to My son before I die
Take me from this bed, your knuckled curtained hands the fear the dread, for I have none of that. Throw away the flowers, for I am not yet dead.
Take me out to lie again on the Earth
if there is any left
and let me paw the Earth like the Animal I am
here I lie, and She is warming to me.
Tears dripped down her cheeks. She was alone. Finally, sadly, happily alone.
Her husband was searching for her. She prayed that he would not find her. She had managed to escape her home while he searched for weapons to use against her. When he stomped towards the kitchen, dripping angry sweat and hurling abuse, she thought of the knives.
She didn't remember how she got between her home and the doorway. All she knew was that she was safe, for the time being.
Where next? She had no family. Her friends were his friends or the wives of his friends....
The conversation lasted only two words, for the rest there was no need to speak, her reprochful glance told the rest of the story. My apologetic eyes. Her anger and humiliation.
Two words:
"I can't"
It had started six months ago at work, She was beautiful in an understated way. Graceful and classy, and increadably sexy.
It started with the eyes, the longing glances, long before any words were spoken. It ended here, in this hotel room.
After months of planning, trying to get a weekend away, the same time off work without arousing suspision, from either of our spouses....
My tiny, paper-thin dream floating on the darkness of my memories. That's all I could feel, all I could see, all I could hear, day in, day out. Taunting me. Tempting me.
If only I did. If only I didn't. I could be Somebody if I weren't so frightened of being Somebody.
Trapped in this limbo is a game for no man. The future is lovely and bright. It exposes me for what I am. The past is dream and lingering. It holds onto me with every tiny hook it owns, each day adding a new one.
To be free....
The idea is to create a false memory. Get a pretty model, blur the edges, overexpose the film. You can also create that overexposure effect digitally. Have her smiling, playing. Give her something that evokes childhood. Red balloon. No, we don't want to be cliche. Green balloon. And make sure there's an overriding color scheme. Green. We don't see a background - nothing but light on the horizon. This is memory, and memory is supposed to consist of overreliance on symbols, strong images, single focal points. That was the summer when...
We hire the model. She's angry and unhappy the...
They were the best of friends, but the worst of enemies. My husband and his brother would become like tigers fighting for turf or for female companionship. And they would never stop. I liked it when we first met because, of course, my husband, then my roommate's friend, fought for the right to sit beside me at the dinner table, to talk to me, and would find all sorts of ways to stop his brother from any contact.
He didn't have to do that. I didn't like his brother much. They looked exactly alike, although there were 10 months between...
The Bronx Zoo in my mind was empty. Maybe the gazelles were milling around Yankee Stadium, waiting for Catfish Hunter. The green grass of memory, my synapses folding in the sweeping July breeze, beheld the sweet roots of my birthday candles, climbing the kitchen air like lithesome monkeys, nimble as the imagination.
The elephant dragged its feet. Reen felt a little sorry for the great beast, obviously ready for a big meal and a nice nap after having carted the two of them around for the day. She hadn't raised a fuss at being led in circles for a half hour--but that was the last time he depended on Kai's sense of direction--and she did several neat tricks with her trunk on command regardless of the repetition--peanuts seemed to keep her happy then. But now the homestretch seemed just as long for her as it for them. The archduke pat at her...
It always did this. Time after time and time after time. Well, it was time. That was problem really. Dr Karz Flembold took his hand out of his pocket and poked it out of the temporal bubble; he saw a second immediately tick past on the clock face of his Casio.
He whipped his hand back in, feeling the sting of the present like a burn on the skin of his fingers. The watch immediately froze again. 15:04:21. It always was. But yet, he knew, time was still there. He had seen the world around him crumble and fall away,...
In hindsight, the solution was obvious. I had gone through all the facts, interrogated every suspect, and analyzed all possible theories and evidence. I had them all assembled in the den of the immense estate. Lady Distala was a nervous wreck, nibbling her lovely filed nails and shivering slightly, though the room was warm. "I am aware that all of you know that a crime has been committed in this very home, a mere few hours past. Mr. Edward Leston was found murdered in the back garden at around two o'clock. I have asked all my questions of you, and...