem, clawing relentlessly at my skull.
I tried to cut them out, I tried to drink them t sleep but they wouldn't stay quiet for long.
Therapy! What a joke. Seeing...
The sun this morning grows short thick shadows from the cobblestones. A sweaty head against the curb, red hatching at his temple, bleeds dark light onto the lane.
Did someone win last night?
No, the square is too clean.
But it's too late for so little noise.
Perhaps the town has emptied its contents into the universe, jettisoned the citizenry, the mutts and ferals, the tourists and the visitors.
Oh, the visitors.
Who were those visitors? Cheerless, I thought at first. But, no, I reconsidered, occupied.
I look back at the sweaty head, shake mine, and continue, hand in my...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. Of all the times for the bulb to burn out, it had to be right now? The noises were getting closer and closer to Sam's bed. Whatever they were, they weren't human.
Sure, it was most likely just the wind -- or something equally silly. All Sam needed was half a second of light to confirm that theory, and he'd sleep happily. But no, he couldn't have that. Instead all he had was his imagination to build horrific images for every creak and thud he'd heard all night.
The pistol was cocked... Ready to go. I didn't know what to do...
Should I shoot? Should I run? It was a question which required some thought. But I had no time to think.
I needed to think back to my college philosophy classes. Fight or flight. Talk or smoke.
So... I reached into my pocket slowly, all the while showing my pistol...
"Just let me show you my credentials"
hen I dropped my pistol. Then I ran.
The dream had been wonderful, yet it would never be real.
I am blind yet everything I experience at night is always in varying shades, or what I think are shades. I question if what I see is the same whites, blacks, red, yellow, orange, green etc and all the tones in between that everyone else can see.
I am lucky in a way that I know what to wear, I can sense the differences between shades, they have their individual feelings, sometimes I can even hear them like musical notes.
The dream last night was different in that there...
The day after tomorrow, this will all be over.
"You always say that," she whispers, as she tucks her feet up under herself and wraps her arms around her knees.
"One day it'll be true." He answers, heavy boots clunking on the wooden floorboards as he made his way over to the girl. "I got you something to eat." He handed her a sandwich and leant against the wall to watch her.
"How many days has it been?"
"It would be easier to tell you in weeks."
"Just let me go, please." They had discussed this many times, the talk...
I'm not sure how it will end between us. I am not sure about the middle. I can't even promise that I'll remember how it began.
But what I can promise is that in years to come, your friend or your girlfriend or your child will ask you to tell the story of us. and when they do, I can promise you that you will smile.
I won't matter how it ended or how it started. In that moment, you'll pause, and smile because you'll remember the bit that made it great in between.
"She was an optimist" You'll say....