I don't know what to say. The image was... IS astouding, but other than that, nothing. What do I see? A lonely figure on a windswept beach, but not one of sand, no, one of bright colors and soft, sculpted rocks. The ocean is so close, yet because the sky matches the color of the water, the sea seems to go on forever, endlessly rolling through the heavens, the white waves becoming clouds creasing the sky as they travel through the heavens. It's daytime, yet not as bright as you would expect. The clouds mask the sunlight, dimming it, not...
Away.
He'd escaped.
And not in the usual way.
Home from school at 7:30pm, another long day of detention for crimes uncommitted (who ever did anything really deserving detention – and when has detention been worse than the alternative. Questions he wrestled with with his head on his desk) – home long after sunset, he pressed his head against his pillow and cried.
The tears awoke the empathy of the waters in the room. His fishbowl grew stormy. A glass of water shuddered with tsunami. The poster of the ship on the wall erupted in gale and he could feel the lash...
He'd sat patiently on the threshold of the kitchen all afternoon. She'd dropped countless morsels of crust, of walnuts, chunks of apple and even some of her own snacks, the clumsy klutz. Yet he'd abstained, withheld, conquered himself.
Now she was taunting him -- he felt it deep in his soul. She'd left the pies to cool -- small round pies, aromatic sweet pies -- at eye level. His eyes. She'd gone from the house (where? did it matter?) and left him to conquer himself.
Taunting his resolve. He thought to his mother who'd trained him in her ascetic ways....
"What is it you have to do again?"
Richard pointed at the screen. "You have to get the butterflies to land on that tree."
"Which one, the one on the left?"
"No," he said, "the other one, the little one."
His son crossed his arms. "Dad, this game is so lame! I don't see how you could have played this thing. The graphics suck!"
"Hey, this is 16-bit resolution! You should have seen some of the old 8-bit side-scrolling games. The graphics on them were even worse, but they were all we had. And do you hear those sound effects?"...
"I'll be 69 this year."
I lifted my eyes from my book, struggling with my irritation. Across from me sat a woman, her eyes clouded with reflection as she stared over my shoulder. "Forty years I could have spent with someone who adored me if I hadn't have been so blind."
I blinked. I couldn't quite tell if she was actually speaking to me. I folded my book around my thumb and waited. The ache in her voice spoke to the same in mine and I refused to look at my phone that had hummed more than once, someone far...
They crouched to peer beneath the stairs, their eyes reflecting the light like stars in the darkness. Not that anyone noticed. Not that anyone cared...
No one had while they lived, why should they care now? Now that they were as insubstantial as the breeze that leaked through the wooden boards that made up the house. No one knew where the breeze came from, only that it chilled them at odd times of the day and night. When it was especially windy outside, the skeletal trees would scrap against the house with gnarled limbs that stretched out like fingers. It...
He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. Mrs. Hudson trailed in behind him, wringing her hands with anticipated concern.
"He just pushed passed me, Mister 'olmes!" she apologised. I nodded supportively and guided her elbow out of the room with whispered reassurances.
Our visitor immediately captured Holmes' attention. Remarkably for about a second more than his usual gaze would consume unannounced guests at 221b Baker Street.
"It's about m' small'oldin' Mr. 'olmes" he blurted out in what sounded like a Highlands accent. Possibly one of the smaller island settlements, I postulated. He did sound...
It was the fall that surprised me most.
I had never intended to move to the Northeast. Strange set of circumstances. Long story. Really long. Maybe not too long to relate, but longer than I'd like it to have. I just sort of ended up there.
Anyway, I got there in early December. I thought, having come from California, that that was "winter".
That's not winter.
Winter is bleak. Winter is white death. Winter is hell -- not just for Chekhov, mind you. For Vermont, too.
The first week I was there, I was talking about how poorly-equipped Southern California...
Wine
cat food
Ben & Jerry's
pay the neighbor kid for mowing
TV dinner
AA batteries
new shoes for girl's night out
stop by the oil change place
Lean Cuisine
carrots
new lipstick
haircut @ 3p Wed
Salmon
baby red potatoes
condoms
clean the house
Steak
lettuce
lawn mower
clean out other half of garage
Beer
Doritos
upgrade cable package
mow the lawn
Hydrogen peroxide
ice pack
makeup w/ heavier foundation
dentist appt. Mon @ 1p
Rat poison
Shovel
Tarp
Remove car dome light
Wine
cat food
Ben & Jerry's
Pay the neighbor kid for mowing
The bird landed, not with a bang but with a whimper.
Who would have thought that the poor little thing had so much to lose? She flew around the room, narrowly missing walls, windows, and draperies - but not the hands and heads of her human masters, must to their consternation.
Plop.
The whimper from the frustrated housewife echoed through the room, and she sighed as she put Pearlie-bird's favorite toy back in her cage. Then with one long glare at her feathered nemesis, she went to get a wet towel to save her favorite sweater.
Pearlie-bird, appeased, returned to...