Savouring words was a joy to him. Illiterate for many years; he learnt to read and write late in life. His appreciation grew from prose to poetry to haiku. Others laughed that he swallowed a dictionary. He did not understand the derision. Loving words, enabling communication beyond speech seemed to him a peerless gift.
Then he discovered etymology. Suddenly connections between ancient languages and modern English brought a deepening joy and fruitful satisfaction beyond any other pursuit he followed. When some spoke he understood unusual words and could name the orinating language;
Jayne was glad to escape the chemical smell of the dentists surgery. She held her little brothers hand tight as he continued to sob. He hated it more. Their father strode in front, an unusual occurence. Mum hadn't been able to get the time off work so dad had been forced to take the time of drinking and take them.
Now, as mum had promised, they made their way to the Albion Cinema to see bambi. Jaynes stomach was knotted in sheer excitement and little David soon ceased his whining as they neared the entrance.
But soon Dad was arguing...
I stare at the row of perfect houses resting on the perfectly manicured lawns beneath a perfectly blue sky by perfectly green trees. I am surrounded by perfection, but I have not been given it.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this.
I bend down to the ground. There is a ball lying there, perfectly out of place. I pick it up. My son could've played with this ball. He would have been good at sports, I'm certain. Slowly I curl my fingers around it, and feel the perfectly creased leather, shiny with memories of sunny afternoons and perfect throws...
The earthy smell of autumn leaves surrounded me and stimulated my senses. The crisp crunch of leaves was projected through the isolated valley as I gaped ahead at the distant disturbance. Harsh rustling and twigs snapping told me that this wasn't wind. This was a predator. My heart raced, its beats rapid and echoing through me. I tried to run but my legs were plastered to the ground, heavy as cement. And then I saw it.
It's not easy being funny.
People expect things of you. They come to you down in the mouth, looking for a laugh. Most of the time you can oblige them, but it's hard creating something from nothing. I'm not a music box that you can wind up and expect to hear a tune. At least say "please."
I guess it comes from watching too much television. Sitcoms really mold a kid who spends half his day on the couch. That, and a willingness to tell the truth to people's faces.
Anyway, it's easy to ask for a laugh. It's just...
The year was 1986. The date, 17th of February. It was cold out. A thin blanket of snow covered the ground and the sky was tonged with light grey.
It's true what they say, you forget the pain the instant it's over. As I lay, in an exhausted daze, holding you in my arms for the first time, the twenty eight hours of agony I'd just endured couldn't have been further from my mind.
You had a shock of dark hair, I still wonder at where that came from. Me and your daddy were both fair. Your tiny little hands...
Dear Mom,
Do you remember this picture? I do. I remember a lot about those days, when we were a family. Yesterday, I recreated this exact image with my daughter. Tess turned five on Tuesday. She's so excited to start school next month. I'm only scared that other kids will ask her about her family. I don't want to tell her that most of her family didn't want her. I don't want to tell her that Grandma and Grandpa wanted her to disappear.
I have no idea if this letter will make you love my daughter but I want you...
He led me to the spot and I gasped. "Alex...did you seriously build this?"
"For us." He took my hand and I blushed softly. "You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted this to be special."
"What?"I looked into the eyes of my long-time boyfriend as he got down on one knee. "Claire...will you marry me?"
My hand that wasn't holding his covered my mouth as I felt my cheeks grow hot and my heart beat faster. "Y-yes...yes!"
He stood up again and slipped a small ring onto my hand before kissing me softly. "I love you."
"I love you...
For some reason, Zombies love wedding veils. Maybe it's a snare mechanism, much like how Venus flytraps look beautiful on the outside before they devour their prey. Or maybe it's some attachment to the things that matter in life, that is, in non-Zombie life. In any case, this one had fooled that part of Ricky that had been longing for companionship of any sort. He had been holed away with canned beans, month-old cooked rice, and a shotgun for far too long not to feel the pangs of desire as she approached him from the woods.
Big mistake.
She lurched...