My hands and feet ache, but it was well worth it. We are nearly there, a couple more hours. Georgie is starving and I'm dehydrated. We have made it across the mountain and river, we feel safe but I spot something in the distance. Oh no, it's a fully grown male bear coming towards us to attack. We steer the other way begin to jog, slowly pacing, and then we run. I look behind myself and see him chasing after us. I swing Georgie on the back and he is crying. But suddenly we come to a steep edge. We...
There wasn't much more he could say. At this point they had been arguing for hours and it had slowly spiraled in to complete silence, neither one willing to say the first word, to break the ice (again) so to speak. Both facing away from the other, arms crossed. Defiance. Why is it that sometimes adults can act like children? Children are masters of the silent treatment. Then again, children are just that - children. It means so much more when it's your partner refusing to talk. And you not wanting to 'lose' by talking first. That's all it is...
I had never really considered how high your presence made me. It was just not one of the things that troubled me as I soared far above the clouds when I held your hand. What did it matter to me the distance from the ground that each of your kisses took me? It wasn't as if people as in love as I was ever had to worry about the consequences.
I wasn't shocked that we didn't work out. You never opened up to me, you liked being miserable, you had a girlfriend. I was naive, insecure and adored you. Of...
How did we meet? You really want that story again honey? Okay, then.
Well, it was ten years ago, your father was a student and I was visiting an old friend of mine. We were on our way out to a club to listen to this band...
No honey, I don't remember which band, because I never got to the gig. No, I don't know if they were any good... Look, do you want me to tell you this story or not?
Right, so we were walking to the bar where the band was supposed to play and to get...
Twist. Twist your t-shirt to ring out the blood and water. Shake. Shake your head again and again. It's over. It's gone now.
Your palm feels cold against your forehead, but the blood is hot. Hot and wet and it feels funny because there's no pain, only heat. And you can see but its not the same somehow, like when you look away from staring at the lightbulb and shapes dance around you.
I hear pounding. Like drums. Hammering a distant rhythm but wait... no. It's in my head. It really is. Blood. Pounding, marching through each stressed canal like...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead. My story has no happy ending, no prince, no knight in shining armour, none of those fairy tale fables. I lie there motionless, on the cold, dew covered ground. I look truly awful; the complete stillness of my chest makes me cringe. This is what I wanted, was it not? No. Not this way.
I leave my limp body there and find my way back to town. I need my mom, I need my dad, so I...
He was coming. Footsteps down the hall.
And, of course, he was alone. Nobody else inhabitated this old house - his wife had disappeared, a long time ago now. He can't blame her, it's impossible to blame her, after that - after their son (their son, their child, their baby) was born, she had retreated into herself.
Of course their son chased her, raged at her, destroyed her. Mothers hating their children is meant to be post-natal depression, but does that count if the child is goading her, forcing her to hate?
She has been gone for a while now....
It was the fall that surprised me the most. The fact that it took so long that I could actually be afraid of the action of falling. The wind was stinging my face and making my eyes water, I was screaming but the noise of the explosion had taken out my hearing. The people strapped in around me were mere shadows, forms with fuzzy outlines and indiscernible features, mouths open in silent noise.
I forced my head back round, my throat filling with bile as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet us, my fingers twisting in the belt around...
Blue open windows,
training wheels on the driveway,
Papa let me fly.
Afternoon bubbles,
wedding bells for fireflies,
the laughter echoes.
Saturday mornings,
the rain never goes away,
I'll always love you.
The Moon would never be the same again. Not after the Settlers came. See, we had claimed the Moon. Put our USA flag on it with our pretentious little stars. We thought that we'd always be revered as 'the people who claimed the Moon'. But that was before the Settlers came. They came like a swarm, hundreds upon hundreds of spacecraft. They had their big laser guns, and they trooped all over the Moon. And found nothing. No one lived on the Moon. But we were watching. Researchers looked on in wonder as the Settlers claimed the Moon. They set...