The lamp wouldn't turn on. "Shit," Mel muttered. "Jerry!"
Of course, he wouldn't come. He was in the tiny bathroom, savoring the one amenity included in the rent, his head bowed under the shower's heavy, erratic spray.
Mel moved over to the dusty window. Rocking back and forth with Ollie on her hip, she pulled the curtain aside and grabbed at a cloth sitting on the sill. Not caring what it was, she wiped at the windows and tried to see out. Somehow they never seemed to stay clean. Mel was amazed at the amount of dust that always seemed...
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley. In 1924, he toppled the world's second fastest record in a marathon. In 1927, he won the nobel peace... Must I say anymore?
He is and will always be, the most interesting man in the world. Of course, you wouldn't believe me, would you? You couldn't possibly believe that I would have this sort of person in my recent family line, nor would you believe that it was so direct that he was my great grandfather.
I never did get to meet him, I do wish I had heard more stories...
"Mallard duck," she said, just before she placed the binoculars back down on the car hood. "No doubt about it."
This was the third time she had drug my out to this place to observe ducks. Or, in her words, to "administer some duck justice."
"Do we really need to be here this early in the morning," I asked. "I didn't sleep very well."
"This is when they're most active," she told me. "This is when they feed most, and that's when they pick on him."
"Him" was a duck with, so she said, a clipped wing of some sort....
He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. The pool house was quiet, Jessica had left an hour ago to explore the local town with Daniel in tow, and Mother was still outside cackling as his brother danced his best victory dance.
Where to hide? He knew that he couldn't get the furniture wet, his Mother was volatile at the best of time and damp upholstery was a sure fire way to ruin everyone's afternoon.
He walked through into the small conservatory he had helped his father build round back the summer before last, it...
"I'm a monster," said my son, dangling my old Nikon camera behind his back.
"I can see that," I said. "What's your special monster power?"
"Scary faces!" he said. "I can make a scary face that makes you make a scaredy face!"
I instantly put on a poker face. "I'd like to see you try."
He puckered his face for a few seconds, then went, "Graaahh," and screwed up his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
"Eeeeeeee!!" I cried, opening my eyes and mouth as wide as I could.
As smoothly as a three-year-old can, he pulled out the camera...
The wizened beast crawled across the savannah, dragging the old cart with dilapidated wheels. The grassland swayed, tickling his nostrils. He made his way to the coffee table after pulling his head out of the carpet.
"Daddy, you can't stand yet! You are supposed to be pulling my wagon!"
"Daddy needs his coffee, son." The man scratched his stubble and his backside, retaining the mannerisms of his cattle form. The child scampered around the couch, catching the beast at its watering hole.
"Alright, back on the trail. Where was I heading?"
"Oregon trail. You have dysentery."
"So to the toilet...
Misaki was never a big drinker. Her mother knew this, her father suspected it, and her friends weren't either, so they knew as well. But when Misaki took a sip of Erika's white wine, so cold and crisp and clean on that sticky summer day, something inside of her seemed to clamor for more. Before she knew it she was on her third glass, and everything seemed to be shimmering through a smudged lens. Her mother, giggling, and just as drunk herself, took the glass away from her and proceeded to tell her a long story about Misaki's grandfather and...
She had made her bed and she now had to lie in it: that was what her mother had told her and what she now believed. So she was lying in it, like a good little girl – meek and mild, silent and compliant: behaviour that had got her to where she was now – unhappy, stuck, unravelling. Because old habits die hard, you see, and it is difficult to change. How does one forget three decades of learned behaviour? How does one peel off and discard the labels people attach? They don’t, that’s how, because they can’t – not...
"Even in a finite universe, a rock doesn't keep being a rock. Things are always disintegrating and becoming other things." Our Tragic Universe, Scarlett Thomas
There was once a rock, a very old rock, a rock which had laid low for a very long time. It couldn't remember how long that long time actually was but somehow knew without needing to remember that that long time was long enough. It was a rock that took great pride in its appearance, habitually watering its neat lawn of grass, combing its thick coat of moss, trimming it at least once a week....
Travel light, but take everything with you. Take your ambitions, your hopes, your dreams. Take with you all of those memories of when we were kids; that time you got so mad at me that you punched out one of my baby teeth.
When you're cleaning out that dusty suitcase under your bed, set aside that sea shell we found on the shore on our parents' fifteenth anniversary. Set it on a shelf somewhere that you will notice it. Not every day, but once in a while, when you least expect it. Think of how we had our first heart-to-heart...