"Helluva storm, Joe," I say.
"Ayup," he says shakily, gazing out into the fog. His uniform is wet through and he's a-startin' to tremble. It won't be long before he can't hold on to the beam no more.
"Shore wish you ain't cut the riggin' there, Bob," says Dave. He's on the end, Dave is, hangin' tight to the canvas. A good gust o' wind gonna sweep him away.
"Oh yeah, everythin' be my fault," I complain. How was I to know? You tell me that. How was I to know the riggin' be the on'y way down?
"Too bad...
The hillsides have been finger-painted
with Larch trees turning yellow
like smears from a child's hand
that Mother Nature will bleach away within the month
I stare, thinking there must be a pattern to it.
Birds eating seeds from cones and dropping them in flight?
Early colonizers after a fire?
Unwilling to believe in beauty without structure and reason
Dusk arrives with its gift of quiet
As if hosting it here in this small moment of time required recompense.
A perfect moment of stillness
before I turn to go inside and life's motions begin again
PUNCH
Graham Pererson was a murderer. He killed people. Often.
Under the guise of a little old man he scoured the late evening streets for his victims. He carried a small bag and a walking stick.
He had a nicely worked out system which had, to date, never failed him.
And so tonight, April 1, he locked his door behind him and headed towards the suberbs.
They were starting to head home in groups of two and three from their nights of debauchery. He hated them. All of them.
A young woman seperated from her group and turned a corner....
I like collecting lots of hats
And placing them on heads of cats
They aren't too fond of wearing hats
They take them off, those little brats
No shoes or socks in the snow, JaKK was only focused on finding the settlement. Escaping was the easy part, finding his family might be hard. Physical discomfort was not part of his programming, his body able to withstand any extremes of temperature.
The scientists had made them. Fed them. Studied them. Experimented on them. Killed them. Few were left.
After two days he was still beside the forest, the neverending trees.
He might be alone. Lost.
But for the first time in his existence.
He was free.
He was dancing the enchanting dance of resurrection: Resurrection of his father.
His noble father that had told him everything: how to hunt, how to dress, how to speak, how to love. He was waving his arms frantically above his head as had been told when stranded. Stranded with no food, no shelter, no companion.
He pointed towards the only thing familiar to him: a round weathered ball with the threads worn out and its surface dull. He looked pleased as he glanced towards its vicinity - almost relieved even - as if it was the only thing tying him...
"This wise guy can't use sign language or nothing?" Sandon, Cal's partner, said in disgust. The mime was placing his palms in the air progressively higher, which communicated nothing of any obvious value.
Cal sighed, looking down at the high-tech surveillance equipment lying on the table. Equipment the police department could never have afforded. "So, what's the deal then? You some kind of spook, or are you just a pervert?"
He gestured to the pile of tapes. "Look, we got you, son. You've recorded that lady do it with her john every night for the past month. We got all...
My dad believed the island to be the end of a search for a cure for mom.
The promise of a healer that would finally reverse the soul destroying illness that was taking mom away from us.
Dad didn't care anymore what it would take, money, hope, nervous exhaustion from the endless searching, trying, failing, crying. He had to give it one more go.
Mom wanted to go home as soon as we got into the hotel room. She always wanted to go home even when she was in our house. She could only remember her childhood house and her...
The mob held torches like flags, upright and proud, ready for battle with the onion factory. Sons, mothers, daughters, friends, marched on toward revenge. They threw their torches onto the large building, sending smoke signals for miles, saying "we're in charge here!"
For weeks, the town smelled like onions. At first, people sniffed their clothes to make sure it didn't come from their home cooked meals "People" here meaning the people who didn't boycott onions altogether. Most people substituted elephant garlic or onion powder, or just went without the taste. One girl started vomitting at the sight of onions altogether....
"Death to the tyrant!" Lorenzo shouted.
Within the crowd, there were many responses. Each one said the same words, "Death to the tyrant", but each man enunciated the words differently. In each utterance you could hear the word being ejected with their personal reasons.
Tremain, in his worldview, saw the king as symbol of the working class oppression that had haunted him his whole life. Why should his money support some overfeed pompous ass who hadn't worked a day in his life? The king does not decide the laws anymore, that is the parliament's job.
Lorenzo, in his wisdom, saw...